Page 47 of Peripheral Vision

“Get up, kiddo.” It’s his voice in my head—not the monster’s, but Dad’s. Steady, firm, but kind. The way he always was when I needed him most. “You’ve been through so much, you can get through this, too” he’d say, his words careful, like he knew how fragile I felt sometimes. He never tried to tell me it wasn’t hard or pretended like things were okay when they weren’t. He just stayed there with me, steady and patient until I was ready. I close my eyes as the tears slow, letting the memory of him fill the space where the fear tries to creep in. “Doesn’t matter how long it takes” he’d told me once. “You don’t have to win today. Just keep trying. That’s enough.”

A part of me wants to ask him how that could possibly be enough right now, wants to ask how much more of myself I have to giveaway until it’s over—until Fletcher rescues me or I’m another dead body in the ground. But I know if Dad were here, he’d remind me that enough isn’t always what you think it is. “You’re not alone” he’d whisper now, and the thought steadies me just a little. “You’re never alone, not really.”

I shift, wincing at the bite of pain that shoots through my body as I test my weight on my good arm, then the injured one due to my shoulder. My whole body protests, aching and trembling, but I manage to push myself upright. My breathing is shallow, my vision swimming, but I’m sitting now, and that feels like something. “See?” Dad’s voice drifts through my mind again, warm and careful, like he’s afraid to push too hard. “One step at a time, that’s all it takes.” I glance at the dresser, trying to find the motivation to get dressed in whatever is in there, if anything. And I let myself believe, just for a moment, that maybe Dad’s right. Maybe I can do this. But the thought is gone by the next morning.

The metallic clinkof the lock turning jolts me awake. I blink rapidly, my vision adjusting to the dim orange light spilling through the cracked doorway. For a brief second I forget where I am, until searing hot torment graces my back. The room no longer smells like blood and bile, and I sit up to notice that the mess I had created on the floor was cleaned up, and my shoulder was bandaged as well. Had they come in here after I fell asleep? Why didn’t I wake up? Unless… they drugged me again. “Get up.” A gruff voice cuts through the silence, one I recognize as one of the enforcers from yesterday. But I don’t move, despite the way my body is suddenly protesting it. “You need to shower.” The hell I did, I would rather sit in my own filth for days then give them the satisfaction of anything else. And if it meant they wouldn’t touch me… “Don’t make this harder than it hasto be,” he warns, his voice tinged with irritation rather than malice. I ignore him, not even giving him my voice.

He walks into the room, stopping just out of arm’s reach, folding his arms across his broad chest. “You can act like a child all you want, but you’re going to do as you’re told whether you want to or not. You stink like a corpse, and that’s going to be a problem.”

“For you, maybe,” I shoot back, though my voice cracks on the last word. Whatever they’d dosed me with hadn’t fully worn off.

His jaw tightens. “Suit yourself. Just remember your choices impact whether you get rewarded or punished.” He turns sharply on his heel, stepping toward the door. For a split second, despite the harrowing nature of his words, relief washes over me—until he reappears with another figure. They walk back toward me, and I scramble backward, but they advance quicker than I expect, and hands clamp around my arms.

“No! Get off of me!” I scream, twisting and thrashing, reopening the stitches on my shoulder. But they lift me up as if I weigh nothing. My legs kick out wildly, even though they don’t make purchase with anything.

“You can walk, or we can carry you. Either way you’re getting that shower, even if it means we have to hose you down and treat you as the animal you’re behaving like.” This time it’s the other enforcer who speaks as they drag me along. I try to focus on anything but the growing knot of dread in my stomach. Because I know what awaits me at the end of this. They spoke of rewards and punishments, but are they really different, or are the rewards just neatly wrapped nightmares? We turn a corner, and the sound of rushing water hits my ears as we go back to the same showers I was in yesterday. One of the pipes is hissing with steam as they shove me toward the running water, crossing their arms as they stand there watching me.

