#implied conditioning

Nobody was around to answer. Rosa picked up her phone and dialed the prison, determined to get to the bottom of it anyway.

“Hello? I would like to ask some questions about the rehabilitation program. The one Vivienne Brooks is in.”

“We can’t give out information about the rehabilitation program.”

“It concerns me personally. She and some guy came to my house the other day and threatened to do it again in a year.”

“It wasn’t a threat, ma’am. In person apologies and the acceptance of those apologies plays a crucial part in completing the program.”

“Yes, yes, I know. I talked to Vivienne. But she— she doesn’t look like herself. She looks traumatised. And she keeps begging me to just accept her apology so she could get out of the program. What the fuck is going on in that program? I need to know.”

“Ma’am, as I said—”

“You can’t give out information, yes, yes. At least connect me with her handler. The guy who was here. You can do that, right?”

“I can, ma’am. But he’s not allowed to give out information either. Do you still want to contact him?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Hold for one moment, please. I’ll look for who’s in charge of Vivienne Brooks’ rehabilitation.”

Rosa was drumming on the couch cushion as she waited, one more annoying word away from yelling at the poor woman on the other side. No, if she was going to yell at anyone again, it would be that guy. She needed to direct her anger at the right people for once.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“The one in charge of Vivienne’s rehabilitation is Christopher May. He works Monday to Friday here in the prison, so you can try to reach him in person, but I can also give you his phone number.” 

“A phone number would be nice. Let me grab a pen and paper.”

Once she had that, she hung up and dialed Christopher. She didn’t feel like driving down to the prison one more time. It was suffocating in there.

“Hello, it’s Christopher May. I’m not able to answer the phone right now, but feel free to leave a message.”

Well… Maybe she would need to drive down there. But a message wouldn’t hurt. “Hello, my name is Rosalynn Burns. You and Vivienne were at my house the other day. I want to talk about the rehabilitation program and these yearly apologies. Please, call me back whenever you have the time.”

She hung up and dropped her phone on the couch, dragging both her hands down her face in frustration. There was something wrong with this program. If there wasn’t, they wouldn’t be so fucking secretive about it.

“Patient confidentiality my ass,” she muttered. 

Eventually, she got up from the couch and went to grab her car keys again. Why not go visit a prison two days in a row? That was normal behaviour. Not at all obsessive and odd. 

God, this was not how she wanted to spend her few days off work. 

The receptionist was the same woman she’d talked to on the phone, and she did inform her that Christopher was in, but busy at the moment. “You can take a seat right there,” she said, pointing at the uncomfortable looking blue plastic chairs. “He usually finishes around this time. It shouldn’t be long.”

Rosa took a seat as instructed, scrolling on her phone mindlessly to tune out the fact that she was in Vivienne’s vicinity. And honestly, to tune out the fact that she was about to meet with Christopher. He was no less unnerving than Vivienne — maybe even more so, given how Vivienne was acting lately. Which was… Well, if anyone could unnerve her more than her former captor and torturer, that was some feat.

She spent at least an hour sitting there, watching police officers come and go with people in handcuffs, doing administrative duties left and right. Most of what she heard was about petty crimes — the handcuffs never stayed on for too long, and most people were free to leave after giving a statement or whatever. But none of the men were Christopher May.

When she finally spotted him, she immediately stood up from her chair and walked over. “Christopher May?” she asked, trying to sound less hostile than she felt. 

“Rosalynn,” he said with a smile. “What a surprise. If you’re looking for Vivienne—”

“I’m looking for you. How much free time do you have right now?”

Christopher glanced at his watch. “About half an hour. I was going to grab coffee. Care to join me?”

The café down the street was almost empty, and the two of them settled down at a table for two. Christopher bought them both a coffee, though Rosa insisted she didn’t need one.

“What is it you want to talk about, Rosalynn?” he asked once they were settled.

“Just Rosa.”

“Rosa it is.”

“I want to talk about the rehabilitation program. And do not give me that crap about patient confidentiality. I’m not asking about Vivienne, I’m asking in general. Surely, you can enlighten me as to what the fuck is going on in those programs.”

Christopher took a sip of his coffee, then sighed. “I assume you’ve asked several people already, and that’s why you’re so aggressive from the jump.”

“I’m not— Maybe I am. Maybe I am! Listen to me. I spent three days down in Vivienne’s basement. Then another few days standing trial against her. Maybe that’s not a lot of time to get to know somebody, but I can tell you, she wasn’t like the way she is now.”

