My elbows hit the counter, and I let out an eager exhale as he removes the bandages from my ass cheeks and admires it. It’s silent, but I can feel it.
“Very good. Let me put on fresh bandages.”
He moves into the other room, only to return a moment later, pressing the Saniderm bandages on my skin with precision.
“How does it look?”
“Expensive,” he replies and then leads me into the bedroom, sitting me on a chair and changing the sheets on the bed.
“Will you stay with me?” I ask as he works his way around the mattress, tucking each corner in perfectly.
“Yes.”
I grin, and his eyes flick to mine.
“Was I a good boy?” I ask.
“Yes.”
And that makes me puff up. I am the best boy. For him.
I don’t dream like most people. I wish I did. But mine are mostly memories. When I sleep, I’m able to recall bits and pieces of my past. The worst moments. The ones I can’t recall when I’m awake.
It’s these secrets that I told Georgiy the last time we were together.
It all started a couple months ago when I smuggled myself into the trunk of a vehicle to visit Angel on the East Coast. I spent most of the time sleeping and masturbating, hidden in a duffel bag, and when I arrived at Mikhail’s estate and saw Georgiy, I knew it was game over for me.
Dark and handsome. A killer just like me—the icing on the eyeball cake.
I wormed my way into his life, slowly but surely, and when I admitted I had secrets, he tied me to his bed and made me tell him everything. It started out disjointed, but eventually, I found the words.
Sometimes I remember, and sometimes I just forget.
But right now, as I toss and turn in bed, my past makes an appearance. It rears its evil head.
“You were never any good,” a deep voice says. Someone familiar, someone I should know. “Always doing the opposite of what I ask. And why is that, hm? Do you enjoy making me angry?”
I peer up at the man hidden in the shadows. In this moment, I feel small, weak. Broken. Something throbs in my chest, right near my ribs.
“Answer me.”
I shiver, but can’t find the words. I’mnotgood. I do the opposite of what he wants because he doesn’t ever tell me what he wants. I’m left to guess, and I always fail.
I’m never any good.
No one ever wants me. Just me.
“Seems you can’t even speak. Useless. A waste. Bring him to the cellars. Leave him there until he finds his voice. I want him to figure out how he can do better, and until he can tell me, he can rot.”
I struggle, trying to find a way to escape, but I can’t. I’m stuck. And before I know it, darkness descends. And I’m alone once more.
When I wake up from the small nap, I blink my eyes open and grunt when the pain in my head amplifies. The dream I had—which was not really a dream—lingers in the back of my mind, making my already hazy brain worse.
“Fuck a nut,” I murmur, pushing the memories aside.
I wish I didn’t remember that one. It only left me feeling cold and alone.
A clatter has me turning my head slightly, wincing as I move. Teddy is standing over me, concern on his face.
