The Beast and Me (5 page)

Day 29

My stomach still hurts, but it’s getting better. They are still giving me pills along with my meals, just as promised. More than I expected, honestly. Of course I’m reluctantly taking them. Who knows what kind of pills they are, but then again, who knows what they put in my food? Why should the Doc lie to me about pills if they could simply put something in my food or water? I shouldn’t think about that. I get paranoid if I do that.

It’s late. Just a normal ‘Beast-free’ day, apart from having a room all for myself that makes me not feel like a political prisoner, but rather a mental clinic patient.

It’s not only the room; it’s the clothes as well, obviously. Everything reeks of freshness and chemicals.

I shouldn’t feel so used to this. Maybe they have drugged me so that I don’t freak out? Or it’s just that... life feels so pressure free: I eat, workout, read and sleep. I don’t have to worry about money or grades or people. I like being alone, and I always have.

Now I am even supposed to.

They are taking me...

I don’t know if I can write down what happened. I mean... I wanted this diary to keep myself sane. I have no one to talk to, no one to share my experiences with.

Well, I don’t want to talk to them, freaking voyeurs.

White, that’s how I am calling that smug guy, who seems to be one of those whose words are law, and the one who told me that I would get a new room, walked with me this time. I am just calling him White, because I doubt that he’s a doctor – a scientist definitely – but he doesn’t deserve to be called ‘doctor’, not when all of this is really his doing. And the way he moves around, behaves and talks, how proud he is, there is no doubt that he at least plays a big role here, and he thinks of himself as some savior, some pioneer, so ‘white’ is meant more sarcastically. And he wears white, definitely thinks he has a clean slate as white as the jacket he’s wearing, when he really should wear a straight one. Doc at least had some green shirt beneath her white; he is all ‘glorious’.

I am living much closer to the cage now. You know what I mean: to that specific one. It’s only two metal doors and they are – oh hey – painted white.

I will write this down. I have to. Maybe when I read this once again, I can figure out what I am really feeling.

But I can’t today. Not today.

Day 30

I did my best to avoid it, but they didn’t take me to the gym because of yesterday; and I tried everything this morning already to not write it down. Now I sit here and the time for me being taken to the cage has passed, and I feel like crawling up the walls again, because the memories are haunting me, torturing me. Maybe, just maybe if I write down what happened yesterday, it will just end?

Yesterday... yesterday I was blindfolded again. I’m not sure why. It’s not that I am going anywhere, not that I would try to get there on my own. Maybe, it’s just for the effect, because if they don’t want me to be scared off by what I might see, they could put on that blindfold after they put me in the cage. They don’t want me to see what he really is, what he’s changing into and from what.

It’s hard to write it down. I don’t want to, actually, because it makes it more real, it makes it real, not just a nightmare. But then again, all of this is a nightmare, I am living in it. Do I really want to think that all of this is just in my head?

White told me that it would be crucial for my well-being to tell ‘it’ that everything is okay, because if I won’t continue the ‘sessions’ they would finish what ‘it’ chose not to do.

Long story short: he threatened to kill me -again – if I don’t do what they want. Needless reminder, you think? My panic was written all over my face.

After they had left and suspended me to the wall – again – I could hear that other door open. And even though no sound followed I knew he was there, staying away, and the bars, the gate, didn’t move.

“Do you want us to remove the wall?” I heard White through the speaker along with the buzzing sound of electricity, and I knew that this wasn’t a question.

So, I nodded.

This is crazy.

I didn’t hear him move, maybe because he didn’t.
My voice was shaky even though I did my best to speak calmly: “It’s okay. See? I’m fine.”

Hesitantly, I added: “now”, and after another pause... I don’t know why, but it felt like the right thing: “It’s not your fault.”

All of the sudden he was close. I could hear him breathe next to my right ear and he plucked at my hair again, brushing it out of my face. Fingers were on my cheek, with claws. Somehow I knew he was upset. Maybe I just imagined him, humanized him, because there hadn’t been any the last time, when he first touched me.

I have to think about this later, now I have, I must write this down because... I feel like going insane. Or I am already...

I heard the cracking of the speaker, followed by the buzz, but they switched it off again. And I instantly realized why it had happened: my hips were shoved away from the wall, two hands on them.

He was kneeling next to me, reaching around me from the right. And those hands shoved up my T-shirt.

Was this the true reason why Doc wanted to make sure that everything was satisfactorily healed?

Of course I flinched as I felt his fingers on my scars – there are scars, I think there always will be.

They aren’t as gruesome as I feared, probably because Doc was so persistent in treating them, but one can see the marks of his claws on me.

