Artemis woke to a strangely familiar yet alien sight. Above him, the canopy of the four-poster bed hung proudly in deep blues and black rather than his usually view of a grey sky peeking through the trees. As awareness returned to him, he froze.
The memory of the torture was rivalled by the knowledge that he had broken down in front Alastair. No-one had held him like that since he was a small child and the fact it had been done without his consent only served to make it more violating.
The room was empty, but Artemis spied a door on the far side of the room. He slipped out from under the covers, still very aware he was still completely unclothed, and eased his feet down to the carpeted floor. Was this Alastair’s room? The implications of that made him uneasy. He made for the door but before Artemis could make it even halfway across the room, he was stopped by the sound of the door opening.
Alastair walked through the door, “Ah, you’re awake.” He said in that infuriatingly polite and matter of fact way, a bundle under his arm “I brought you some clothes. The question is,” He paused, “are you going to be good for me?”
Of course. Everything was conditional. Artemis was tired, far too tired to be precious about his pride, “Yes.” He said quietly.
Alastair handed over a pair of boxer briefs and a black T-shirt and Artemis issued a mumbled “Thank you.”
Alastair smirked, “Good boy.”
Despite himself, Artemis felt a pang of gratitude toward Alastair, a voice whispering that he ‘should be grateful that Alastair let him have the clothes.’ He quashed this voice, he shouldn’t feel grateful for basic necessities.
No matter how badly he wanted to believe Alastair was capable of compassion, the truth was that he wasn’t, this was all a ploy to remind Artemis how dependant he was on Alastair.
Artemis considered running but thought better of it; Alastair was able to move things with his mind and Artemis was deep in the complex of the pit, he would never escape.
Hastily getting changed, Artemis couldn’t help but feel that the clothes were just another thing that could be taken from him. Another thing Alastair could hold over him.
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The next morning Alastair came to visit, Artemis was still tied to the rack.
“Morning sunshine.” Alastair said.
Artemis wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Ali, I… I need the bathroom.” He would be wringing his fingers if he could.
Alastair untied him and led him to a bathroom that appeared with a click of Alastair’s fingers.
Alastair was stood behind Artemis the entire time, clearly unwilling to leave him unsupervised. It was degrading to say the least and oddly intimate in a way that made Artemis uncomfortable.
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The next few days were spent in his cell where Alastair would… hurt Artemis while Dean watched or on some occasions… participated. Artemis had tried to stop using words like torture, it made the situation feel real.
Artemis cursed himself for complying so easily but… he was scared. He was scared and there was no way to escape.
There was something else though, another reason he felt the need to please Alastair, one that he buried under layers of denial. He liked when Alastair would hold him, he liked when Alastair would call him a good boy (even if it was humiliating) and he liked when Alastair would whisper quiet assurances while stroking his hair. Because it wasn’t painful or traumatising, it was just… nice?
Artemis was slumped on the rack; he hadn’t been able to move all day, not a muscle. What he wouldn’t give just to stretch his legs.
Alastair was talking but Artemis really couldn’t be bothered to listen today.
A deep but sharp pain reverberated around his body as a knife cleaved through his lower ribs.
Alastair was saying, “I really have been too soft on you. Sometimes darling, I think you aren’t even listening to me.”
Artemis choked and gasped.
Sighing, Alastair pulled the knife out of Artemis’ side, “I was going to do this later but… what can I say, I’m feeling… spontaneous.” And he clicked his fingers, plunging Artemis’ world into black.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
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Hours ticked by in the dark room and anxiety began to crawl in Artemis’ veins.
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Days flicked by (or maybe they didn’t) and Artemis felt as he was losing his mind. Geometric shapes of flashing neon colours emerged from the darkness, and he tried to ignore that it was one of the first symptoms of white room torture.
The shapes were soon joined by shrieking sirens, snippets of conversation and a low rumbling noise.
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Thoughts were hard to string together, he kept losing his train of-
It was so dark. Where was he?
The dull ache of boredom had intensified until he felt as if his skull was being crushed. He hit his head against the wall, but the wall was soft. He needed more of something. Pain, noise, light. Anything.
He let out a bone chilling scream that lasted for several minutes. It blended into the sirens and screeching noises that filled his head.
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Light peeked through an opening that widened more with each passing second. He could hear something, footfall, coming closer.
Click, clack. Click, clack.
