Mercy

Sweat. It perpetually beaded down my battered body, leaving trail after iridescent trail of perspiration haphazardly sketched upon my naked form. One would think, after every scrap of fabric had been so maliciously torn from my body, that I would be reduced to a shivering, teeth-chattering, goose-bump of a prisoner with no such cloth to keep my body warm, but one would be sorely mistaken. The heat pulsated through me with each shuddering thump of my heart and each rapid exhale of my panicked breathing. Being trapped in such a tightly compacted area with little to no escape for the warmth radiating from my very core made it virtually impossible to control the constant perspiration as it trickled from my pores like I was nothing more than a pathetic display of faulty plumbing. I was left to helplessly scramble about the closet in search of anything to rid the uncomfortable liquid from my body, but I was dismayed by the realization that Elliot had stripped the closet bare, save for the abandoned sandwich I’d thrown furiously into the corner. I wished to do more, to pound on the walls until my hands were broken and bloodied, yet doing so would bring about another mirthless round of Elliot’s maddening electric touch.

Having been defeated in every way imaginable, I was forced to curl in upon myself and allow my flesh to cry its silent tears as I gradually lost my grip on time and reality.

Glaring at the randomly scattered sandwich fragments, I wondered how long I’d been in there. Five minutes? Five hours? How could I possibly keep track of anything in this disillusioned hellhole? The answer was simple: I couldn’t. I wanted to scream and beg for Elliot’s forgiveness at that very moment, but I certainly didn’t wish to risk giving him another opportunity to press his remorseless thumb to that horrendous little button. Instead, I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered despite the growing heat that surrounded me.

My neck itched. Badly. The blasted moisture oozing from my skin collected underneath the collar strapped around my neck, threatening to drive me absolutely loony with the inability to satisfy that infuriating itch. It was too tight, far too tight, for my fingers to wriggle underneath and soothe my distress. No matter how I clawed at my skin or the collar, it never failed to produce a negative result. I was left a choking, spluttering mess as the material of the degrading object closed in on my windpipe in my efforts to lift the damn thing off the back of my neck. My fingers grappled with the fastening while I utterly disregarded my need for oxygen in my mission to scratch the skin beneath the collar and, with any stroke of luck at all, remove the fucking thing entirely from my body.

A total of ten seconds of my pathetic suffocation was allowed to pass before the electricity surged into my body, more excruciating and intense than before. Involuntarily, I bawled out at the sudden agony I had been inflicted with in a desperate, subconscious effort to release my pain with a scream. My efforts were met with nothing more than a continued shock with the voltage turned to impossibly higher levels. I gnashed my teeth together and clenched my fists, using every ounce of strength and willpower I had left to control my aspirations of shrieking my sorrows away. After a second or two of controlled silence, the voltage abruptly halted.

As my body scrambled to collect itself after the shock, I vaguely wondered if the sweat dripping from my body was acting as a conductor to the electricity of the collar, viciously amplifying the pain to inconceivable levels.

“I fucking told you not to make a goddamn sound!” Elliot bellowed through the closet door, following his forceful reiteration with a deafening bang upon the door. I guessed he’d either punched or kicked the door to ignite another startled cry from me, but I didn’t dare give him the satisfaction of defeating me twice.

“Good boy!” he cried after I made no such noise. Without warning, the closet door swung open, and I was blinded by the subtle illumination that shone in through the open door.

He flew at me with something ominously jingling in either his hands or pockets…I couldn’t tell which. I did know, however, that in one hand he clenched the fucking button which controlled the voltage. I made damn sure to keep my teeth clenched tight.

“Ungh, you’re so sweaty, baby,” he whispered into my ear, as if he was actually capable of seducing me. I felt an arm rip me up from my curled position on the floor, and he soon followed with throwing me against a closet wall. His prick poked the back of my leg through his pants.

I needed to whimper, to do something in retaliation, but the jingling sound grew louder. Before long, I had a pair of handcuffs horridly slapped to my slender wrists and Elliot’s hot breath nipping at my neck.

“I know what you were trying to do before, and it’s not gonna work. I’d like to see you try to claw that collar offnow, Slut,” he growled, proceeding to remove his throbbing erection from its denim entrapment.

I didn’t make a sound.

“On your knees,” he asserted, fingernails digging deep into the flesh of my shoulder and making it nearly impossible to resist the order. “Turn around.”

I rotated to face the vile creature, maladjusted eyesight compelling my eyelids to remain squinted against the blinding light pouring in from outside the closet. I was, more or less, rendered temporarily sightless.

“Not a sound,” Elliot emphasized once more. “Now open your mouth.”

My jaw hesitantly unhinged, and instantaneously, his cock was being thrust mercilessly into my mouth. He paid no mind to whether or not I could breathe, nor did he seem particularly concerned with how my skull collided with the wall each and every time he pounded into me. As my gag reflex was continually prodded and pummeled and my airways constricted to the point of imminent suffocation, I did nothing to save myself. I couldn’t bring my hands forward to brace myself for each thrust, and allowing a verbal sign of displeasure was indefinitely out of the question, so I simply let it persist until Elliot grabbed the back of my head and forced himself as far into my mouth as possible, proceeding to spill his hateful seed down my throat.

It burned. I couldn’t breathe…but I didn’t make a sound.

Not even as I vomited onto the carpeted floor.

I woke with a start, eyes frantically scanning the closet for any signs of Elliot. Had I dreamt the entire thing?

As I attempted to maneuver my arms to a stretching position, I noticed they would not move. The handcuffs had indeed been slapped onto my wrists…but it was possible everything else had been a dream, right?

The bitter taste in my mouth and a splitting headache said otherwise, but in my hysteria, they were overlooked. There was no way of estimating how long I’d slept, so there was simultaneously no way of knowing whether the entire scenario had been nothing more than a fearful nightmare.

Fairy, denial ain’t gonna make Elliot human. He’s controllin’ you, and doin’ a pretty damn good job of it, too.

Fuck that stupid old bastard. He had no idea what he was saying. Elliot wasn’t controlling me, for I was merely biding my time in that goddamn closet. I was waiting for the moment I would be set free, and when that moment would come…Billie Joe, I was going to take you up on that offer.

Fuck off, he’s got your mind so warped that you’re actually startin’ with the bullshit on me.

Shut up, I don’t need this from you! I thought you were the one who wanted to fix me!

Fairy, I ain’t real.

But he was, I swear to fucking God, he was right there in that closet with me. He could read every thought, feel every shudder, see every hideous scrap of the sandwich Elliot had made for me…and fuck, how I wished I hadn’t puked all over the floor.

Or had I dreamt that? I couldn’t remember.

He was laughing. Elliot was laughing at me through the closet door…but was it couldn’t have solely been Elliot. I swore I could hear the old man as well, followed by his intolerable, hacking cough. Once the coughing noise subsided, I was able to vividly picture the way Billie frowned into a tissue or handkerchief each and every time his incessant hacking produced blood.

I puked…again? I couldn’t fucking remember.

And I didn’t make a sound.

He’s gotcha by the fuckin’ balls, Fairy. He’s gonna go ‘n’ twist ‘em right off if ya ain’t gonna do somethin’ ‘bout it.

Goddammit, you senile old bastard, shut up!

Silence. I swore I could see his green eyes twinkling with mischief through the darkness of the closet.

…who’s the senile one now?