I turn my back to them, my hands trembling as I remove the stained and torn fabric that hangs from my body, as well as the bandage. Every movement feels like a betrayal to myself, but I refuseto let them see my tears. When I am down to nothing, I stand there, exposed and vulnerable once again, my skin prickling under the weight of their stares. “Scrub,” one of them orders, tossing a bar of soap onto the floor near me. As badly as I want to resist, to refuse, to scream and fight… I want to wash away the remnants of yesterday just as badly. So I do. When I’m done, they hand me a towel, and this time I don’t fight as we walk back to my room, I don’t fight as they rebandage my shoulder, and I don’t fight as they redirect me to Connor’s office once more. Another outfit is waiting for me, another choice that I don’t get to make—this time it’s skin tight and strapless. If anything, it’s a little longer than the one yesterday.

One of the enforcers walks into the office and I wait with the other for several minutes before he returns, stepping to the side to gesture me inside as if he’s polite. They close the door behind me, and I remain staring at my bare feet on the floor, feeling Connor’s heavy stare on me. “I heard you caused them quite a bit of trouble this morning…” I don’t answer at first, instead standing there motionless because I have nothing to say to him. But his voice breaks through the quiet, a note of irritation in his voice at my lack of obedience. “Well?” he prompts again, the sound of his chair scraping along the floor filling the air. “Do you want to explain yourself?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I whisper, my voice raw, betraying any hint of defiance I wanted to convey. “I’m not your fucking puppet.”

I look up and I notice his lips curl into a smile, once again failing to reach his eyes. “You’re right. You’re more than that. A tool, a weapon, a warm body. But you’re still much too unpredictable and I can’t have that. I was hoping after our time spent together yesterday you would see reason. But you haven’t, and as such, we need to work on your obedience.”

“You’ll never have that from me,” I spit, disgust blazing in my chest.

His expression darkens as he walks from behind his desk and toward me. He circles me like I’m his next meal, a hand trailingacross the injury on my back before settling at the base of my neck. He threads his fingers through my hair before gripping it roughly and yanking my head backward so that I’m looking up at him. “It’s a good thing we have all day,niece.” He shoves me forward, causing me to stumble to my knees before he delivers a kick to my abdomen, causing me to double over, fighting for my breath. “You probably think I enjoy this.” Another kick to my spine. “I really don’t. I’d rather spend the time we have together doing something equally beneficial” He stomps on my hand, the bones cracking under the force as I cry out. “Something equally pleasurable.” He walks around to where I’m face down on the ground before gripping my hair once more. “But if this is what it’s going to take, so be it.”

He drags me across the rug, my scalp screaming, to the table before he pulls rope from a hidden hook below it. He takes my broken hand in his, eliciting a scream from my throat as he secures it in the first knot before tying it to one of the hooks, ensuring I can’t go anywhere. “Stand up, Dylan.” I can barely hear him through my tears, barely see him through the screen they’ve formed in my eyes. He digs his thumb into the wound on my shoulder, pulling. “I said stand up!” He yanks me onto my feet, more blood running down my body as he shoves me onto my back on the table. He secures the leg opposite to the first hand he did, before securing the rest of my limbs. “Oh, silly me. I forgot to remove your dress. You won’t be needing it for this next part.” He pulls his knife from his pocket before tearing it down the front of my dress, and I can feel where it digs into my skin as he does so, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. He stops right above my pelvis, as if contemplating how thoroughly he wants to damage me. I can feel his hesitation, his mind warring over keeping the most prized part of me pretty or not.

In the end, he uses his hands to tear the dress the rest of the way. The way he’s secured me leaves me spread and on display, in the perfect position to do what he would like with me. “Please,” I gasp as his hand trails back up my body. “Please, I’ll behave. Just stop this.”

