Moving along the wall, I kept my eyes on S and the men still playing their sick game of spin the bottle. S was much more vocal than B had been. The men must have grown tired of hearing him scream or cry out in pain that they’d taped his mouth shut. As everything else around here, they even took taping his mouth to the extreme. They couldn’t leave it as a six or seven inch piece of tape over his mouth. In addition to that, they felt it was necessary to wrap his jaw closed. What looked like several rounds of silver tape went from under his chin, up his jaw, around the top of his head, and down the other side of his face back under his chin. Still, even with the tape, his cries of pain could be heard.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw B’s foot move. He must have passed out, and the men had probably shoved him out of the way and under the pool table. I was relieved to see the slight movement.
Another man joined me and bumped my arm with his hand to get my attention. I’d seen this man here before, though I’d never seen him actually take part in hurting anyone. He always wore a small black plastic mask that covered the area around his eyes. He wore brown wool pants and a white button-down dress shirt. He looked like he could have come from a business meeting, reminding me that all walks of life skirted the fringes of Hell. He could literally be anyone: city official, teacher, doctor, banker, celebrity agent. Either way, he didn’t want to truly be seen, which was why he had the partial eye covering.
“Is he awake?” the man asked me and then gestured to the young man under the pool table.
“Oh, I don’t know. I was trying to watch the hand smashing, but the foot of the other guy caught my eye,” I explained, trying not to sound too interested in the unconscious young guy.
“Want to see something to get off to?” he offered.
I was well aware that I needed to see certain fucked up things to get off, but I seriously doubted this man and I were on the same wavelength. I thrived on dirty things, even violent things, provided that they were consensual. And I knew in my gut that was where the hard line here was—even though I couldn’t get one of these youngsters to admit it to me. I knew the consent had been brainwashed into them. One would break, sooner or later.
The man crouched down, and I followed his lead. He pointed to the young man who was starting to come around. The expression on the man’s face showed excitement, like a college kid who had gone to a nudie bar for the first time. He already had his dick out and was stroking it.
“Watch,” he insisted.
I kept my eye on B as his feet slowly became more active. His filthy and cut feet slid along the floor while his bloody and bruised hands laid away from his body. I kept a straight face as I watched one of his thumbs try to move.
“Watch. It’s intriguing to watch when he comes around.”
“Have you watched him come around before?” I asked. I quickly chastised myself for asking questions.
“Oh, yes. This one is most fascinating. He’s not completely broken yet. His young mind still fights and resists. He’s a stubborn fuck.”
This man spoke as though he were on the inside. I picked up on the way he talked about how B still fought and resisted. If this man were nothing more than some random stranger coming here to hurt people, I didn’t think he’d notice that this one wasn’t broken yet or know that his will was to resist and fight.
“Watch.” The man’s breath became more labored, and his strokes became more urgent as B tried pushing himself up to sit up. His arms shook and gave out, sending him back down to the floor again.
“See, he’s disoriented. His mind is trying to adjust and recall what happened before he passed out and where he is. He struggles and fights to remember,” the man beside me explained and tried giving me a play-by-play while continuing to jack off.
The young man reached for his eye mask, and the man beside me got more excited.
“Here it comes,” he said urgently in a hushed tone. “Watch!”
When B felt the eye mask, everything must have clicked into place for him. His mouth closed tightly, and he no longer tried to get up. Instead, he slowly curled himself into a ball. He pulled his hands close to his body to shelter them. As his jaw shifted and lips quivered, his nostrils flared. My pulse raced as I watched this young man mentally come to terms with where he was. Trapped in fucking hell.
The man beside me grunted as he blew his load in the direction of B.
“Defeat!” the man exclaimed. He leaned against the wall beside me and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. After he sighed heavily, he said, “Watching him come around is my favorite. It’s exhilarating when he realizes where he’s at. The mind is slowly breaking.”
Keep talking.
“Why would he feel defeated?” I asked and looked at the man. “I thought he wanted to be here,” I said.
The man beside me gave me a devious “come on” grin, as if asking me if I really believed that. He tucked himself into his pants, and as he stood, I stood. He gave me a relaxed, friendly smile as he clasped my shoulder with his dirty jack-off hand.
“Enjoy your night,” he said quietly.
The man walked away and picked up a bottle of beer from the bar top on his way toward the hallway where the private rooms were. When he disappeared out of sight, I made my way toward the stairs to exit. I forced myself not to look back at the pool table.
I had a few blocks to walk back to my car to reflect on the night. S’s cries were still fresh in my head, as was the visual of young B succumbing to the life he was trapped in. I’d made a mistake tonight by selecting A. She was too strung out, and I should have recognized that taking her into a room wouldn’t be useful. Meanwhile, two young men had their hands smashed, and one of them ended up passing out due to pain.
I pulled open the car door to the rented Mercedes and flopped down on the leather seats. My frustration spilled over. Without causing any sort of visual scene to anyone walking through the grocery store parking lot, I slammed my fist against the armrest of the door.
I felt like I was starting to lose my grip on things. I needed to calm down and regain control. As I drove to Club Oxygen, I could still hear S’s cries, and I could still picture A and B and that fucking pool table. The closer I got to Oxygen, the more depressed I felt.
I replayed the conversation I’d had with the masked man. My memory tried to pull up any other interactions that I’d had with him over the past two years. I thought I’d chatted with him before, but never anything like what had happened tonight. And the more I’d thought about it, the more I thought he was a guy on the inside. Thinking back to the Octopus case file, I didn’t recall the masked man being mentioned. I would make it a point to re-read the file and talk to the other team members to see if anyone knew of this guy. He didn’t seem like one of the guards or one of the handlers, but someone with more knowledge and clout. Much more clout.