“That’s what rehabilitation is all about. We’re working to make her a better person.”

“But she’s not ‘better!’ She looks— I don’t even know how to describe it. You’re doing something to her, and it has to be something horrible, otherwise you would just tell me. I’m not asking about the specifics of Vivienne’s rehabilitation, I’m asking in general: what the hell is going on in those programs?”

He took another sip, still calm as ever. It was driving her crazy. “I’ve told you before, it’s an intensive therapy program aimed to make the subject repent for their past actions. We work on building compassion and a genuine desire to do better.”

“How? Is it just talk therapy?”

“Yes, for the most part. There are individual and group settings, different work therapies—”

“What do you mean ‘work therapy?’” 

“It’s just what it sounds like. They’re given chores they need to complete, to build a sense of responsibility.”

Rosa narrowed her eyes at him. “What happens if they don’t comply with the therapy?”

Christopher smiled at her. “I’ve never had an inmate not comply.” 

“Theoretically. What would happen?”

“There’s really no need to talk about that. Everyone who opted into the program is doing their best—”

“Vivienne seemed like she couldn’t opt out. She said she didn’t want to, but… I don’t think she was telling the truth.”

“Well, we’ve never had anyone want to opt out either. It’s a great opportunity to reduce sentences by a large margin — you’ve asked Vivienne about that, too, didn’t you? She could be out and about in a few years if she completes the program.”

“I don’t get that. I just don’t understand. What are you doing to these inmates that thirty year sentences can be reduced to just… two years? Three years?” 

“Oh, the program is very effective. Trust me. At first we started with just reducing sentences by a few years, but when it became clear that these inmates were turning their lives around in a matter of a few years, the reward just got better and better. Of course Vivienne doesn’t want to opt out. Who wouldn’t want to be out of prison in two years when they’d originally gotten thirty?”

“But the program doesn’t end unless I forgive.”

“We’ve never had—”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had people not forgive. I fucking— Is this some work of God? That everything is just going flawlessly, with no one ever wanting to opt out, no one ever not complying, no one ever denying forgiveness…”

“I don’t know what else to say.” He leaned back in his chair, looking almost smug. “That’s the truth. The program is an overwhelming success.” 

“This is ridiculous. You’re lying. I don’t know what you’re lying about, but you’re lying about something. And what was that about when Vivienne said I could ‘take my frustrations out on her?’ What was that about? That’s fucking messed up!” 

“Rosa… I think you’re just shaken up by that visit we paid you. That’s okay. Now you have a whole year to prepare for the second one. If you think something fishy is going on with the program, then just lie and say you forgive, and Vivienne can be out in a jiffy.” 

“But I don’t want her out of prison, I want her— I just want her out of the program!” 

“She doesn’t want to be out of the program.”

“She told me! She told me she can’t do thirty more years of it! You’re doing something to her!”

“Oh, she said that, didn’t she?” Christopher looked at his watch and drank the rest of his coffee. “It’s good that I have a session with her in a bit. We’ll definitely talk about that.”

Fuck. That didn’t sound good. “Are you hurting her?” she blurted out.

He gave her a smile bordering on condescending. “What do you take me for, Rosa? Just go home and rest up. We’ll be in contact in a year.”

And with that, he was off, leaving Rosa and her now cold coffee alone.

~

The last he had seen of her, his hands filled with cleaning products, she’d been dressed in only a sheer robe. The colorful record sleeve was clutched in her manicured fingers, her curls bouncing as she turned on bare toes and flatly hummed the tune. She had smiled flirtatiously, a mischievous glint in her brown eyes.

She called them her “playtime clothes” starting a few weeks ago. Wore them for hours around the house, draping herself over the furniture in all sorts of odd ways.

His nose curled. 

And when the sky is starless...

The scent of bleach burning in his nose was more appealing than “playtime clothes,” what he knew playtime clothes meant.

He knew what he was trained for, what she had requested he be. That hadn’t changed over the last two full years since he’d opened his eyes to her reddish brown curls and curious smile. Two years of the same, a basic routine of cooking, cleaning, laundry, dishes, rehearsing lines from his spot on the floor. Two years of Rhiannon’s voice giving orders from all corners of the house, taking phone calls for auditions and call backs. Two years of her calling him Em and Emmy and patting him on the head.