He leans down into my face as he pinches one of my nipples,twisting it harshly. “It’s too late for that, my dear. I offered you patience and you wasted it yet again.” He digs in his back pocket and pulls his cell phone out, leveling it above me, and I hear a shutter as though he took a picture. “I think Fletcher will love this one, don’t you?” He shows me the photo he took before pressing send and a sob escapes my body. “Oh, don’t cry for him, Dylan. You two will be reunited again soon. I’m sure of it.” The smile he gives me makes me sick, but what he does next is even worse. He kneels down, rummaging through whatever else is hanging from the bottom of the table, and pulls out a vibrator. “You withheld your orgasm from me last night. I’m going to make sure you give me what I want tonight, so I can give Fletcher evidence that you enjoy what I do to you.”

“He’ll never believe you, he’s going to know you’re forcing it from me,” I spit.

He smiles. “I don’t need to force you. Not when you’ll be begging for it soon enough.”

My heart hammers in my chest, but I refuse to let him see any more fear. “You’re wrong. I’ll never give you that satisfaction, you sick fuck.”

He turns on the vibrator, rolling it down my stomach, mixing it with the blood that has collected there. “We’ll see, but you’ll give me exactly what I want eventually, Dylan. You’re going to realize that I’m going to take away any other choice you have but to accept me. Accept this. You’ll learn to enjoy it just like you’ll learn to hate your resistance. And Fletcher will be the one to see that—he’ll watch you shatter, piece by piece, and then you’ll watch the light leave his eyes, and won’t feel an ounce of sadness because I’m going to be all that you see, and the only thing you’ll wonder is how you can satisfy me.”

I stop breathing as he rolls the vibrator lower, until it’s hovering right above the apex of my thighs. “You’ll regret this. I’ll make sure you regret this.” But my voice is small, weak.

His gaze never wavers as he places the vibrator over my clit. “No, you’ll regret ever trying to fight me and think you had a winning chance.” I clench my eyes shut as I try to ignore the sensationbetween my thighs, as I resist giving him what he wants, but my body is following its natural instincts. And when I feel him shove his fingers inside of me, curling to get me to hurdle over the edge quicker, I try to close my legs, the rope stopping me. I can feel the tears beginning to build as my orgasm does and I pray to any god that will hear me to just kill me, to take me away from this place, to make it end. But those prayers go unanswered, and I break. Connor’s cruel chuckle shatters through the background with me as he turns the vibrator off and sets it aside… taking his phone out again. When he’s done, he removes his fingers, holding my gaze as he licks them clean. “No wonder Fletcher is so obsessed with you. You’re a treat.” I gag as I look away, tears flowing freely once again. “Now it’s my turn… but unfortunately I still don’t trust your compliance.” He walks back to his desk, and I hear him rummaging through a drawer before he returns with a syringe.

“Little pinch,” he says as he jabs it into my thigh. After a few minutes I begin to feel drowsy, and I know I’ve been dosed again. “But don’t worry, this is just to take the edge off, to take your inhibitions away. I still want you to be able to remember it when I shove my cock down your throat, I just don’t want you to be able to do anything about it.”

Chapter

Thirty-Two

FLETCHER

She called your name, you know. For a while, anyway. But she’s quiet now. Do you know what silence sounds like? It sounds like surrender. A subtle realization that maybe help isn’t coming. You must be seething right now—desperate, helpless, maybe even guilty because you didn’t back off when you were warned. That’s a good thing, though. You’ll need that feeling where we’re going. I do so enjoy watching others crumble under the weight of their own hubris. Especially knowing she’s already mine, and she tastes oh so sweet.

The glass I’m holding shatters under the weight of my own hand, cutting into my palm as distress like I’ve never felt courses through my veins. It’s been a week since Dylan went missing, and I’m done waiting. The images that accompany the message are torturous, but I force myself to swipe through one after another after another after another… because it’s nothing like the torture she’s being subjected to because of me. Whoever they are, they have made sure to send them daily since that first message several days ago, each of them worse than the last. They show her in compromising positions, bruised, bound, and terrified. Her eyes are pleading in some of them, hollow and far away in others, as though she’s given up all hope, and they’ve haunted my every waking moment and invade my sleep when I manage to steal a few hours. I want to throw my phone across the room, but I can’t because it’s the only link I have to her.

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