Jame Morrison

Jame was bored. Not of hurting Morgan, but of the test. Everything he’d had planned–only another three tasks, anyway–had been toned down. Little things like breaking a finger rather than the sort of vicious cruelty or finessed agony Jame had inflicted in the initial week of Morgan’s captivity. Morgan had succumbed easier than he’d expected and Jame had always felt contempt for those who had no appreciation for subtlety, but the rest of the test would be tiresome if it continued on in the same fashion. His pet wouldn’t be aware of any change in plans if he cut the test short. Going the other direction in changing plans, making the test harsher and more difficult, that would mess with more than just the test. He didn’t plan on breaking Morgan to pieces. Not yet, at least. And Genevieve would be upset with him, which would be irritating. When she got sulky, he couldn’t punish her in the same manner he would’ve before. That would risk his daughter’s wellbeing, and he wasn’t going to allow Genevieve’s disrespectful judgement of his decisions to influence her ability to take care of Alanna. It was simpler and more efficient to avoid that line of actions unless it had a motive more than impulsive boredom. Jame was better than impulsive behaviors, anyway. “You’re fortunate you managed to pass the test, pet,” Jame told him. “If you had failed I would have broken the rest of your fingers and left them unsplinted. Because of that, the supplies for splinting your finger aren’t in here.” Jame rose and opened the door, stepping into the hallway. “Follow me,” he added as an afterthought. He wouldn’t be so cruel as to trick Morgan into following him without permission, or to punish him for failing to follow an order not given. Not today, at least. Jame pressed open the bookshelf that separated the hallway from the rest of the basement and, trusting that Morgan would follow him and not pay much attention to the rest of the basement or try to get away, opened the door to Morgan’s new room without looking back. The room had a fullsized bed, currently covered in only a plastic fitted sheet, carpeted flooring, and shelves built into the wall.

“Sit on the bed,” Jame instructed. The bed frame set the mattress at about mid thigh height. He removed the splinting supplies from the otherwise empty shelving and turned back to Morgan. He set the supplies on the headboard, which was about a foot thick with three cabinets set into it. Without particular gentleness, though enough care to not further damage the joint, Jame took Morgan’s hand. Although Jame had never cared to tend Clarissa’s wounds, when Genevieve came around, he’d learned the necessary first aid to keep her in good condition. This skill was obvious now, as he splinted Morgan's finger.

Morgan glanced down at his arms, then back up at Jame. “Yes, sir.” He thought it was promising, that the man spoke of future dislocations. Or at least meant Jame didn’t plan to kill him anytime soon.

Jame took one of Morgan’s hands, holding it by the wrist with his thumb against Morgan’s palm. With his other hand, Jame grabbed Morgan’s pointer finger and began to slowly bend it backwards. “At a certain point, the joint will break. I wonder,” he said, “can you control yourself enough to not attempt to yank your hand away?”

Morgan watched with wide eyes, trying not to hold his breath. It was difficult to stay still, when you knew what was coming. “I’ll try my very best, sir,” he swore softly. They both already knew that. At a certain point he began to tremble, but he didn’t try to pull away.

Jame continued to press even as the joint resistance grew stronger. If Morgan did attempt to pull away, Jame’s grip on his hand would tighten. When finally the joint gave way, with a not inaudible crunch, a sick feeling momentarily twisted in his stomach. He grinned darkly and displaced the natural disgust at a broken bone towards Morgan. A sense of superiority rose and resettled itself in his mind.

Tears sprang to his eyes and his entire body trembled. When he felt it coming, his body stiffened. He would not pull away. He would not he would not he would not. Then the crack and his own sharp anguished screams, followed by immediate sobbing. “Th-thank you, s-sir,” Morgan instinctively cried.

Jame dropped Morgan’s hand and leaned back. “You’re so lucky,” he said, “if I hadn’t found you, no one else would’ve ever bothered. You’re too pathetic to be worth anyone’s energy. Fortunately for you, I have always had a bit of a soft spot for those who too weak to become anything on their own, when they’re able to admit to their inferiority.” Towards those who he could convince of their inferiority. Of his superiority. Those he could mold into something fun. Jame leaned forward again, petting Morgan’s cheek. “You won’t be a waste of my time, though, will you, pet? You’ll do everything you can to deserve my kindness.”

Morgan glanced down at his arms, then back up at Jame. “Yes, sir.” He thought it was promising, that the man spoke of future dislocations. Or at least meant Jame didn’t plan to kill him anytime soon.

Jame took one of Morgan’s hands, holding it by the wrist with his thumb against Morgan’s palm. With his other hand, Jame grabbed Morgan’s pointer finger and began to slowly bend it backwards. “At a certain point, the joint will break. I wonder,” he said, “can you control yourself enough to not attempt to yank your hand away?”

Morgan watched with wide eyes, trying not to hold his breath. It was difficult to stay still, when you knew what was coming. “I’ll try my very best, sir,” he swore softly. They both already knew that. At a certain point he began to tremble, but he didn’t try to pull away.

