೦ Anna ೦

 

A part of me hopes that he’ll unshackle me and tell me to clean the floor. At least, like that, I’d have a chance to move and stretch my aching body, but he doesn’t. Instead I can hear him return and then sweep the floor himself.

He doesn’t trust me, obviously, and it dawns on me that I’ll have to earn absolutely everything. And, it’s my fault. If I’d only been compliant right from the start, this wouldn’t have happened. But there’s some sort of resistance in my head, refusing to believe that I could have done anything to not end up where I am right now.

He hates me. As much as Sam used to care about me, as much Samael hates me now. He despises me. I want to take the blame for it, but there is a tiny voice in my head, telling me ‘no’ defiantly.

I’m confused. But it makes sense.

I’ve beat myself up about leaving Sam behind, when there had been nothing I could have done. Maybe, because a part of me wanted Sam to forgive me so that we could just move on. Maybe, I just wanted to have a reason to feel sorry for myself.

Not, that losing my grandparents wasn’t reason enough, or my mother living in a brainwashing cult, and being married to the pedophile leader of said cult. I’ve saved myself for a brainwashed, blindly-obedient, extremist, wannabe-god-chosen-asshole. And I do use these words because the right ones don’t exist.

I guess, getting covered with shit and bowels is the point where it must stop, getting fed a roach is where it’s enough. But I’m too dizzy, too thirsty, and hungry to come up with an idea on what to do next. Because there is only one thought in my head bursting into flames as if I just threw gasoline on a tinder. It feels like fury. if he wants to hate me, I will give him a real reason to do so.

Right now, I’m grateful that my stomach is staying silent. And despite being somewhat disgusted by the fact that the only thing in my stomach must be the remains of that roach, I don’t feel the need to throw up. If you hunger long enough, you won’t feel hunger anymore. That’s what I tell myself. Because I doubt, that I will get food anytime soon. Especially after I’ve shown him that he can eat my shit.

“Are you still hungry?” Samael suddenly asks me, and takes me completely by surprise.

For a second, I am cocksure that I misheard his question, yet I feel caught, as if he somehow managed to eavesdrop on my thoughts.

The instinct to answer instantly is still there, just like the instinct to be obedient. And as much as I want to hate him back with all I have left, the idea of getting something to eat makes my mouth water.

I want to say yes, I want to nod, but I also want to tell him to go-fuck-yourself.

Samael’s patience is short-lived, and I can hear him step away from me, seemingly taking my silence as a negative response. I don’t know whether I want to scream curse words at him or start sobbing. If I could choose I just would rewind the last seconds to not feel ashamed about me caving in.

“Y…yes,” I barely croak, and this word tastes viler than the goo the roach left behind on my tongue.

“What was that?” He stops, his voice unreadable, and all I want is to burn holes into his body with my eyes, this fucking phrase.

I want to scream at him in hatred, but I also panic, because I don’t know the right answer.

“Yes, please,” is all that my mind comes up with, because I refuse to call him ‘Sir’ or ‘Master.

If he wants that title, he must fucking earn it.

Samael returns to me, and closes in. My primal instinct is still fright, so I try to lean away from him.

I don’t want him to touch me. I don’t want to feel that jolt electrify my nerves, especially that bundle only me has touched before.

Like that, my loathing for him is gone, replaced by a longing that eats away at me in a way hunger never can. I want him to touch me, I want him to make me come. I want him to whisper my name in a despair that only belongs to me.

I hate him.

I hate him so much I want to cry.

Samael makes me flinch as he suddenly places his index finger and thumb along my jaw, grabbing my chin in a surprisingly gentle manner.

I know he’s looking straight at me now, but I can’t see him through the blindfold. The warmth of his body seeps into my freezing bones from where he touches me.

There are pricks and needles all across my skin. My heart instantly jumps into a wild gallop, even more so as I feel his warm breath roll down on me and slides around my neck like a silk scarf.

He’s so close. I’ve got no idea what he looks like.

Despite everything, despite all what he’s done to me, despite what he might still have in store for me, all I can think of, is him pulling me close, pressing his body against mine, and the all-important question of how his lips would taste on mine.

Instantly, all my dreams and fantasies crash down on me, nourished by all the wonderful memories I’ve had of him. It’s all his fault, and his surprisingly, painfully gentle touch.

“What is your name?” Samael inquires, softly.

“Rachel,” I whisper, without even thinking about it and I scream at myself in my mind, I’m furious and raging, but it’s too late.

This was never and will never be my name. I’ve listened during my time at the Church, but it felt like a hurtful nickname, which cruel children give to each other out of spite.

