#edelweiss

‘The Butcher’

ur lucky, i was already doodling stuff of them actually

Contains - kidnapping, physical abuse, verbal abuse, disassociation, mentally unstable dilf

“New mama, where are you going?” you turn your head sharply, seeing the three year old peek out from his bedroom door. You wish you could hate him, that you could even be indifferent to this boy, the copy of his father. But from the moment he saw you he has been imprinted like a duckling, calling you his new mama. And you couldn't close your heart off from his chubby hands and sweet smile. If anything it was the only thing that kept you stable, having someone to look after.

“I thought we could play a game, an outside game,” you try to keep your tone light, as though nothing else was going on “how about I get you all dressed up in your winter coat so you can come with me.” you can't leave him. It's not as though his father didn't love his boy, but you cannot leave him behind here alone in an empty cabin until his father appears. Not with cold creeping in already, you know its only a matter of time before you run out of logs to put in the fireplace, and you'd rather be halfway to town then half frozen by the time the hunter comes back.

“But…” he looks down, rubbing his foot on the floor. “Papa said it's not safe to go outside without him. Especially in the snow” he hesitates.

“I know what your Papa said but I promise that you won't get in any trouble okay Sammie? I just need you to be a big boy and come with me.” you try to keep your voice light, as though you weren't convincing your kidnappers son to escape with you. There's not enough time to wonder if this counts as kidnapping too, instead you wrap him up in his warmest clothes until all you can see of him are two bright excited eyes.

You don't have as much warm clothes. Your captor hasn't let you out of the cabin much since the weather turned cold. Always fretting that you'd catch a chill if you were to breathe in the cold air. Instead you steal his clothes, tightening his belt round too-loose trousers and bundling his old parka over two of your own knit jumpers. The last things you grab is what's left of this mornings bread and a canteen of water, then pretending to be brave you take Sammie's trusting hand.

You begin your descent down the road, you wouldn't be so stupid as to try any other route that's unmarked. Especially now as you hold on close to the little boy, it's only a matter of time before you're gonna have to wind up carrying him on top of all the extra weight you already have. The parka smells like him, his spiced aftershave, peppercorn and clove because that just smells warm. Or so he told you one night with a heavy leg slung betwixt yours and his body warmth making up for the chill of your wet hair plastered to your neck. He always runs warm and you almost welcome it these nights, until you remember everything he's done to you. Then you want to tear off every scrap of skin he's touched.

“New mama? How much longer?” You don't know exactly how to answer it. The only time you've been out here was when he first brought you home. But you were too sedated out your mind to even know anything other than the faint taste of coffee in the back of your throat.

“Well, how long does it take your father to drive down to town with you?” He furrows his little face, trying his hardest to work it out. You can't help but giggle at his concentration. “I suppose it's gonna be quite a while, little man.”

You don't think you would have lasted long if it wasn't for Sammie. You would have been content to curl up in your bed for days if he wasn't there, pattering up beside you and asking if you were having nap time. You couldn't help but laugh that he thought your depression ball was a nap, but he only took it as affirmation to climb up onto the bed and curl beside you. Deciding that it was better for the two of you to nap together.

By now you're carrying him on your back, chill set into both of you but every time you ask if he's alright he responds enthusiastically. Still believing this is a game because what else could it be. The same way he believes you love his father because mamas and papas are supposed to love each other.

You know enough not to ask about the first one. The woman whose place you now occupy, lingering like a ghost with her perfume still seeped into the closet. Occasionally you find a scrap of her, a strand of hair that's not the right colour to be yours, a house slipper that's the wrong size, an underlined quote in a book still dog eared. You've begun to reset this nameless woman whose freedom meant your capture.

You're near enough the main road now, you can see the lampposts ahead, signaling that civilization does exist if only you can move further. Despite the boy on your back and the cold in your bones, letting old injuries become new again, the only things from your first home you'll always carry with you. Once the path is somewhat more solid than frozen mud you set Sammie back down beside you, telling him you're almost there. That when he wins the game you'll take him to the warmest Hotel and he will sleep in the fluffiest bed. You don't know how you're supposed to pay for all that, but when the motorway is finally within sight nothing more matters than the thought of freedom being one kind stranger away.

The two of you sprint as you hear it, coming down the long road, the headlights almost blind you, and Sammie. Sweet innocent Sammie runs towards the familiar red of his fathers truck.

“Papa! Papa! We found you! Did I win the game?”

