#whumping-every-day

His room, at the end of the hallway at the top of the stairs, had once held only what he was allowed, now it only held only what he needed. A soft, big bed with satin sheets and plush comforters. A bookshelf with hundreds or pre-approved novels to waste time while his owner was away. A desk that was bare except for a simple black leather notebook and a ballpoint pen. A settee sofa sat in the corner closest to the door, a seat that once had been his welcome into a nightmare had become a gateway into another world. On it, marked with a simple metal bookmark, sat the first instillation of Fablehaven. Sure, it was a simple book meant for children, but all of his books were, and this one was one of his favorites. His room had a bathroom connected, which allowed for days without being let out of his room. At first, he hated being left in here, but this was his safe place now.

Down the hall a few steps was Wardell’s room. He hadn’t seen it much in the light, but on nights where he had been particularly obedient he was allowed in. His owner had the same bed that he did, but it felt so much more comfortable. His collar would be leashed to the headboard to prevent him from hurting himself on any electronics or papers that Wardell kept in his room, but he didn’t think he really needed it anymore. He wasn’t going to waste any of the precious time that could be spent curled against Wardell’s side.

At the bottom of the stairs was the entryway. He was forbidden from touching the door, but he didn’t want to anyway. The set of deadbolts and locks on it served a purpose, even if he couldn’t lock or unlock them himself. Wardell just wanted him to be safe from the strangers outside.

A bit farther than that was the living room. A massive tv sat on a shelf that held a dvd player and a vcr, as well as whatever movies Colten was allowed to watch. The black rug in the center of the room was soft enough and thick enough that Colten often thought his feet were going to be swallowed by it. The sofa in the room was considerably unimportant unless Wardell was on it with him.

Next to the living room was the dining area. The table was small, with only two chairs on either side of it. A modern chandelier hung above it, casting light down onto the black surface.

Taking a left hand turn brought him to the kitchen, and one of his favorite places of the house. His second year here, after testing had been finished on the miracle drug, he was allowed to use the kitchen. A naturally good cook, Colten used the kitchen any chance he got, preparing meals that he and Wardell would eat together at the table. Despite being relatively unused before Colten began living here, the kitchen was incredibly high-end, with two high efficiency ovens, a stainless steel refrigerator, and any miscellaneous tool that Colten could dream of.

In the corner of the kitchen were two doors.

The one on the left was to Wardell’s study. Colten was never allowed in there and had never been inside.

The one on the right was the lab.

That was his least favorite part of the whole house.

He was mostly okay with shots when he took them on the living room sofa, he could deal with scalpels cutting into his skin if it was over the dining room table, torture felt safe as long as he could see the sun forcing its way through the cracks in the curtains.

The stairs were concrete and bare, just like the floor, which made his blood easy to clean up and not an issue if it stained. At the bottom of the stairs and to the left was a counter, sink, and cupboards, each one filled with different medications, needles, blades, and any miscellaneous tool that Wardell could dream of. In the center of the room was Colten’s place. A versatile, black-leather covered operating chair that could be raised, angled, and used in any way needed. Clips for his collar and cuffs hung off of it, allowing Wardell to quickly strap Colten down. Above it, hanging off the ceiling, was a mirror a bit taller than Colten. It reflected every inch of Colten’s body back down at him, showing him exactly what Wardell was doing. It hadn’t always been there, but it had been even more difficult to ignore the pain since it was installed. Against the opposite wall of the counter were exercise machines. A stationary bike, a treadmill, and a bench. Each machine was to test his stamina and strength. A stool for Wardell and a wheeled tray for his tools were wherever was most convenient for them at any given time.

Colten had spent countless hours in the lab, strapped to the operating chair, tested for any number of responses or traits. He would often end up losing entire days (or even weeks) worth of memory, with his last known location being the operating chair. It was in the basement of his home that Colten was dissected, taken apart, filled with chemicals, broken and mended thousands of times.

But his house with Wardell was a safe place, distant from the strangers outside that sought to hurt him and take him away from his owner.