reply/tagging sideblog for spinnerofink

She dressed me, shorts and a t-shirt, and it felt strange on my skin. Off went my collar for the first time since I had died to the world--I think I cried out--oh I know these clothes, "TEAM ROCKET" over my chest and floral patterns around my hips--

I had been walking in the woods when she found me.

The forests around our town were still huge and dense, too big to let yourself get lost in. I walked off the trail anyways to a creek I knew and contemplated losing myself to the branches, the moss, walking away and never being found. One more mystery. My life might mean something then.

"Hey," a voice shocked me, and I whipped around to see her, woodsman's clothes and a basket half-full of mushrooms.

"Hey." Something about her unnerved me just well enough to let me relax, stop wondering. She seemed like the sort of person who knew what she was about. She looked dangerous.

"Not exactly trail clothing--aren'tcha cold?" She got closer now, just a few feet away, and as I stepped down off the rock I saw just how much taller she was. Stupid fucking heart wanting things.

"You look like you could warm me up." Oh god where the hell had that come from?

"Heh. You're cute." She moved to the rock, sat down and patted next to her. "Come. Sit." I did--there wasn't enough room and I was too close to her, could feel the fuzz on her thick garments. She looked so cozy.

"Good girl," she said, and I flushed.

"I came out here to die." I don't know what made me say it--something about her, the hunger in her eyes, like she wanted to pour me out until I was empty.

"A cute thing like you doesn't have a reason to live?" She didn't sound bothered by it.

"I just can't go through with it. I don't want to starve to death in the woods, no one lets me near a gun after last time, I just..."

"I understand, sweetheart." She pulled me into her arms and gods she was cozy, strong and warm and soft under all that cloth. She smelled like cigars. "It can be hard to take what you want."

I shivered.

"Sometimes I think about being murdered. I go on these long walks at night, but nobody's ever around." Her grip around me tightened, pulled me in closer. My heart raced.

"Is that why you're out here all alone in these woods?" Her voice was altogether darker, emanating from just above my resting place on her chest.

"I suppose." I heard the strain in my own voice.

"It wouldn't be so bad to get some help, would it? For someone else to take control and give you what you want." Her grip was like iron. I knew what she was asking. I suspected what lay beyond that event horizon.

"No," I whispered. "That wouldn't be bad at all."

She threw me on the forest floor and kicked me square in the gut, hard. The wind knocked out of me and I gasped the smell of leaves and the taste of bile.

No, please, I don't want to, I changed my mind, and somehow the forest looked so much brighter, so much more alive--but I couldn't get the words out.

She was doing something with her hands, above me. I heard water. She kneeled to my level and pitched a flask into my mouth, held my nose and mouth shut until I swallowed. Not water--whiskey, and it burned going down.

My head started to feel fuzzy.

The next thing I remembered I was in her basement, locked in a cage and shivering in the cold. She was sitting just outside the pool of light cast from above us, an imposing silhouette. I was too fuzzy-headed to speak.

"I'm going to enjoy playing with you," she'd said.

And she did. For hours. Then it was days, weeks, months. My existence stretched into years of training, punishment, and those oh-so-occasional rewards. I learned what real care felt like as she held me in her arms after cutting me, proof of the cruelty she taught me with bleeding from my back under the bandages. She'd pet me, reassure me, bring me food and water. She'd starve me, beat me, break me until compliance was like breathing and her word was the law of the universe.

My life came to mean something. Being hers meant something.

But I still wanted it to end. She knew that, lusted for it, teased me with the revolver.

It took me five years to earn that bullet, and I'd let her put it in my thigh.

I should be dead.

The hospital bed was luxuriously comfortable compared to the hard floor I sometimes slept on. The room reeked of I-409, the ghost of someone else's mess. She held my hand as I opened my eyes and met my gaze with--was that hesitation?

"Hey," she said.

"Hey." My throat was so dry. She handed me a cup of water.

"Little snuffable," she whispered. "What did we learn?" There was a right answer to that question, I could read it in her eyes. She gave me time to answer, let me search through my mind.

Never trust what's implied.

Stick to your guns.

I don't choose, you choose for me.

I expected to feel more bitter. And the panic had been real, back at the house. I had been so afraid of going through the coming moments, of treatment and chaos and pain and gods-only-know how many more years of life.

But I was on the other side of that now. I knew exactly what those years would be like--she'd made sure of that. Being her captive made the world small and predictable. I didn't think, much. Never chose.

I felt... empty. Calm, like I was lighter than before.

"I love you, Miss," I breathed, and watched shock flash across her face. Not the answer. Not right at all.

But it was worth it, whatever punishment came.