Page 1 of Make Me Scream

Prologue

When Master finishes, he reaches through the bars of Pet’s cell and brushes her hair back. She almost manages to suppress her shudder. I turn away, filled with relief and guilt. He’ll leave me alone this time. He got what he wanted from her.

Master sets his charcoal sketch aside, folds up a wooden easel and rests it against the dungeon’s cement wall.

“What do you think?” he asks, showing me and Pet his drawing.

It’s Pet, naked, on her knees, mouth open, looking up at the observer: Master’s perspective. He’s presented her features accurately, but infused them with desire. Lips slightly upturned, eyes focused. That’s not how she really looks. Maybe he can’t perceive her veiled disgust, her swallowed fury and misery — maybe he’s hoping to manifest adoration, rather than obedience. We don’t dare ask.

“It’s perfect,” Pet says, her voice raw with thirst.

She said the same thing the last two times he drew this particular piece.

“Do you agree, Toy?” Master asks me.

I force myself to look again.

“Yes. It’s perfect.”

Seated on the cell floor, knees tucked to my chest, I clutch my arms around my legs tighter. Long ago, he told me to always be honest about his art, no matter how bad it was, but we learned the hard way he doesn’t take criticism well.

He nods, staring at the drawing.

“Thank you, both. I’m very happy with it. I’ll put it in the gallery, and we’ll start a new one next week. I’ll be back then. What would you like for this week’s gift? Your usual, Pet?”

“Yes, master.”

Magazines, gum and cookies.

“Toy, what would you like?”

A big, sharp knife and a pair of boots.

I imagine myself driving the blade deep into his gut and twisting it. I hear his screams, his face contorting in fear. Then I’d kick him until his blood pools under my feet.

I’m dreaming, obviously. He won’t get me anything I could use to hurt him or escape. If it’s not edible or made of paper, I can forget it. No electronics, no clothes. Nothing I can keep — only temporary distractions.

“Nothing,” I say at last.

Fuck him. If he feels any guilt over what he’s done to us, I won’t let him assuage it with little kindnesses. As if a few sweets could erase his sins.

“That’s not healthy,” Master sighs. “There must be something you would enjoy.”

Watching the life leave your eyes as I crush your windpipe.

“No, master.”

He can punish me if he wants. I won’t accept any shitty gift from him.

“Suit yourself, Toy.”

He beckons for Pet. She rises to her feet, then sidles over to the bars of her cell, moving as fast as her restrained ankles and wrists will allow. Once she stands with her back turned to Master, he reaches into her cell and unlocks the thick, black leather cuffs and hangs them up on their pegs. As soon as he’s done, Master steps back and Pet lurches forward, following the rules without making trouble, as always.

Before leaving, he jostles the door of Pet’s cell, making sure it’s locked. He tests mine too. Neither open.

“Have a good week, you two,” he says, then goes.

For an hour, we wait. Pet counts the seconds. I add up the minutes. After each one, she nods or taps her foot. Clears her throat. Hums. Sometimes she signals after fifty-two seconds, then again after sixty-eight. Forty-five and seventy-five. Thirty and ninety.

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