He was fairly sure he was older than her. By how much, he wasn’t sure. He knew he wouldn’t ever be sure. He was older the eighteen, he knew that much by heart. 

Just like she memorized scripts and advertisement copy, he had things memorized. Just like filters and headshots and apps on her phone took up space in her brain, he had things that would never leave his.

He was older than eighteen. He was called Emmett or 200166. He was a domestic with specified culinary training. He knew positions in arms and legs, stain removing techniques in his fingers. 

He knew certain sentences would fly from his lips without them registering in his head. He knew her favorite foods, her favorite perfume for each season, her favorite shows.

He knew her hand wasn’t supposed to drift across his chest while he dusted. He knew she wasn’t supposed to press him into the counter as he washed dishes. He knew he didn’t like the feeling of her teeth on his neck, her fingers in his hair, her nails scratching at the rise of his hipbones.

He winced, a head ache coming on. 

She rules her life like a bird in flight.

He knew these were bad thoughts.

He blamed the harsh chemicals, but knew it was the training. Another thing shoved into his head without his quite knowing how.

Her parents had arrived for a visit a month ago, taking her by surprise. She might have forgotten, they might have just stopped by with no notice. Emmett didn’t know and he wasn’t allowed to care. One minute he had been cleaning the tile backsplash with a little brush, head tilted so he could wedge himself under the upper cabinets; the next, he was standing upright with Rhiannon pressed to his side.

She had told her parents he was one of her dates, one that had stuck around and moved in. She steered the conversation around itself, creating whirl-pooling circles so the old couple never managed to ask questions to Emmett.

It had increased with frequency since that weekend.

She touched him more now, in ways that made his skin prickle and crawl. She ordered him to touch her in ways he knew he shouldn’t. His body obeyed her like he was supposed to, all the training flooding his nerves and limbs at once. Obey the owner, no matter what. His head knew it wasn’t really what he had been trained for, knew that this was what the romantics were for.

Would you stay if she promised you heaven?

He paused his scrubbing, pinching the bridge of his nose. Bleach filled his senses.

She was trying to turn him into one of those. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach. The idea made his lip curl. Didn’t she go on all those dates for a reason? Didn’t she make him iron and steam and zip up all those little dresses for a reason?

He could hear her singing now, carrying closer and closer to the open bathroom door. He rolled his shoulders and shifted his weight on his knees. If he was working, she’d leave him alone. If he was working, she’d move on. If he was cleaning, she would get bored and go back to her phone, her silly photos, work on her latest audition.

“Em? You still working?”

Will you ever win?

He paused, sitting up and glancing over his shoulder. “Yes, miss. Do you need something?”

Rhiannon was leaning against the doorframe. Her curls hung long and loose over her shoulders, the robe slipping open at the front. It looked like she had applied more lip gloss, her front teeth biting delicately into a shiny bottom lip. “I always need something, Em. You know that.”

“What can I do?” He dropped the sponge in the base of the tub, flexing his fingers against the dried-out feeling of his skin.

“Come here,” she replied, motioning with a single finger in the air. “I want to show you something I just bought.”

He didn’t have a choice. His body started moving before he knew, raising him to full height and walking towards her. He wanted to wash his hands, get the chemicals off his skin. He wanted to stall as long as he could. The headache still sitting low in his skull told him that was a bad thought. All he could do was keep his eyes on hers as she grasped his hand, tugging him towards the front room. 

Her robe fell all the way open, swinging with her hair.

The song was still playing.

- He knows you can't satisfy your own physical cravings this month. But sex is a past time for him, not truly a necessity. So what better time to satisfy his psychological needs?

- He knows you're attracted to him, but Dio wants to see you truly crave him.

- Whenever it seems the two of you have nothing better to do, Dio beckons you to his chamber so he can begin his torment.

- He commands you to undress and lay on the bed, and explicitly tells you to stay completely still; you can’t touch him of your own accord.

- He doesn’t use restraints because he’s conditioned you to be quite the obedient pet, and this month, he wants to be able to touch you allll over.

- Dio runs his hands along your skin, getting you warmed up to his touch. He pays particular attention to your erotic and sensitive parts.

- Once he gets you moaning, he reduces his contact to fingertips, then just his nails. Touch growing lighter and lighter.

- Oh how he enjoys watching you shiver under the lightest graze, shy away from him when he blows a cool breeze on your heated skin, and whimper more oh please god more.

