Page 11 of Heal Me

My breath sticks in my throat. I have no idea what to say. His words are abrupt and absurd, coming out of nowhere. Yet they’re somehow the best words I’ve ever heard. Words of protection that no one has ever come close to matching.

I say the only thing that makes sense in this warped moment of intimacy. “Thank you.”

He keeps the silent connection for a moment, branding his promise into me with a burning stare that reduces my defenses to ashes. He’s still right in front of me as he says, “Sing for me.” It’s not a question, not a command. It’s just the way things have to be.

I don’t think, I just open my mouth and sing. A gentle, sorrowful folk tune my mother used to sing for me. Besides loosening his grip on my jaw to let my mouth form the words, he stays where he is, a breath away from my lips, enclosing us in our own private world, caught in a strange sort of intimacy that seems wholly unfamiliar yet completely right.

When the last word has left my lips, he hovers a moment longer. Then he lets out a pleased hum, grabs my waist, and pulls me down to lie on the mattress.

I think he’s going to take advantage and fuck me. I even think I’ll let him. But he simply tucks me in, grabs the bucket, and leaves.

For a long time after he’s gone, I just lie there, staring at the door, trying to figure out what’s happened. When all the mixed signals and strange events only leave my head in tangles, I stop thinking altogether and drift off.

9

DORIN

The static chaos in my head that always haunts me is unusually quiet as I leave my songbird’s cell. The noises, the memories, and the derisive castigations are all gone. It’s unnerving. The screams of others are usually the only thing that will drown them out, but her singing did it too—and not just drown them out but chase them away.

What disturbs me even more is that I told her about my scars. I even let her touch them. I’ve never told anyone how I got them. Many people have asked, but they only do so once, quickly realizing it’s a bad fucking idea. But with this girl, I felt no need to shut her up or even intimidate her into doing so. Instead, I gave her an answer.

Why the hell would I do that? Vulnerability is weakness, and I’m not the one who’s weak here.

Anger simmers to life inside me, and as I pass a guard, I set down the bucket and fix him with a glare that has the usual almost-pissing-his-pants effect. “Clean this up. And go bandage the arms of the girl in cell one. But don’t speak a single fucking word to her or we’re gonna have a problem.” I don’t bother standing around to see if the idiot got the message; I know he did. He was there the last time someone disobeyed me.

Then I veer down the corridor that holds most of the normal cells and open a random one. I need to clear my mind.

“Get up,” I demand, and the girl scrambles to get off the mattress. With her arms shackled to the wall, she doesn’t get far.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” she stutters.

I slap her across the face. “Learn to speak right or don’t speak at all.”

She falls against the wall, screeching as she scrapes her bare skin against the rough surface. She scrambles to get up on her knees again, but I’m impatient. I don’t care where or how I do this; I just need to do it.

Grabbing her hips, I flip her around and place her on all fours. “Don’t move a fucking muscle,” I tell her as I unclip my stick from my belt and relish the heavy weight in my hand. I hate how I’ve been leaving it in the hall every time I go into cell one, to avoid ruining the illusion of a mental facility. I don’t even know why I’m playing into it. I should just get it over with, let her know where she is, let her feel my stick against her skin and my cock in her ass.

But as I imagine that it’s her frail body in front of me—her blonde locks spilling down her milky skin and the many scars marring the perfect beauty, yet somehow enhancing it—I feel sick to my stomach at what I’m about to do. So I grab a handful of the girl’s straight, black hair to remind myself that she isn’t the little songbird as I swing my stick against her ass. Her flesh is already bruised, but I don’t care about those marks like I do the scars and bruises onher.

Her scream is a welcome noise to fill my head again. The silence was eerie. I swing my stick to hear it again. Over and over until only faint whimpers remain and her head is hanging by my grip in her hair.

“Fucking bitch.” I yank her ass back up as she’s about to collapse on the mattress, part her ass cheeks, and spit on her tight hole—the opening that’s nowhere near as tight and inviting as my songbird’s virgin asshole.

“Fuck,” I growl, ignoring the girl’s pathetic begging as I force my hard dick inside her. I need to get the blonde girl out of my head. But as I ram into the black-haired bitch, the little songbird keeps popping into my mind. I imagine her muffled screams as I zapped her. Her desperate straining against the straps. But most of all, I imagine her sweet little moans as I forced her to come. Her pretty voice as she sang to me.

“Get out of my fucking head,” I growl as my balls start to draw up. But she won’t leave, so I flip the girl over and stand with my feet on each side of her. “Open your mouth,” I bark with a bite that has her obeying immediately.

Her eyes fill with fear and disgust as I jerk off, aiming my cock directly at her mouth.

“That’s right, I just had it in your ass, and now my cum is getting in your mouth. I hope you can taste it.”

She whimpers pathetically but keeps her mouth open anyway as I spurt my release into and around her mouth. But there’s not much satisfaction to be found. Not even when I crouch over her and force her to lick my cock clean.

“Useless whore,” I spit, finishing off with a kick to her side before leaving. Then I ignore the urge to go back to my little songbird to hear her sing and retreat to my chambers upstairs instead. My dog, Rex, and a long run in the woods is the next best thing when I’m on edge and the girls don’t cut it.

Rex yaps happily as I enter my quarters, jumping up and giving me a wet lick on the cheek.

“You know I hate that shit,” I tell him. Yet I’ve never trained the big German shepherd to quit it. He can do many tricks and will obey everything else in an instant, but I never had the heart to wean him off that bad habit.

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