 Sam never called me Rachel. In public, he called me ‘little sister.’ In private, he one day started to call me ‘little bird’ – he never told me why – and in secret, always only as a whisper ‘Anna.’

That whisper does all kinds of things to me now, in my dreams.

I dread the moment Samael calls me ‘Rachel.’ It will be the last sacred memory of mine being tainted.

Of all the possible reactions to me telling him that name, him simply leaving was not among them. He gives me nothing, no touch, no sound, just let go of me, and left. Taking all the warmth, all the life with him. And, I have no idea if he approves of me lying, if he knows or cares about me lying, or if he actually believes me.

I jump as the metal door falls into its frame and my heart flutters in my chest like the little bird he used to call me. The memory of his touch now that of a dead man, cold and leaching.

Anxious, I harken into the restored silence, with my breathing and the chains rattling being the only sounds I hear. There’s nothing coming from the other side of that door. It must be sound proof.

When he left the door open I heard wooden stairs, which meant this has to be a normal house, right?

As the door opens again, I jumped, even though I waited for that noise. Maybe I’ll never stop jumping at that sound. Maybe, it will annoy him that I continue to do that and he’ll lash out at me. Maybe, he doesn’t care. Maybe, it pleases him to see me jump every time he enters.

There was a time when I had known what Sam was thinking. But this isn’t Sam anymore.

Don’t forget that, Anna.

Once more Samael walks up to me and I try to calm my breathing, my heart beat, and my wobbling, weak legs. And I wait for him to speak.

“Open your mouth,” Samael tells me, and despite my entire being revolting, I force my mouth open, press my eyes shut beneath the blindfold and silently beg that the stuff he will shove into my mouth will be at least dead this time.

Something cold, wet, and smooth brushes across my lower lip onto my tongue. I taste milk and something softer. Instinctively, I close my mouth around the spoon, and Sam pulls it from my lips, leaving the content in my mouth. Oatmeal.

I manage to stop myself from moaning in pleasure, but chew reverently, only to hesitate, wondering if I am allowed to swallow on my own accord. But Samael doesn’t say anything, and so, I do, but I don’t open my mouth again until he places the spoon back at my lips.

 

⌽ Samael ⌽

 

During the time, I had to stay away I had not been worried about Anna’s wellbeing, or if she would be still alive, when I returned. I have endured more days without food or water than her, and although I am male, trained, and bigger than her, I know a human can easily go three days without sustenance.

The only thing I was displeased about when I looked at Anna through the monitoring window was that she had visibly lost weight, and she had been too thin already. I knew right away that starvation was off the table for in the future, and that I would have to feed her right away, to keep her body healthy.

 However, I cannot be inconsequential either.

Although I have prepared all the punishments she could possibly receive, executing them is harder than I expected. Remembering sweet memories is hard, but killing them once they have returned, is harder.

I had much time to prepare this, so many years, to think of every possible inept attempt of hers to trick me into believing her cheap lies. I am prepared for everything.

But first, I must clean the room and her.

Locked in that cellar, with just enough venting for her not to choke, the stench would be unbearable for anyone who would enter the small twelve-by-twelve-foot room, even for me. So, I quickly opened the door, noting that Anna reacted with a flinch, and I went back upstairs to get the water hose, which has the exact right length for me to easily rinse out the room. I left all the doors leading to the outside open, so that the stench can clear.

After that three-day-exercise, which even left me exhausted, no one – not even my brothers – will dare to come up to my house. After witnessing my sadistic and relentless behavior I will be left alone for at least another three days, usually a week. I have reminded all of them of how cruel I can be, and that no one is a match for me. Then, I will have to resurface at the gathering hall, to make sure and remind them, to not disturb me at my place.

I have taught them to loathe me. Oblivious sheep. All of them know from my father that one of my sins is wrath, that it fuels me and makes me stronger, and they give it to me willingly.

After six years, most members of the Church of the Second Reckoning, regard me as the most fearsome of my father’s sons. I have earned that title, and I am proud of it.

Because of that I must be careful. I must act like I always do. Show myself on a regular basis, spar with the other guardians, and stay focused. Otherwise, one of my brothers will become suspicious, and I cannot have them finding Anna.

When I try to focus on my tasks I catch myself staring at her, taking in the form of her body. And, although she is thinner than before, she still has this pull on her that draws me in. It is the only thing I did not prepare myself for, that she would awaken something inside of me that I was taught to loathe. And then there is the fact that I enjoy watching her squirm and worry about if I will come back. It tempts me to stop at the door and watch her anguish for a while, instead of proceeding with my plan.

Her yearning for my return is a satisfaction that strikes deeper than it should. A part of me that has been conditioned to indifference stirs and swells, no matter my efforts to shut it down. 