A voice, a real voice he thought. There were words, but he couldn’t decipher them. Still, to his ears it was like music, soothing the sharp fog piercing his mind.
A hand held his, and Artemis could have cried.
The man with white eyes helped him to stand and helped him, limping, out of the room. The warm feel of someone stuck to his side was intoxicating and he was like a moth to a flame. It felt like something, it felt real. He needed to feel something.
The room outside was bright and blinding, he blinked to clear his vision. The walls were black stone which glowed yellow in some places. He took it all in, hungry eyes devouring all the detail as if he would never see anything again.
The corridor distorted, twisted, bent, and moved causing him to stagger. Doors and walls moved around him, squeezing and undulating.
But the shoulder he was leaning on stayed solid, a constant. He clung to the man
Time stopped and then he was in another room. He’d been here before. The room with the four-poster bed Alastair had taken him to before.
But this time the room was spinning, the tables were shifting, and the chairs were walking. It was too much he didn’t like this, he wanted it to stop, he wanted it to stop. It was if the world around him was liquid; ever changing and shifting.
Artemis backed into a solid wall and slid down it, rocking and pulling his hair. Dimly, he became aware that someone was crying, it took a moment longer to realise that it was him.
Arms wrapped around him, and a nasal voice was saying, “It’s okay, shhh.” A hand came down to stroke his hair and Artemis leaned into it.
He didn’t know how long he stayed like that but when he finally moved, he mourned the loss if the contact.
Alastair stood up, “I have some work to attend to, I’ll be back in a few hours.”
Nausea tugged at Artemis’ as eels squirmed in his stomach, writhing and twisting. He couldn’t be left alone with them. With that thought, shadows swirled around the room, thin and fast. They had gotten out and he was going to be left alone with them. In the dark.
Artemis shook his head, “Don’t go. Please. Don’t leave me alone.” Because he wasn’t alone, the shapes and the sirens and the eels would come back, the dark looming like rabid panther, ready to devour him. He didn’t even know if they were real, he didn’t even know if he himself was real, he didn’t know who he was. Alastair was real, he was solid.
Considering it, Alastair tilted his head, “How do I know you won’t run? If I take you with me, how do I know you won’t try something?”
Artemis shook his head again, “I won’t, I won’t, I promise.”
Alastair turned to the wardrobe, retrieving a blind fold. Artemis felt his throat constrict, “No. No, not that. It’ll be dark again and I can’t- I can’t do that again.”
Alastair hunkered down in front of him, “You won’t be alone. I’ll be with you the whole time; you have my word.”
Finally, having reached a decision, Artemis nodded soundlessly.
Once the blindfold was secured on him, Artemis couldn’t see a thing, just like before, in that room, he was back, and he couldn’t get out and-
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m right here,” crooned Alastair’s detached voice, a hand coming to rest on the nape of Artemis’ neck.
Artemis focused on that, on the sound of Alastair’s breathing, on the hand on his neck. He relaxed.
“Good boy,” Alastair praised as he leaned into his captor.
Artemis was led along, not sure where he was. All he could do was focus on Alastair and the reassurances he would whisper to him every so often. People were around them and Artemis didn’t like it. He didn’t like being unable to see but Alastair was here, so he was safe.
Finally, he came to a stop. Someone was talking, with an unfamiliar voice, “Good morning sir, we have the weekly report-” the voice stopped, taken aback, then carried on, “On the development of bribing state officials and another report on the recent success in the high court regarding the overturning Roe vs. W-” and that was when Artemis stopped listening.
A voice in his ear (Alastair’s) whispered, “Kneel.”
Artemis cautiously dropped to his knees and was pulled against something solid. A leg. Alastair was sitting and Artemis was kneeling and leaning against his leg like a dog, Artemis realised. Shame curled in his gut, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to pull away from Alastair.
Leaning against the leg was grounding and as a hand came to pet his hair, he felt himself slipping into a relaxed trance. He was so used to solitary confinement and round-the-clock under stimulation that he felt drunk on the attention.
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“Wake up kiddo.” The voice dragged Artemis back to consciousness and he opened his eyes to complete darkness. Oh right, the blindfold.
Artemis groaned; his cheek still pressed to the man’s leg, a warm hand carding through his hair, grounding him.
Alastair helped him to his feet, a guiding hand on his back.
The walk back to the room was long and anxiety inducing but Alastair was close, and Artemis tried to focus on that.