Mercy

As the constantly wavering line between semi-consciousness and slumber grew increasingly thinner, I became aware of an uneasiness rustling about in my stomach. Despite how I wasn’t quite awake enough to discern what exactly was causing my wary premonition, I was unable to deny how, suddenly, the air was icy with an undeniable sense of dread. The feeling mounted as my body rejected any further partaking in dozing, and before I even opened my eyes, I could envisage someone else in the room. Someone with an unapologetic, scrutinizing stare that made any of his victims weak at the knees in an instant as they experienced being raped again by his savagely penetrating glower. From wherever he was hovering inside my bedroom, his eyes were honing in on my naked form, boring holes into the already tender flesh and carefully calculating their next course of action. Was he planning on ripping me apart again, or was he feeling a bit more partial to suffocating me with his sickening cock? Or…maybe he was contemplating a method of disposing my lifeless corpse once he decided I was a bore to torture. He certainly grew tired of Jakob Armstrong, so why shouldn’t he ultimately come to the same conclusion with me in the end?

What the fuck was so goddamn special about me, anyhow? Why had he been so fucking adamant about getting me back, other than his inability to gain complete control the first time around?

Unable to withstand the blistering scrutiny of his gaze any longer, I cracked one eye open to estimate which one of my assumptions was most likely to be correct. Hell, if he was mauling himself through his jeans like he had been while I inhaled the soup, then one of the first two options were imminent. If his eyes were blazing, as if somehow by sleeping I’d infuriated him, then he was unquestionably debating on whether to burn my carcass or to dump it in an alley somewhere after he beat me to death in one of his sadistically creative techniques. If he looked complacent, well…I was safe for a while.

The emotion my narrowed eyes were met with, however, was one I couldn’t probably predict. Urgency radiated from his body like cheap cologne, instantly making everyone within wafting distance inexplicably uncomfortable and desperate to escape his presence. In my condition, escaping the immediate migraine was unfeasible, so I was subjected to bask in his urgent aroma in a discomfort so grandiose that I couldn’t help but squirm in futile attempts to simply make it go away.

But of course it wouldn’t go away. Not until Elliot got whatever it was he wanted this time around, whether it was getting laid, throttling me, or forcing me to lick the fucking piss off the walls in the closet to teach me some morbid lesson about learning how to properly control my bladder, would I ever escape that urgent stare. Yet again, I was hopelessly trapped and at the mercy of my captor.

“So your neighbors called your landlord today. Seems they’re an obnoxious, nosy old couple who are ever so concerned about not seeing you around,” Elliot stated, frowning.

I wriggled back to gawk at the statement he had impassively thrown at me, eyes wide. My fucking neighbors called the landlord? I found the whole premise absofuckinlutely ridiculous seeing as my neighbors wanted nothing more than to see my ass out of their cozy, conservative little building. God forbid their world be invaded by a flamboyant faggot who carelessly slept around and paid no mind to the volume of his lovers’ cries of pleasure. In fact, the couple nearly shit bricks when I began a serious relationship with a woman and managed to knock her up in the process…which eventually led to their dislike for me deepening greater still as my colicky infant’s ceaseless cries and the incessant creaking of broken, rusty springs indefinitely kept them up at night.

Forgive me if I felt that my neighbors’ concern for my general well-being was merely an elaborate story Elliot had made up to frighten me or give me a cruel sense of false-hope.

“You look confused. Speak, Slut,” Elliot chuckled, arms crossing over his chest. My stomach dropped the moment the degrading nickname left his lips.

With a cough, I gradually asked, “Are you…are you sure? The Morgans actually called the landlord?”

“If the Morgans are the pricks who share the same goddamn wall as you, then yes. They actually called the landlord, who decided he needed to come check up on you. That man has a fucking key. If I’d actually gone out like I was going to, he would have found you and taken you away from me. What do you have to say for yourself, Slut? Did you call your neighbors or something?” Elliot demanded, advancing upon me so he could improve on his intimidating stance. With his face mere inches from mine, I think it would have been safe to say he achieved said goal.

I shook my head as violently as my injured neck would allow, hesitant to verbalize due to Elliot’s lack of using the word speak.

“Speak,” Elliot hissed.

“I swear I didn’t call anyone! How is that even possible with my hands cuffed?!” I shrieked, Elliot having swiftly turned me into a trembling, weeping wreck.

His glare softened as he realized the sheer improbability presented before him, but my petrified mind refused to allow me to stop rambling until he made me stop.

“Besides, I barely have the strength to lift my arm above my head enough to reach the phone…and the Morgans would be the last people I’d call because they fucking hate me! Just…please…Elliot. Don’t be mad.”

The man standing before me smiled and leaned even further forward, planting a gentle kiss on my cheek prior to declaring, “I’m not mad anymore, baby, you won your case. I just think we need to go out, ok? Show your face around the neighborhood so everyone can stop fussing. Then…maybe tomorrow I could drive you to work. Does that sound good to you?” he questioned softly, crawling over my body to lie next to me. As his arms wrapped around my midsection, I disgusted myself with how automatically I rolled over to face him, proceeding to bury my face in his chest.

When I failed to produce an answer, Elliot murmured, “Speak, Mikey. Tell me what you think.”

“I…I don’t think I could walk,” I muttered, face burning at my inadequacy.

“We wouldn’t be out for long. Just a short walk, and I’ll hold your hand the entire way,” he offered, planting another affectionate kiss on the top of my head.

“What about work, though? People will notice the burns on my neck. I mean, they’re trained to notice such things.”

I couldn’t believe it when Elliot did not chastise me for speaking without his literal instructions first. Instead, he chuckled, “I know…but I solved that problem.”