Jame continued to press even as the joint resistance grew stronger. If Morgan did attempt to pull away, Jame's grip on his hand would tighten. When finally the joint gave way, with a not inaudible crunch, a sick feeling momentarily twisted in his stomach. He grinned darkly and displaced the natural disgust at a broken bone towards Morgan. A sense of superiority rose and resettled itself in his mind.

Morgan glanced down at his arms, then back up at Jame. “Yes, sir.” He thought it was promising, that the man spoke of future dislocations. Or at least meant Jame didn’t plan to kill him anytime soon.

Jame took one of Morgan's hands, holding it by the wrist with his thumb against Morgan's palm. With his other hand, Jame grabbed Morgan's pointer finger and began to slowly bend it backwards. "At a certain point, the joint will break. I wonder," he said, "can you control yourself enough to not attempt to yank your hand away?"

“Oh?” Jame didn’t press further, not wanting to get side-tracked by teasing at Morgan’s strings outside of those within the realm of his game. “We’ll find out how much truth lies in that statement soon enough. Now, pet, have you ever dislocated anything?”

Morgan shook his head as he answered. “I don’t believe I’ve ever dislocated anything, no, sir.”

“Shame. Dislocations are easier each time they happen.” Jame crouched in front of Morgan and ran his hands down Morgan’s arms. “Which will be good for you in the future, but currently trivial.”

The boy smiled broadly, leaning into the touch. He didn’t know exactly what the tests were, or what in particular had pleased Jame, but he didn’t need to know. “I’ll do my best, sir,” Morgan said. But they both already knew he would.

“Of course you will,” Jame said. “You want to better your own circumstances.” A taunt, an opportunity, a test of its own separate from the challenges Jame had thought up. He slid his hand from Morgan’s hair to his cheek, allowing another moment of contact before tapping the skin, too hard to be a pat but soft enough it was perhaps not quite a slap either, and withdrew his arm.

“Oh?” Jame didn’t press further, not wanting to get side-tracked by teasing at Morgan’s strings outside of those within the realm of his game. “We’ll find out how much truth lies in that statement soon enough. Now, pet, have you ever dislocated anything?”

The boy smiled broadly, leaning into the touch. He didn’t know exactly what the tests were, or what in particular had pleased Jame, but he didn’t need to know. “I’ll do my best, sir,” Morgan said. But they both already knew he would.

“Of course you will,” Jame said. “You want to better your own circumstances.” A taunt, an opportunity, a test of its own separate from the challenges Jame had thought up. He slid his hand from Morgan’s hair to his cheek, allowing another moment of contact before tapping the skin, too hard to be a pat but soft enough it was perhaps not quite a slap either, and withdrew his arm.

He nodded and frowned briefly, pensive. Morgan looked back up at Jame and spoke in a softer voice. “From *my* point of view, sir … You’re like a god. You say you’re not kind, but everything you’ve done for me speaks to the contrary. I’m less than a dog, but you took me in and you’re trying to make me useful. You saved me, sir. How could that not be kind? At the same time you’re cruel, but in ways I need and deserve. Which is also a kindness, now that I think about it. I look up at you, sir, and I feel worshipful. You’re better and more than anyone else could hope to be.”

A brief smile did break through at that, though Jame quickly covered it. “Describe Genevieve,” he ordered.

“Miss is sweet and kind and good. She’s beautiful and pure. Miss is an angel, really. Her compassion and forgiveness are unmatched. I feel so privileged, that she’s so nice to a wretched thing like me. But that’s just how she is naturally, I suppose. She can’t help but be kind, to any living creature.“ Morgan paused and added, “I don’t deserve it, of course. But I imagine angels don’t really judge if their mercy is deserved.”

“What would you do if I offered you the chance to leave, or if I dumped you outside your old apartment?” Jame asked. He was pleased with Morgan’s answers so far, but wouldn’t allow himself to get off track.

Morgan’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Well, if you dumped me outside my apartment, I’d ask if there was something you wanted me to do there. I don’t imagine you’d just do it randomly, sir. And offering me the chance to leave - do you mean like going to the shop for milk, sir?”

Jame chuckled and pet Morgan's hair. "You've passed the first part of this game with flying colors," he praised. "The second part will not be so easy. It will be very painful, in fact." Morgan's answers pleased Jame enough that he almost hoped his captive would succeed in the upcoming segment of his test, but not so much that he would shift in his set plan.

He nodded and frowned briefly, pensive. Morgan looked back up at Jame and spoke in a softer voice. “From *my* point of view, sir … You’re like a god. You say you’re not kind, but everything you’ve done for me speaks to the contrary. I’m less than a dog, but you took me in and you’re trying to make me useful. You saved me, sir. How could that not be kind? At the same time you’re cruel, but in ways I need and deserve. Which is also a kindness, now that I think about it. I look up at you, sir, and I feel worshipful. You’re better and more than anyone else could hope to be.”

