Page 74 of Deviant

I guess I should be grateful for this brief reprieve and on some level I am.

But I was happy to die.

Content with it. I’d made my peace, I’d come to terms with the fact that this was how I would go, that I’d lay there, bleeding out and while the pain was unbearable, on some level it was calm. It was okay.

I was at peace. I was ready.

I wanted to die.

And yet again, he wouldn’t let me.

She’s fast asleep when I walk back in. Curled up in the duvet with her hands balled into tight little fists as if she’s ready to fight even now.

For a moment, I just stand there, observing her, listening to the almost silent sound of her breathing.

I may have adjusted the sails, may have course corrected, but that doesn’t change a few facts. She’s still my plaything, still my toy to break.

Only now, I’ve done enough breaking, enough torment.

And besides, I like the idea of fucking with her head by showing this other side of me, by showing that I can be nice whenI want to.

In silence, I cross the room, crouch down by her face and brush the wisps of her hair aside.

As expected, she jerks to life, recoiling back, with that flash of fear and then defiance that I’m enjoying so much.

But she doesn’t cry out, she still doesn’t make a sound, she just gulps as if she’s swallowing all the hateful things she wants to say.

There’s a part of me that wants to tease them out, to force them out, to reach down and snatch at her arm and hurt her just a little so that she bites back, like the bitch I know she still is.

But that would be unfair, unkind. I’m trying to play nice, I remind myself, as I yank the covers back and she jerks even more.

I could explain what I’m doing, I could simply tell her, but it’s more fun to hear the way her breath turns to panic as I pick her up and carry her into the bathroom.

“Piss.” I order as I plonk her onto the toilet.

She glares at me but only for a millisecond before she gives in, and we hear the merry little tinkling sound that tells us both she’s being obedient.

I don’t need to give her the respect, but I turn away while she wipes, allowing her a tiny bit of dignity, and instead move to run the bath. The nurses gave her a washdown while she was out, but she still looks filthy. And if she’s going to be sleeping in my bed then she will damn well be civilised about it.

As the bath fills, I hum a tune, staring at my face in the mirror, fixing my hair, noting the new streaks of grey in it.

She lets out a cry as I plonk her unceremoniously into the water, but she’s quick to muffle it and I see her jaw tighten in unspoken fury.

“Why are you doing this?” she murmurs after some clear deliberation.

“Doing what?” I reply.

“This.” She gestures to the bath, then to the room. “Why am I here and not in that cell?”

“Are you not content with your current surroundings?” I ask, letting the edge slip back into my voice. Is my bedroom not good enough for her, is that it?

“That’s not…”

“Do you want me to return you to the dark? Do you want me to hurt you again?”

She shakes her head quickly. “No.”

“Then be content.” I state. Be fucking grateful too because I don’t have to give her this. I don’t have to do anything of the sort.

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