- If Dio is feeling particularly spicy that night, he’ll tell you all the ways he’ll throw you to the fires of ecstasy while he moves around you to torture your senses.

- On nights he really wants to watch you squirm, he’ll take one of your fingers into his mouth to prick it with one of his fangs, then squeeze enough blood from it to drip onto your abdomen. With long, slow strokes of his tongue, he licks you clean.

- When you're at the height of your desire, Dio makes you beg for him.

- “How badly do you want to be exalted? To be given the gift of pleasure by your god? Abstain for 30 days. Can your lust-driven body do that? Be good and I’ll let you see Heaven.”

- He won’t wind things down, he leaves you to suffer. He’ll sit to watch you writhe in the bedsheets until your body has calmed. Only then will he allow you to get up and redress.

- He continues well into December, until he has you shaking and crying - begging to just fuck already.

‘You know what I want - I want him to behave like a decent human being. It’s completely up to you to teach him some obedience and humility.’

 ‘Anything you don’t want me to do to him?’

The other man smirks.

‘Apart from killing him? I don’t think so. He needs some rough treatment, otherwise he won’t learn. And let’s be honest - he really deserves it. Always thinking that he’s the one in charge, opposing his superiors and not showing the tiniest bit of respect… I’m so sick of it.’

‘What about… more… permanent modifications?’

‘Like?’

‘Amputations and the like? As ultima ratio?’

‘If that’s required to break him - go ahead.’

‘I think the branding already did something to him. He’s been… a lot less mouthy since then.’

The man nodds.

‘Good. Oh-’

He moves closer to the screen, watching Tobias who just turns around onto his stomach; his shirt slides up a little bit and reveals parts of the dark red spot on his hip.

‘So that’s the brand? What does it say? Those are letters, right?’

‘My initials. My trademark, so to say - I give them to all my… clients.’

The man nodds.

‘A little reminder won’t do any harm. Figuratively speaking.’

Both of them laugh for a moment.

‘We can go downstairs in case you want to take a closer look at him - if you want to let him know why he’s here, that is.’

An evil grin crosses his face.

‘Oh, I’d love to let him know… Maybe it’ll provide him with some additional… motivation.’

They walk down to the basement and the visitor waits for his host to unlock the door. Tobias is still sleeping; by now, he doesn’t react to noises like the clatter of keys or footsteps on the concrete floor the way he did in the first few days of his captivity anymore. His captor walks over to him and nudges him with his foot.

‘Hey boy, wakey wakey! You’ve got a visitor!’

Slowly Tobias opens his eyes and looks up into the familiar face of the man who brought him here; from his spot on the floor he can’t see the other man yet and right now, he’s still too weak to sit up. Baring his teeth he lets out a growl.

‘Let me sleep, don’t you think you’ve had enough fun with me today?’

The man sighs.

‘I’m sorry,’ he apologises to whoever’s standing behind him, ‘I guess there’s still a lot of work to be done until he’s acquired the kind of behaviour you paid for.’

He gives Tobias a kick in the ribs that leaves him gasping for air.

‘You bastard!’ he chokes, only to earn himself another kick, even harder this time.

‘You should do something about that as soon as possible,’ the man in the shadows states in disgust, ‘I’ve always despised the use of foul language.’

Recognising the smug voice, Tobias manages to sit up on his mattress, blanching with fear as he looks into the eyes of the man who had been part of his life for almost three years and everything starts to make sense. 

‘Not you..,’ he mutters, ‘No, not you…’

The man smiles down on him.

‘Hello, Tobias.’

***

It sent chills down her spine, the way he said that. What sort of messed up nonsense had she gotten tangled up in, that she was driving an hour just to check up on the person who had hurt her most? 

“I’m here to visit Vivienne Brooks,” she told the receptionist, her voice sounding even more tired than she felt. She hadn’t slept a lot. 

She was led down the same corridors as last time, led into the very same room. She took a seat and waited. 

Vivienne was led out by a guard, once again, her handcuffs attached to a metal ring bolted to the table. She looked like she’d gotten even less sleep than Rosa, her dark circles apparent even though she didn’t meet her eyes. When she reached for the phone, her hand was shaking so badly that it was noticeable.

Rosa took the phone on her own side.

“Hi,” she said.

“I’m not allowed to talk about the rehabilitation program,” she said without greeting her. 

“Did Christopher hurt you?”

Vivienne sniffled. “I— I’m not allowed to talk about the rehabilitation program.”

