Page 51 of Deviant Illusions

“Just me, my pretty girl.”

I smile up at him because heismy Kane. This isn’t real and my mind has given this version back to me instead of the one who hates me. This one will keep me safe from the new nightmares. My mind is fighting the terrors it creates by giving me the very savior I had as a child.

Long, black, hairy lines crawl over his shoulders and he slowly shakes his head without moving the rest of his body.Large orange-red ovals follow the legs of the spider as it drags itself over Kane’s shoulders. More follow it, at least five without me looking down, and he grits his teeth. His jaw hardens even further and his face twists in pain as a roaring blue light glows behind him.

The pale green of his eyes are entirely swallowed up by his pupils and his chest inflates. I stare in horror as a welding torch is moved in a line between his shoulder blades. The wand isn’t close enough to his skin for it to fully burn, but I can feel the heat blowing over his shoulder as the spiders crawl over his shoulders, one after another.

They’re huge and I tremble. My skin crawls too, as though the sight of them alone is enough for me to feel them. But Kane just stares into my eyes as his muscles tense further. His veins bulge through his neck, his shoulder, his arms, down to his hands. The dark ink, blue veins, and those fucking spiders with yellow-orange ovals over their hairy bodies are all I can see as the heat intensifies, glimmering behind him.

It agitates the spiders, and one clings to his traps with its back legs. Rearing up, it extends its front legs. His muscles shake as the spider sinks its hairy fangs into the side of his neck. The thick sharp points are fully embedded into his skin and he roughly jerks, causing the other arachnids to slip as they attempt to bite him too. The torch is moved away as leather-gloved hands delicately collect the arachnids.

Kane doesn’t remove the one attacking him. He blows out a long breath that brushes my cheek as the doctor wraps his fingers around the chain. He yanks my head to look at him, pulling the spikes further into my skin, and wonder fills his voice as he says, “Prove that you can be his strength, sweet girl.”

A whimper gets caught in my throat at those two words. Sweet girl. He always said it. They should be an endearment, butinstead my body reacts like I’m allergic to the syllables as bile burns up my throat.

The gloved hand removes the spider from Kane’s neck and my father places his palm flat against the back of my head, pushing me forward as the doctor tightens his hold on the chain to force me up on the tips of my toes. The spikes are stuck in my skin, stretching the small holes they’ve made as the doctor barks, “Suck.”

The whimper gets louder, audible to those around me. Kane doesn’t move his arms and his hands ball into loose fists. His eyelids droop, sweat beading at his hairline. I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do when the doctor repeats, “Suck.” He leans closer to me, his warm breath touching my cheek as every venomous syllable leaves him. “Save him or don’t. Either way, I’ll find a use for you both.”

I ignore the pain of the spikes and those of the memories as I look at him. “How?”

He smiles, wrapping the chain tighter around his fist, so the spikes are pushed further into me. “Remove the venom, of course.”

My head is pushed forward again, straight into the crook of Kane’s neck, and I can see the puncture wounds from the spider’s fangs. Two small holes that drip with watery blood. He sways forward slightly, and I place my palms on his overheating chest to steady him. His lips part as he mumbles, “Delilah…”

Fighting my tears, I move forward without any prompt and seal my lips over the wound. A bitter taste mixed with the sickly iron of his blood fills my mouth. But I keep sucking, even when salt is added to the formula as my tears slip over my lips. Kane winces and regains enough energy for him to control his arms. He threads his fingers through my hair, pushing my father’s hand away. His other hand goes to the chain, then there’s nothing else—no one else—touching me other than him.

He holds me to him as my father and the doctor walk around us to congratulate each other. I can’t pick up their conversation because Kane fits his lips beside my ear and whispers, “You’re mine now.” He winces as I suck harder. “My wife.” He pulls me closer, and his dick is hard. It presses against my stomach and the chain gets trapped between our bodies.

“Mine to kill,” he adds even lower. “Spit, koukla mou.”

