no man is an island: chap 10
i missed posting yesterday because i was travelling, so you get two chapters today. we're officially getting to the stuff i'm not 100% sure we're still allowed to post to tumblr. let's find out! 🏷️ cnc, violence, gore, sex, but make it romantic 💞
posting a chapter a day to tumblr. complete at 15 chapters ✌🏽
prev chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine
ten | bloody lesson
It is deep night and the gutters are overflowing. Rain has been pouring at a sustained pace, hours of it.
Adam's at the kitchen table, treating his knuckles. Around him, the IKEA starter tools and towels, not the good set they cook with.
He came in from the jobs dirty and bleeding, his jaw locked shut. He is no longer flat. The Gray Man sits across from him. He spits answers to the Gray Man's questions like they're bullets aimed for his brain and heart. Yes, things went sideways. Yes, he's hurt. No, it's nothing he can't handle. Yes, he got the job done.
If he were a cat, he'd be hissing.
Adam pours peroxide over an open skin flap and asks if the basement's locked. When the Gray Man asks why, he answers, "I want to take it down. Work this off."
"No."
The Gray Man switches chairs for the one next to Adam. It's the configuration they were in that first night, when he first sewed Adam closed. He takes the bottle from him, and folds the towel, and presses it over the wound. He applies pressure. He lets go when Adam rankles, but tells him to do the same.
"That needs stitches," the Gray Man says. He washes his hands.
"It isn't a punching bag. That's a different kind of toy. This one's a dog, remember? We don't beat dogs in this house."
Adam's face is a rictus of bafflement. "He likes being beaten. Want me to quote your psycho fucking contract?"
The Gray Man dries his hands and regains his seat. He clucks at the curse. It's not like Adam to cuss. Or at least, not like this.
"No," the Gray Man pulls the tin first-aid kit towards himself and removes the sewing materials. "It wants to not exist. It wants its options narrowed. That isn't the same thing."
"Sure as shit sounds like you beat him. Looks like it, too."
Adam hisses at the first catch of the needle in his upper dermis. He goes slack while his hand clutches the empty cardboard dowel from the roll of paper towel he demolished. The Gray Man modulates his method.
"I'm sorry. I did that on purpose."
"I can tell."
"Are you done?"
Adam huffs through his nostrils. The Gray Man leans into his work.
"Being a good owner means you don't get to not exist for even a second," he says. Adam's heart rate is coming down. "It's surrendered control to you. You have to keep it. All of it. All the time. Or you can cause harm you cannot apologize for. You cause harm you cannot take back."
The Gray Man finishes. Eventually, Adam's hands unclench. Eventually, he asks again, his voice level this time: "I get it. Can I have the keys, now?"
The Gray Man considers this. He gives him the keys.
"You can watch," Adam says.
The Gray Man's brows rise. "Oh, can I? And in my own home too. Thank you ever so much."
Adam rolls his eyes. He's not limping, but walks stiffly, the adrenaline covering for the inner injuries wearing off. He won't be able to sleep until the crash hits him, and that won't be for hours.
At the top of the basement stairs, Adam flicks on the light. Half turned:
"What kind of tricks does he know? I'd like to see."
He rolls his neck, sighs at the flood of cracks released.
"I'll tell him he's a good boy."
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