Accompanying song:

 

 

 

Providence, Rhode Island – April 20th, 2013

 

 

Protection. What does it mean when we protect by hurting? Who benefits? No one.

I wipe my hand across my face, blowing off some steam. With my back against the door, I ponder what just happened. I did something I never thought I would, and yet I did it anyway. My conscience is bearing down on me, yet I know I did the right thing. I am an asshole, and I know it full well. I just hope she thinks so, too. I hope she saw the anger in my stride as I told her goodbye. She should leave and never come back. I don’t know why she wanted to come to me, but it was the wrong choice, and I made that very clear to her. Maybe pushing myself onto her the way I did, violating her body the way I did, will scare her off. It would be for the best. Being with me is the worst thing someone could wish for.

I sigh, wondering if I could’ve handled things better. I don’t deny that I enjoyed spanking her. It sparked my arousal, that’s for sure. My cock is still very much erect in my pants, and I can’t say that I wouldn’t want to repeat it. Except that wouldn’t be a wise decision. Not when everything’s at stake. I should forget about how nice it felt to have my hands on her ass and how good it felt being in charge. I can’t remember the last time I craved to be wicked so much.

It scares me.

This is not who I am, and yet I know I am turning more and more into a monster.

I fear my own future.

Swallowing, I take off my shirt and walk to the shower. I must put my mind on something else. There is much work to be done today, and I can’t be distracted by thoughts of a delicious woman begging for my domination.

God, why can’t I get her out of my head?

I face myself in the mirror, running my fingers through my hair. For a young man like myself, I look aged. As if my skin is plastered on and my smile has turned into a permanent pout. I remember her pink, plush lips and the way she gasped. It made me smile. I haven’t smiled like that in a long while, like I was truly enjoying myself.

Alas, it isn’t meant to be. Whatever she wants, it cannot happen. It isn’t right. I am not a man to hug in bed; I am a man to kill in his sleep. There’s no redeeming quality in me. I wish she’d seen that in our short encounter. I don’t even know why she came to me in the first place.

Wanting me? How foolish. Miss Carrigan is insane. Wanting me is like wanting death. Nobody desires it. She is truly and utterly insane if she believes I am someone she can mess with. That I would ever provide her something worth having. That I could give her what she needs. Preposterous. I hope she runs … far, far away.

She doesn’t know me at all. Strangers—that’s all we are.

I wash my face with cold water, trying to rinse away the layers and layers of depravity that have seeped into my skin. It’s no use. Life is bleak. End of story.

I open the see-through door in my bathroom and take a long, barely comforting shower. I scrub myself with a brush loaded with shower gel, making sure I clean myself like a man possessed. I shave my chin until it’s smooth and put on a few dots of aftershave. Like a robot, I put on my long-sleeved button up shirt, making sure there are no wrinkles. I put on the freshly ironed pants that Conchita, my housekeeper, prepared for me and pull a belt through the loops. I pin my pin button and adjust accordingly. Securing my black laced shoes, I glance at myself in the mirror and am semi-content with what I see. Near perfection—albeit for a few wrinkles in my Colbert, which I quickly brush out. With some gel, I tuck back my hair until it’s smooth, and there is nothing left of me in any way or shape.

I am always conforming, bending until I fit whatever mold is required. That is where I am now. A flexible ghost-like shell of the man I used to be—someone who knows his responsibility and carries it out without objection. This person … I hate him.

I adjust my tie in the mirror before I grab my suitcase and proceed out the door.

I still feel dirty.

Heinous.

Monstrous.

And it will never end. Not until they die.

 

 

Meeting Room, Genesis. Providence, Rhode Island – April 20th, 2013, afternoon

 

 

The temperature in this clubroom plummets by about fifty degrees the moment they step inside. ‘They’ meaning the men I’ve had ‘business’ relations with for over a decade. I say business, but it really isn’t business at all. It’s more personal than anything. They’ve wormed their way into my life until there was no going back. I should’ve seen it coming long ago, but that’s easy to say in hindsight. Evil doesn’t begin to describe what I’m dealing with.

“Good day, gentlemen.”

“Hello, Sebastian. Good to see you’ve arrived early,” Arthur says as he slides his hand over his slick, gelled-up hair. Even now, almost in his forties, he still looks like he’s twenty. His grouchy voice always annoys me, though, and the way he squints as he watches me talk unnerves me like nothing else.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” I say, smiling as I turn around to face the drinks I was preparing.

“And you got us some Cognac, too. What a pleasant surprise,” Hubert roars with laughter, scratching his stubbly beard. “Seems the boy finally learned to appreciate what he’s got.” His grey hair is messy and all over the place as he takes off his scarf.

His comment makes my stomach churn, but I try to ignore it as I poor the Cognac and set all five of the glasses on the table. The men undo themselves of their coats. One of them always needs help—Lewis, the short, bald one. He has a back problem ever since he ‘sprained’ it during a session. Patrick is the one who never speaks but silently listens and assists with everything that needs to be done. He prefers books over the real world, although occasionally, when we take on the ‘assignments’, he enjoys spending time with actual people. He’s the one who resembles me the most.

As the men sit down in the comfortable, cushioned throne-like chairs, I grab a cigar box and hold it out to them.

“Oh, Sebastian, now you’re spoiling us,” Arthur chides.

“Just trying to keep you all in good spirits.”

Hubert grabs a cigar from the box, and I offer to light the tip. “God, I needed that.”

