Page 56 of Monster in Disguise

AGE THIRTEEN,

I scrub and scrub. It won't go away.

I can still feel the cheap perfume, that cloying smell that almost made me gag. I bring my hand to my mouth to stop myself from getting sick. I should probably feel proud that I didn't get sick on that girl. It's not as ifshewanted to be there. It's her job.

I'd never imagined Father would go this far, but he's gotten it in his head that I needed to become a man, and that no son of his would be a faggot.

I'd already learned my lesson, years before, that when dealing with Father, it's best to never show emotion. Never show if I hate something and never show if I like something.

When he'd told me there was somewhere we had to go, I'd kept my poker face in place. I hadn't argued. I'd just followed.

Worst-case scenario, he'd make me kill someone. Been there, done that. After my very first kill, I'd taught myself to become desensitized to death. It happened to everyone, no?

What did it matter how, when death was nevertheless inevitable? That's what I told myself. I was just hurrying along a process that was already in motion. From one kill to another, and another, every new victim became just another face in the sea of myriad faces. I learned to dissociate from the act.

It was me who killed them, and yet... it wasn't me.

Sometimes I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience, watching myself pull the trigger, or stab the knife deeper into someone's flesh.

It was me... and it wasn't.

It's also why I never questioned what Father had in plan.

But then we'd pulled up at a brothel. I'd learned it was a brothel because the soldiers started talking. That, and the naked women parading themselves inside the place. And as we walked around, I realized what Father had in plan.

I didnotlike it.

My introduction to sex had been the sight of Mother being raped by Father on the altar in her room. And it had been enough to turn me off the act completely. After that, I'd been exposed to lewd talk, mostly done by Father's soldiers. It hadn't impressed me or made me change my stance towards sex. Whichwas also why the thought of doing anything in that dirty place threatened to make me ill – my poker face be damned.

Father hadn't cared to ask for my opinion. He'd demanded that the Madame bring in a woman, and then he'd taken me to a room, forcing me to undress. When the girl had arrived, Father had pulled up a chair and watched as she'd tried and failed to arouse me. Eventually, given the futility of the matter, Father had thrown her out.

I'd really thought the ordeal was about to be over.

But I was wrong.

"You're a faggot, aren't you? That's why you can't fucking respond when a woman touches you." He'd sneered at me. "No son of mine will be a faggot, you got me, boy?"

I could only nod.

He'd left the room for a minute, before returning with a pill, and forcing me to take it.

"You'll become a man today," he'd declared, and two more women had come in. Both seemed to be older... twenties, or maybe thirties? What had followed had been the worst experience of my life. Eyes blank, I'd just sat there, letting them do whatever to my body. Father had joined in as well. Bonding. That's what he'd called it.

Water still pouring on me, I collapse on the tiled floor, shivering from the cold air.

Please make it go away!

I wish I could erase the feel of their hands on my body... the way they'd coaxed a reaction where there wasn't any.

I'd lost more than control over my body that night.

I'd also lost control over my mind.

It continued.

Father forced me to accompany him to the brothel every time. I've already lost count of how many times we've been there.

He also introduced me to his favorite pastime — orgies.

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