Her hazel eyes found mine directly the second she came into view, my chest tightening at the sight.
Her confidence had grown significantly in the last few days. Giving her a voice, giving her the freedom to break the rules, had done wonders for it, but it wasn’t just that. Her hatred and anger for the people in that church was also growing, giving her a stride in her walk that she had never had before. I could see it now, reflected in her eyes. The festering rage that had been humming under her skin for the last 19 and a half years of her life. The lilt of insanity that mimicked the crack in my own soul. As if we were made of the same thing.
I could see the delusions of madness burning within her, echoing in her drawings, her paintings, her words. Everything about her called to the insanity within me, as if there was a blood drenched string between us, linking us in our perpetual delirium.
“Hello, my Hatter,”she signed as she stepped out of the room.
She walked like a feline now. Predatory, each step carefully thought out because it was never allowed before. She was never allowed to think for herself, to do anything without being told, and I had unlocked that cage for her.
I gazed down at her, tilting my head in her direction, a small smile twitching one corner of my lips up.
When my eyes found hers again, I found hers trained on my lips.“Little sinner,”I signed back.
Her eyes lit up, but other than a flex of the muscles around her mouth, there was no other way to tell how much joy she found in her nickname. She had yet to truly smile, not that I needed it to tell if she was happy, angry, scared, or sad.
Showing any real emotion in more than just slight shifts in her muscles would come later, for now, it was nice hearing her voice humming in my head.
“Do you have any pictures for me today?”I asked.
She paused a few feet away, studying my hand motions.
I signed to her in normal speed, rather than the slower speed we had been practicing. If she was going to become fluent, she needed to be challenged.
When I finished, her eyes lifted to my lips, narrowing for a millisecond before she signed back.“Yes.”She stood there, waiting for another second or two before she left on her own, heading for her bedroom.
That was something that would take a lot longer to break, I believe, allowing herself to do something without being ordered to do it.
Rather than getting on her knees and getting under the bed, this time, she opened up her closet door.
I walked over to the door and watched as she stretched up on her tiptoes, reaching for the highest shelf in her closet to get the drawings she had put up there.
For a moment, I imagined walking up behind her and grabbing the stack of pictures myself, her body less than an inch from mine, warm, small, weak, yet so very strong. I imagined the scent of her shampoo filling my nose as she lowered back down, her ass brushing against my cock.
My pants grew a little tighter, my hand tightening around my cane. I was a monster, but even I knew fucking her now would only lead her down a terrible, crumbling road. She didn’t fully grasp that she had a choice yet. I couldn’t push the subject knowing that she mentally couldn’t grasp the concept of choice.
But I believe that by the time we were married, she would be there.
Even if she wasn’t, I didn’t think I could quite control myself knowing she was sleeping under the same roof as me, but I would cross that bridge when I got there.
Scarlett finally stepped back, falling onto flat feet and holding out a piece of paper to me.
I took it from her, tracking her hand as she pulled her hair out from behind her ear. She hated when it was back in any sense of the word. Up in a ponytail, tucked behind her ear. The only thing she could stand was doing braids with small sections or doing a half up hair style. So long as she could use her hair as a shield, she was comfortable.
I returned my attention to the paper. It was a sketch of my face, color in my eyes, but graphite everywhere else. I had a sharp smile that split my face in two, every detail perfect down to the hairs on my head and the near invisible handful of freckles that dusted one side of my face, the scars that trailed my jaw, across my eye, my cheekbone, my neck, and across my lips. Behind my head, the background of the picture, was a clock.
I had never seen me portrayed in such an evil yet calm light.
Never had I been ashamed of the scars I had, for I had earned them with pieces of myself, however, other than tattoos, scars were the most distinguishable feature on a person. Especially when perfectly covering a good portion of the face. It was one of the main reasons why I wore a mask everywhere I went, and the very reason why Thomas found me so terrifying. His father had said as much during our many meetings in the process of me becoming a transporter.
He had told his father that the Devil had sent me to test everyone’s faith, and that the scars were a marking of Hell. If only they knew what had truly caused them.
2011
I breathed sharply through my teeth. In out. In out. In out. Spit flying from my lips, a ringing screaming in my ears, sweat pouring down my body.
The two orderlies continued to hold each of my arms behind my back, one of them pressing my head against the Pastor’s desk as his cum leaked from me.
Tick tock.