Anna is still bewitching me, and I loathe it.

Her turmoil is not enough to satisfy me.

Her fear for her life is not enough.

Nothing will be enough until Anna knows exactly what it feels like to go through what I have been through.

That is when I realize that I want her to want me, the way I wanted her. A part of that thought is a lie and I know it, I do not deny it. Thou shalt not lie, and my body already speaks the truth.

It does not change the fact that I hate it. And I have a way to change that. I will break her, I will degrade her. I will carve out her soul and leave her an empty, hollow shell, obedient, desperate to earn my father’s forgiveness, God’s forgiveness for her lack of faith and betrayal. And then, when I have snuffed out the light that makes her so different, and so special, when I watch my father do what he was supposed to do all those years ago, I will be indifferent again.

But first, first I need Anna to need me, more than the air to breathe, and then I will be satisfied. Anna must feel about me the exact same way I felt about her, when she abandoned me, threw me away like a used and useless toy. And even more; it must be me she thinks about when my father takes her for the first time, every time. She must imagine it is my cock spreading her soft folds open wide, tearing her open, and deep, making her moan.

I hold my break as I realize my thoughts, and the pictures in my head. Those are the nightmares I have when I am asleep, not when I am awake.

With my eyes fixated on her, I shake my head, shake off these pictures that I wish would become real. These thoughts are unclean and blasphemous.

My own weakness infuriates me. And it makes it easy to stuff the roach into Anna’s mouth and shut it with my hands. Her squeal is soothing, calming.

I did not need to go very far to retrieve the fattest one from the jar of roaches waiting in the next room. When I hear her crush the shell, I know how much of that goo will spread out in her mouth. I should not have, but I did grin. I grinned until I regretted that I could not see her eyes. It would have been so much better to see the terror in them.

I am almost disappointed as she continues to chew the roach, but good behavior needs to be rewarded. So, I take away the hand that is preventing her from spitting out the insect and pat her head and call her a good girl. I hate that I sounded like my own father.

Anna keeps her mouth shut, and I remove the other hand. She still obeys and swallows.

This is too easy. Or maybe I simply want to be dissatisfied by her being so compliant. Somehow, Anna is less radiant like this. So, I am on the right path of removing her mark on my soul.

For a second there, I hesitate, and wonder if I am prolonging the inevitable. Because, if I am so sure that it will change everything when she stops being my sister and becomes my mother instead, why is she still here? Why am I not turning her over to my father? He will reward me for returning her. Even more so for returning her a virgin.

When I ask her for her name, I do not know which answer I want to hear. Either names will sound wrong to my ears. This much I do know.

I barely hear her answer. I am empty, hollow all the sudden. The wrath, the loathing has disappeared. And I must do the same.

My mind is absent as I walk up the stairs and into the kitchen, that is still the first one that has been put into this old house, apart from the new oven and fridge everything is the same as it was before I left to begin my training. In the middle of the kitchen is a small table. There used to be four chairs, but now, now there is only one. It never bothered me before, but it does now.

I get the oatmeal I prepared this morning and walk back downstairs. I made two bowls and while I ate mine I watched Anna through the window, telling myself I was just monitoring her.

My mind is still absent, working, deliberating.

I know what I must do.

Anna telling me that she saved herself for me led me astray. I want to hate her for lying. But I do not. I am numb. A part of me believes that she is telling the truth.

This is when I realize that I do not want Anna to be obedient. I do not want her defiance either. I want her to continue saying those words she told me over and over and over again, repeatedly, until I believe them. Until I believe them completely, without any doubt. But I will never believe them.

There will always be doubt.

But, I want her to continue thinking them when my father takes her. I want her to look at me while she stands next to my father at the altar, pleading with me, her beautiful eyes full of tears. I want her to be haunted by my image, by my voice, by my scent, by my touch, every moment of the rest for her life.

I am transfixed as I watch her eat every spoon of oatmeal I offer her with reverence. I just know her eyes are shut every time her mouth closes around the cutlery. Those pump lips have become fuller than the last time I have seen them. Just like her entire body has. Anna has become a woman. I refused to accept it. I ignored my instinct. But there was never a way for me to stop my body from realizing that, too.

I know that now.

I never stood a chance, did I?

Here, in the silent sanctuary that is my house. In this sound proof cellar. I allow myself something that is forbidden, something I will loath myself for soon enough. And I will punish myself for it, soon enough.

And her.

But as I watch her mouth open now in expectation of the spoon. I can’t help myself from imagining her kneeling in front of me, opening her mouth to receive something else from me. I picture how those sweet, plump lips of hers close around my cock, making me feel something I should not feel.

God is testing me again. And I am failing.

I need to remember who I am.