I smile pretentiously as I offer them all a cigar, which only Patrick refuses. For a while, there is silence between us as we gaze at one another. Smoke drifts through the room, but it doesn’t make me avert my eyes from him—Arthur—the one who started this all.

“I had a lot of fun this morning,” he says.

“Hmmm …” I nod.

“Messy, though,” Hubert says, shrugging like it’s no big deal.

“Yeah, the room is quite … useless in the state it’s in right now.”

I don’t need more comments to know where this is going. “I’ll take care of it.”

Arthur smiles, but it’s not a genuine one. It never is. “Good.” He diverts his eyes to Lewis. “Did you finish your assignment yet?”

“Not yet. I’ve been struggling to find the right one.”

“Just pick one. There are plenty. Look around. It’s not that difficult,” Hubert scoffs after taking a sip of his Cognac.

“Mind your own business. I want the perfect one,” Lewis spits.

“Wow, no need to get aggressive,” Arthur says.

“This game is no fun if I don’t get to decide how I play it,” Lewis says in his old, croaky voice.

“Got a point there,” Arthur agrees, looking at Hubert.

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

Arthur now glances at Patrick. “You?”

Patrick only shrugs and takes a book from under his seat and starts reading it.

“Since everyone is okay with it, we’ll grant you an extension.”

“Lovely,” Lewis says, taking a sip of his Cognac while shaking his head.

“So, you are all done reading?” I ask.

“Yes, boy, we could use a few new ones,” Lewis says. “I’m ready for more once I finish this assignment.”

Arthur laughs. “Look at that, old man, trying to catch up with us.”

Lewis just gives him a short smile. “Hmmm … one would be proud to reach the age I have. It’s not a gift given to all men, especially not those who walk on a slippery slope such as yourself.”

“Touché.” I laugh, but my joking response seems unappreciated. I clear my throat and get up from the chair. I walk to the cabinet and grab the stack of books on top, which I brought with me in my suitcase. “I’ve selected these books for you.” I hand each one to the respective recipient. “You asked me to choose for you, so I hope you’re all happy.”

Hubert squints. “You’re joking, right?”

“No?” I say hesitantly.

He throws the book on the table so hard the Cognac from the glasses splashes onto the tables. “Rubbish. Get me a different one.”

“What do you want?” I ask, the weight of his response to my pick bearing down on me. I knew this would happen, but I had hoped he wouldn’t mind reading something a little more gentle this time.

“Give me something exciting.” For an oldie, he sure has some spirit. “Something with a little horror in it.”

Oh no, here we go again.

How long are they going to keep this up? How much further can it go?

I wonder if it can even get any worse.

His eyes hold a gleam as Hubert points at a specific book on the top shelf. “That one.”

I swallow when I notice which book he’s pointing at. That one. He says it so carelessly as if he’s forgotten what’s inside. He’s read the synopsis before, when Lewis showed it to him. He knows this book contains the most devious, sickening scenes I’ve ever read. And still he wants it, knowing full well what the consequences are.

 

You shall never refuse to complete an assignment, even if you chose the assignment yourself.

 

That mantra is plastered on our wall.

If that’s what he wants, that’s what he’ll get.

Once you’ve chosen, there’s no going back.

This is never going to end unless I put a stop to it.

 

 

Room 37. One hour later

 

 

Tirelessly, I scrub the floors to rid it of the red stains. There is nothing more in this world that I hate more than stains. Especially red ones. They ruin everything.

My knees hurt and my back feels broken, but I keep going. There is no one else who can do this job, no one else who would take it on, and no one else who would be trusted to do it. I am the one who has to bear this burden. I have no other choice.

The room is a mess. Remains are everywhere, and I’m not sure which parts belong where, and who’s who. The smell makes me want to puke, but I keep it in because I’m not in the mood to clean up any more nastiness. I will not add to the foulness of this place.

I am only here to clean.

Brush, cleanse, rinse, wash, toil, and scrub until my fingers are cramped and my clothes are completely soaked in sweat. In a puddle of water mixed with detergent, I see my own reflection. Red stripes brushed into my hair. Drips and smudges all over my cheeks and nose.

I guess I’ll have to take another shower once I get home.

 

 

Sebastian’s Penthouse. Providence, Rhode Island – Four hours later

 

 

I place my finger on the mechanism that identifies me and open the door. The sound it makes is unusual, like a feather rustling underneath the door. Abnormal.

Before I set one foot into my apartment, I can tell there’s something amiss.

I look around, but there’s no one to be seen. I sniff but don’t smell anything odd, except for a slight rosy perfume coming from the hallway. None of my furniture has been moved, and from the looks of it, everything’s still untouched.

Something’s still not right.

I step forward. A crack alerts me, pulling my attention down toward my feet. A tiny, white object is stuck on the bottom of my shoes. Dammit. I’ll have to clean those too, now.

I bend and look under my shoe, peeling it off. It’s a piece of scrunched up toilet paper.

Unrolling the edges, I straighten the paper until I realize it’s a note. Words hastily scribbled with something red and thick. Lipstick.

 

I will not give up.

 

That’s all, but it’s enough for me to know who this came from. Miss Carrigan.

Bristling, I crush the paper in my hand and throw it in the bin while I stomp inside my home. Now I need to check the carpet for stains as well. I hate lipstick.

Why couldn’t she just leave like I told her? Why is this woman so persistent? I roar and slam the door so hard it reverberates in my ears. She violated my privacy. If I ever see her again, I’ll make sure I return the favor.