Rosa swallowed. Had she done this? Not by sending Vivienne to prison; she definitely deserved that. But had her repeated snooping caused the people in the rehabilitation program to crack down on her? She shouldn’t have told Christopher about the way Vivienne had begged her. That was definitely the wrong move on her part, and she didn’t even know what it ended up causing.

“Vivienne,” she started softly. “Is there any way that we could make a deal? Is there any way for me to forgive you right now so that you can leave the program?”

For the first time, Vivienne raised her eyes and looked the least bit hopeful. It was gone in a second, though. “I don’t know.”

“Surely, we don’t have to wait out the whole year.” Vivienne said nothing. “I’m gonna ask Christopher about it.”

“You’re… working together with him?” she asked timidly. Rosa scoffed.

“Hardly. He won’t tell me anything. I didn’t even know his name until yesterday. But he’s in charge of your rehabilitation, so I don’t know who else to ask.”

“Maybe I could ask him instead. If that’s okay.”

“You don’t want me talking to him?”

Vivienne shifted in her seat. “It’s an inconvenience anyway, isn’t it? I meet him every weekday. I can ask.”

Rosa sighed. “Listen, I’m sorry if I fucked things up for you by talking to him.”

She seemed to tense up by hearing the mere words ‘I’m sorry.’ “I-It’s okay. It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me who’s in the wrong.”

“Generally, yes. But not in this instance.”

“I am! I am in the wrong!” she cried. “I am in the wrong and I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

The guard that brought her in stepped closer and said something to her, to which Vivienne tried to calm down from her frankly terrifying outburst. Tears were streaming down her face, but she settled down.

No, it wasn’t… terrifying. Well, to Rosa it was. She didn’t ever want to hear Vivienne yelling again. But it was just… pitiful. Desperate.

“Are you okay?” Rosa asked when she felt like she had the strength to talk again.

“Yes.”

Unconvincing. “As I said, I don’t want any trouble for you. You’re already in prison, I don’t… I don’t want to make it worse. You can ask Christopher if you don’t want us talking.”

“What do I say to him? That you changed your mind and you’re willing to forgive me now?”

“Yes. On one condition: that you don’t accept the reduced prison sentence.”

Vivienne didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“That’s my condition. I’m willing to get you out of that program, but I don’t want you out on the streets. That’s the deal I can offer.” 

“That’s not… real forgiveness,” she said so quietly that Rosa barely heard it. “That’s not gonna fly.”

“You haven’t even asked him yet.” 

“I haven’t.”

Rosa gripped the phone a little tighter. “I’m trying my fucking best here to help someone I fucking loathe. Do you really expect me to forgive you for real? The most I can do is pretend so you can get out of the stupid program.”

Vivienne averted her eyes. “I know. I know you won’t really forgive me. I… It’s my fault for entering a program where one of the terms was that. Forgiveness. I should’ve known better.”

“You really should’ve. But now here we are, I assume there’s no way to undo it, so let’s just… try this, okay? You ask Christopher, and I’ll come back to hear what he had to say.”

Vivienne nodded. “You’re really willing to come back a third time?”

“I mean, I guess so.”

“Why?”

Because you look like shit. You look like how I must’ve looked when I got out, and in the past year. “I don’t know. I just don’t like this program.” 

“Because of the reduced sentence?” 

“I just don’t!” she snapped and Vivienne flinched away from the phone.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s whatever. I hate this. I hate that I have to run around in circles and try to figure it out. I hate that I’ll have to do the whole charade every year if I don’t put an end to it. This is just fucked up all around. This is not good for anybody.” 

“I agree,” Vivienne said softly. “I mean, I agree that it’s not good for you. It’s definitely working for me, I’m, I’m so much better than when we started—”

“Just quit it,” Rosa asked. “I’m over the whole performance. I know Christopher is likely listening to these conversations,” and if you are, fuck you, I fucking hate you, “but you don’t need to do it. I’m tired of it.”

“Is there really no way for you to forgive me? I… I’ve put in the work. I really have.”

“You tortured me,” she hissed. “When they rolled me into the courtroom in a fucking wheelchair, because you had broken my ankle, you mocked me.”

“I know. I know, and I’m so sorry. I’m a better person now. I really am. I’m— disgusted with my behaviour from back then.”

“Me too,” she said coldly. “Go and ask Christopher. I’ll visit you again when I can.” With that, she hung up and left.

~