A brief smile did break through at that, though Jame quickly covered it. “Describe Genevieve,” he ordered.

“Miss is sweet and kind and good. She’s beautiful and pure. Miss is an angel, really. Her compassion and forgiveness are unmatched. I feel so privileged, that she’s so nice to a wretched thing like me. But that’s just how she is naturally, I suppose. She can’t help but be kind, to any living creature.“ Morgan paused and added, "I don’t deserve it, of course. But I imagine angels don’t really judge if their mercy is deserved.”

"What would you do if I offered you the chance to leave, or if I dumped you outside your old apartment?” Jame asked. He was pleased with Morgan’s answers so far, but wouldn’t allow himself to get off track.

Morgan smiled broadly. “You’re tall and handsome and strong. You have dark hair, piercing eyes, a brilliant mind. You’re a loving husband and father. You’re successful in business but you’ve worked very hard for what you have, sir.”

“Anyone could say that, pet. I want you to describe me from your point of view. Put more feeling into it,” Jame prodded.

He nodded and frowned briefly, pensive. Morgan looked back up at Jame and spoke in a softer voice. “From *my* point of view, sir … You’re like a god. You say you’re not kind, but everything you’ve done for me speaks to the contrary. I’m less than a dog, but you took me in and you’re trying to make me useful. You saved me, sir. How could that not be kind? At the same time you’re cruel, but in ways I need and deserve. Which is also a kindness, now that I think about it. I look up at you, sir, and I feel worshipful. You’re better and more than anyone else could hope to be.”

A brief smile did break through at that, though Jame quickly covered it. “Describe Genevieve,” he ordered.

Morgan smiled broadly. “You’re tall and handsome and strong. You have dark hair, piercing eyes, a brilliant mind. You’re a loving husband and father. You’re successful in business but you’ve worked very hard for what you have, sir.”

"Anyone could say that, pet. I want you to describe me from your point of view. Put more feeling into it," Jame prodded.

“We’re going to play a game,” Jame said. “If you succeed at pleasing me during it, you’ll move into the bedroom tonight. If you fail… we go back to my original plan for the week.”

His face lit up at the possible reward and he nodded eagerly. “I’ll do my very best, sir,” Morgan said, despite having no idea whatsoever what the game entailed.

“We’re going to start off with a little interview, pet,” Jame said. “Describe yourself to me.”

He nodded. “Yessir. I’m nineteen years old, English with Scottish and Irish heritage. Dark hair, blue eyes, pale skin, five foot and eight and a half inches tall. No name. My mum raised me like I was a human boy but really I’m a lot lower than that. I’m filthy and disgusting and pathetic. But I’m lucky enough to be owned by a master who is trying to make me a good pet.”

"Now describe me." Jame gave no sign of whether that answer had pleased him, face flat and voice neutral.

“We’re going to play a game,” Jame said. “If you succeed at pleasing me during it, you’ll move into the bedroom tonight. If you fail… we go back to my original plan for the week.”

His face lit up at the possible reward and he nodded eagerly. “I’ll do my very best, sir,” Morgan said, despite having no idea whatsoever what the game entailed.

“We’re going to start off with a little interview, pet,” Jame said. “Describe yourself to me.”

Morgan looked up when Jame entered the room, instinctively smiling but refraining from speech. He had been good, he was sure of it.

Jame strode over to him and crouched down, taking a fistful of Morgan’s hair to pull his head back. “Genevieve told me of the conversation,” he said. “She wasn’t entirely wrong, pet.”

His eyes widened and he tried to nod. “Yes, sir,” Morgan whispered. “I - I thought everything miss said was true. Because she said it,” he explained, a little confused.

Jame rolled his eyes. “She is far more intelligent than you, but not as intelligent as me. It’s natural for her to misunderstand my actions and reasoning. Overall, though, she was correct. You have been disappointing me.”

He bit his lip and his shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, sir. I never want to disappoint you … I’m so stupid, I don’t even know what I did wrong.” His eyes welled up again. “Please, sir. Please tell me what I can do differently, how I can do better. Please, sir?” Morgan begged.

“Yes, you are stupid,” Jame agreed. “So reliant on instruction. Unable to figure out for yourself how to please me. God, it’s a wonder you even survived this long without someone telling you what to do.” He shook Morgan by his hair. “You’re fortunate I took you in. It’s not quite your fault you’ve been disappointing me. I shouldn’t have expected anything more from a pathetic little creature like you.”

“I am, sir. I’m so fortunate,” Morgan agreed sincerely. “I’d be dead by now if you hadn’t taken me in. I know I’m stupid, but I really do want to please you, sir. More than anything. I’m just so afraid of doing the wrong thing and disappointing you even more … Please, sir. Please tell me how to be better for you.”

"We're going to play a game," Jame said. "If you succeed at pleasing me during it, you'll move into the bedroom tonight. If you fail... we go back to my original plan for the week."