Without warning, Elliot peeled his body from mine and leapt from the room in search of something that I couldn’t even begin to guess would solve our predicament. What he held in his hands upon his return, however, made his intentions remarkably clear.

“I bought you this to wear under your scrubs. Not only will it hide the blisters, but it’ll keep you warm, too,” he giggled before shyly holding out his gift for me to observe properly. “From now until we return from our walk, you have my permission to speak when spoken to, ok?”

“Alright…oh good God, is this…?” My voice tapered to silence as I grasped the significance of the object Elliot was displaying.

“Yep, I bought you a fucking turtleneck. If your co-workers didn’t know you were a queer before, they definitely will now,” Elliot smirked, then commanded, “Roll over.”

I froze. Everything had been going so well…why did he feel the need to rape me before we left? He knew damn well I was incapable of taking off on him, and he had me trained so soundly that I wouldn’t make a fucking sound unless given permission.

“Relax, I’m just going to take the handcuffs off.”

With a relived, contented sigh, I rolled to my stomach and allowed for Elliot to remove the bracelets from my aching wrists.

***

When I arrived to work the next day, it rapidly became apparent which bullshit excuse Elliot had told the staff to excuse my sudden absence. As I roamed the halls, still weakened by the torment I’d been forced to suffer through, my co-workers solemnly offered their condolences to my illness. I wasn’t exactly certain of the exact affliction he blamed my disappearance on, but it was obviously brilliant enough to be commonly accepted and sympathized by nurses and doctors who didn’t seem to even know who I was until my return.

“You sure you’re feeling up to working today, Mike? We’re actually not understaffed today and could manage without you,” Dr. Shaw benevolently offered the moment I approached her to request my patient list for the day.

Remembering Elliot had given consent for me to speak when spoken to while at work, I politely declined.

“If you’re sure…oh, well I suppose today should be easy enough for you to handle, anyways. Your only priority is Billie Joe Armstrong.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I snapped, momentarily angered with her persistence in pairing me with the old bastard. “How is he still alive?!”

“You know, we’re all just as baffled by his longevity at this point as you are, but I really do think that you have something to do with it. I know he’s an outright asshole, but there’s something about you that’s keeping him alive. Please…just humor him for me. He’s been driving the rest of the nursing staff completely insane,” Dr. Shaw pleaded.

I couldn’t deny the look of absolute desperation glittering in her eyes, so I regretfully accepted the task, took Billie Joe’s chart from her hands, and sullenly trudged to his room.

“Fairy! You’re alive!” Billie cried out the moment I walked through his door, though his grin faded when he saw Elliot’s present clinging to my frame underneath the scrubs. “Oh fuckin’ Christ, he bought you a hickey-hider?”

“Knock it off,” I snapped, glaring down at his chart. There were no injections, pills, sponge baths, or anything medically demanding listed on the fucking papers. I was nothing more than a babysitter with a nursing degree so far as Dr. Shaw was concerned.

“You ok?” he inquired, attempting to escape from his bed and walk over to me on unsteady legs. Miraculously, he managed to refrain from stumbling until he was directly in front of me.

“I think I should be asking you the same thing,” I retorted, helping the old man back up into a standing position. I too wobbled on my own pair of unsteady legs, but instead of falling onto Billie, I crash-landed onto the floor.

“Lookit us. Too damned fragile to even walk,” he chuckled, offering his hand to assist in regaining my stance. Crossing my legs, I shook my head, and proceeded to glare at the floor in front of me. The old man compensated for the rejection by easing himself onto the floor as well, dragging his IV stand closer as to not cause any unnecessary discomfort.

It was like a goddamn powwow in that hospital room, yet somehow…it didn’t seem absurd. All we needed was a bonfire, alcohol, and the pair of us singing Kumbaya to make the unorthodox therapy session fucking complete.

“Can I see ‘em?” Billie asked softly.

“See what?”

“The burns,” he whispered, motioning towards my concealed neck.

Not once had I mentioned a single detail of what Elliot had done to me in my five day absence from work, yet he already seemed to know. It was unnerving, and I felt a chill go down my spine the instant I understood his request.

Without thinking, I muttered, “So you were there…”

“Nah, Fairy, I ain’t been to your apartment,” he chuckled, slowly shaking his head.

“Then how did you-”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I tol’ ya once you wouldn’t believe it. Now, c’mon…the burns.”

“No! I don’t have any fucking burns!” I cried, using every inch of my self-control not to slap the old bastard right across the face. Honestly, his fascination with my injuries was disturbing.

“Pull that shirt down, Slut!” Billie roared, voice grating on the cancerous particles in his lungs. The likeness to Elliot’s voice was so damn terrifying that, in milliseconds, I was pulling the collar of my turtleneck down low enough for my blistered skin to be visible. He groaned and had to look away.

“I’ma be sick,” he moaned, scrambling to stand.

Already falling under an obedient spell, I was on my feet in a flash and helping my new captor into the bathroom so he wouldn’t vomit all over the floor. As soon as I stepped foot in the bathroom, however, Billie appeared to have acquired inhuman strength within a matter of seconds and pushed me inside. The door slammed shut behind me, and I found myself locked in the dark. Again.

Outside the bathroom door, I could hear Billie Joe sobbing.

“Don’t you be silent, boy, I wanna hear you scream,” Billie growled. His words were just as terrifying through his tears as they would have been under complete predatory circumstances.

It wasn’t until my first shriek pierced the air that I realized the old bastard was compelling me to do the exact opposite of what Elliot had initially instilled into my warped mind.