His fingers get tangled in my hair as he roughly pulls me back and turns my head to the side. A chalice sits on the floor, the inside engraved with my family’s crest but the edges have other etchings I’ve never seen before. He lightly strokes his fingers against my scalp as he gently repeats, “Spit.”

I spit down into the chalice as he turns his head so no one can see him and whispers, “Good girl.” His shoulder brushes mine as he softly kisses my hairline.

I hold myself rigid as warmth covers my back, but Kane dips his head and whispers, “It’s not your dad.”

I nod, then there’s a click and the collar falls away from my neck. The chains slip between us, loudly clanging as it slams against the floor, sending little bits of stone dust flying up. Kane lifts his foot, catching the heavy metal to prevent it falling on my toes. He must be hurt from the impact of it, but he kicks it off to the side, then gently lifts my hair to reveal the marks left on my nape. My eyes close at the soothing touch of his thumb tracing between each hole. He slowly lowers his head and presses his lips to my neck; his tongue comes out, lightly lapping at the cuts.

Pressing my hands to his chest, I hold on to him and allow my eyes to close. The murmurs get further away with my own mumbling covering them. “This isn’t real.”

He smiles against my neck and trails gentle kisses in a path up to my ear. “It is very real, wife.”

“Get dressed,” someone says behind me, and I press deeper into Kane’s chest.

I expect him to push me away or find another way to punish me, instead he wraps his arm around my hips and keeps me tucked into his side. There’s no harsh cologne on his skin or overpowering scent. He smells like comfort and familiarity with a faint scent of nicotine. His dick is still hard, digging into my thigh. It hits me then—he’s not comforting me or being caring. He’s keeping me close to hide that he’s hard, as a shield.

I’m truly alone despite the cathedral being full of people. Ruby stands beside a man who looks like he’s restraining himself from committing murder and my parents stare back at him with the same expression. The doctor is beside the large doors with a strange woman at his side. A fur coat covers the length of her body, stopping an inch above the ground. Her eyes are lighter than his and the animal’s head sits above her own like a creepy costume. But they stand together, shaking hands with people and engaging in conversation. Everyone here has someone other than me.

No one leaves as the doors open for new masked guards to enter like a team of robotic soldiers and the pews don’t even scrape against the floor as they rearrange the room. Kane doesn’t seem fazed by the change either as he calmly puts on a new black shirt.

An idiotic part of me that every child has when it comes to their parents looks at them with hope. Hope that they’ll help me, hope that they’ll be better. It’s diminished over the years, and I thought it had successfully withered away, but no, it’s still there. It forces me to look at them, to want them to do something, anything that could replace the years of their cruelty and neglect. Yet they ignore me. I should be used to it, but I’m a fool for expecting any different. It still hurts that they’re in the same room as me and refuse to even give me a modicum of their attention.

Once he’s dressed, Kane places his hand on the small of my back and forces me to walk. He keeps his hips behind mine as he smooths his hand around my waist, walking me to a long table that is set up in the middle of the cathedral. It’s covered in a pristine runner as though this is a real wedding and a barefoot bride in this setting is normal.

I vaguely recognize a man beside my father. His profile only allows me to see half of his face and his eyebrows are huge, covering the color of his eyes. Gold cursive cufflinks adorn his shirt sleeves but he’s close to my father’s age. He turns his head and I gasp without meaning to. A large slash runs down the length of his face. It begins at his hairline, and it must be old due to it being fully healed. I can’t tear my eyes off the jagged line or how it splits through his eye, and the white ball that doesn’t have an iris. It’s like a cue ball, fully white without any veining or coloring instead of a purpose-made prosthetic.

My staring gets my father’s attention and Kane tightens his hold on my waist. His chest presses against my back as we both watch my father look from us to the scar on the man’s face. There are many things I’ve witnessed my father do that have changed my opinion on him. None of them have ever confused me as much as watching him caress the jagged line with his thumb. The other man doesn’t move, save for tilting his chin as he bends his knees, so his head is lower than my father’s. I grimace as I watch my sadistic prick of a father press the pad of his thumb against the man’s prosthetic eye.

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