“I couldn't leave him behind,” you mumble softly, wrapping numb fingers around the warm mug, the dissonant of heat burning your fingers. It's the first thing you've uttered since he brought you back home.

The hunter silently turns from the fireplace and looks to you, pausing from putting in another log.

“The two of you could have died,” he says firmly “gotten more lost and frozen to death before the sunset. And I would have lost all that's worth living for.” Grey eyes harden as they bore holes into you, he gets up slowly and closes the distance between you two.

“There were no logs left to burn anyway. We would have frozen if we stayed.” you try to stand up for yourself but he's not having it.

“You could have bundled in your warmest clothes and blankets, hell you could have burned the furniture to stay warm.”Suddenly you've never been more aware of how loud the wind howls beyond the walls of this cabin, the realisation that no matter what you are going to suffer for your crime against him is a strangely freeing one. There's no way to make him even more furious, you may as well speak up for once before he loses it. “What even was your plan? You go reach the motorway, what then? Hope some sympathetic stranger picks up a random woman and child and drives them into town?”

The look on your face is answered enough and it only makes him more incensed at your actions. “You're so fucking stupid! Did you not think anything could have happened to the both of you?” Exasperated he comes closer until his nose almost grazes yours. “Have you not learnt anything from me? You still trust strangers after everything I've done to you?”

“I didn't ask for this,” you meet his gaze trembling both from the ice still in your bones and the fear of what you're about to say.

“I didn't ask for you to try to be my saviour. To take me here and replace your wife who ran off from you. I didn't ask to be a mother to your son, to be locked here so far from civilization.”

He only just looks at you. Waiting for your outburst to finish, like you're the toddler that needs looking after. Not Sammie who's safe asleep in his bed, innocent of the world.

“Have you got all that out of your system?” There's not even time to bring before he's grabbed you sharply by your hair, twisting his hand until he is pulling at the root. Forcing you to look at his eyes, no escape. “Good, now I can talk. You didn't ask but you still needed a saviour I mean. How stupid were you to run away from home and tell the first kind smile you saw everything?” Each sentence is punctuated with a sharp yank. “What if I was a serial killer? Or a rapist? What then?” He sees the way you look at him and scoffs. “Oh please I'm good to you in bed. I make love with you, I don't hurt you in an alleyway and leave you for dead. I. Take. Care. Of. You. And this is how you thank me?”

You don't cry out, fight back or do anything but go limp.He was the one that once told you some prey animals play dead to keep themselves safe from predators. That they aren't gonna bother to hunt when there's no fun in it. You learnt that the hard way far before you ever met him, it's a familiar sensation to shut down. To be anywhere but your body until it's all over and you can crawl back in. He can curse, and shake you about until he remembers his strength, then there will be the sorry. He will reiterate how he only wants to keep you safe, to not fail you as everyone else you've ever loved has, and of course you will echo understatement. Reminding yourself he could be worse, that you've lived with worse, but he's gentle once his temper dampens he will hold you again.

“And then you pull the same shit again. With Sammie as well, did you think for his sake? Where would the two of you even go? The authorities would steal him away the second you say that he's not your son. His own mother doesn't want him, they'd throw him in the system. Is that what you want? Or were you trying to punish me? Stealing my son just like I stole you, but you're not smart enough to think like that are you? I bet you were so fucking dumb to think that it's better for him to be without the people that love him. Like that turned out well for you.”

Instead there's a water stain on the wooden table that you can focus on, how the stain has discoloured. Paled from the tell tale ring of not using a coaster. You always had to use a coaster before, preventing any mar on the manufactured perfection. But here no one cares if you leave a book on the table, a sock on the floor. No one gets angry at you if you haven't done any chores, tells you to be thankful for family. You're loved, because if this isn't love what else could it be. And tomorrow he will be kind again, that's how it always goes, your forgiven once he wakes anew.

“Shit,” he hisses like he's dropped a hammer on his toe. “Sweet thing, come back to me. Where's your mind gone off to?” He's frantic when your eyes focus again. The drink that was once in your hands has long grown cold. Splattered on the floor as ceramic shards embed themselves in your socks. You can't feel it, a small miracle to be half numb still, despite the red spreading on the surface. You only look on as though you're a bystander within your own body.

But he's there, knelt by you as though in reverence, peeling your soaked socks from you and wincing at the damage. He once said it hurts him more than you to ever see you pained from his actions, and here's the proof as he picks each piece from your flesh. All previous thoughts of your escape gone in the wake of this, until he looked up at your eyes, your calf cradled to his chest.