And then he made a hissing sound like inhaling sharply through his teeth – or fangs – as his clawed fingers ran across his marks. It felt strange, ticklish, but feverish as well... good.

Suddenly, he started to kiss them, gently, and I was the one inhaling sharply, like he wanted to kiss them away.

This had been the last thing I had expected.

His hands were wrapped around my rib cage, his clawed fingers still holding up my shirt, but also pressing me against him, his mouth. I swear, I felt his fingers change even more, these claws grow, but I didn’t dare make a sound. Also, because I couldn’t tell what kind of sound I would make.

This is insane.

Then, his kisses became more desperate and needy. It felt like he was burning me with his lips and then his tongue, and like my body heated up to meet this fever from the inside. I still don’t know what to think about that.

His mouth moved higher and higher, along with his hands. Snaking up, making me hold my breath. And suddenly, he stopped. His breathing was heavy, just like the last time, when he had started hurting me.

Until I realized that this time it was more even, like he had seen something or rethought his actions.

Oh, had he just continued... That had been my thoughts. Again, my cheeks burn as I remember it. But he just had tried to regain control, because his hands went down and he shoved me... my hips further away from the wall, and with his claws being there...

I can’t write this, can I?

He pulled down my pants and I knew in this moment that this was what White had meant with ‘socializing’. I wanted to protest, to do something, but I couldn’t... It was impossible with his tongue far too high between my legs. The only sound that escaped my throat was a moan, which did the opposite of driving him away.

If his kisses had burned my surface his tongue burned my insides, with waves created by his movements.

I can’t deny that it felt insanely good the way he licked and sucked at my flesh. This soft tongue right there...

Why wasn’t I disgusted?

I don’t know what he did to make me feel like that. How was he able to make me feel so longingly helpless? It was like he grazed his teeth against me and then his tongue, his lips.

Again and again.

I couldn’t do anything but surrender.

I can’t believe that happened.

I can’t believe that I enjoyed it.

And that wasn’t even the worst part.

He stopped and I realized that I had pressed my head against the wall, supporting myself with my lower arms. My knees were wobbly and had given in, with his clawed hands being the only thing holding me in position.

It had come insanely close to a point I couldn’t endure, to a point where I instinctively would have tried to writhe my way out of this. Not that I... I tried to compose myself with breathing deeply. But the wetness between my legs was burning me and etching my skin as it ran down my legs leaving a trail of ice. Him not continuing started to become more unbearable to that point he had been threatening to cross.

Never have I felt so embarrassed in my life, and never so ashamed of myself, knowing that White and others were watching.

I hadn’t noticed that he had moved away from me until I felt his hand at my hip from behind. Instantly, I knew what was going to happen and I was scared and aroused just the same.

I didn’t want it to happen and I wanted it to happen. I looked forward to it in horror and shame and... desire.

I can’t believe I felt like that.

I still feel like that.

And then he did it. He entered me slowly, maybe because he knew that he would rip me apart. I was so wet and still... it hurt, but it felt so good at the same time.

God... please help me.

He was so careful... even though his hands that held me steady were full-on claws. I bit my lip first, and I catch myself doing it now again, but I couldn’t hold back for long. No, I didn’t cry. I whimpered and then... I moaned.

His reaction was instant and... inside of me.

He filled me up completely. I could sense him hit a resistance that wouldn’t break without injuring me. This feeling, being barely able to take...

That wasn’t human was it? How can I write it like that?

I heard him growl and it gave me goose bumps that panicked down my spine.

Of course I thought of the last time we met. My heart, my lungs, my whole body never hurt that much and it reacted to me: lifting my hips towards him. My own movements made me gasp.

It wasn’t human. No way. He just fucked me like an animal. Like a boxer hitting his punching ball. And there was no way to keep my voice silent. My throat still hurts. It wasn’t long, but still felt like an eternity.

Everything, every muscle is sore, but I still want more. I feel so worn out, and still so restless. He beat me up with his relentless thrusts and the sounds he made, scratched my skin like his claws had days before. I don’t know if he never had... or if it had been so long... or if he wanted me that badly.

Maybe that is why he lost control the last time.

He definitely lost it this time as well. I can’t describe how he made me feel... like I had never truly sensed anything until then. It felt like almost breaking my back as he pushed himself so deep inside of me that his hands landed on mine, while he hurt me. It was oddly intimate and easing that short high pain. I felt like I was threatened to break, but I didn’t care, because he pushed me further and further, making me exhale a “Yes” as I felt his breath next to my face.

He made me come with him.

I think... I never before really had... I never thought that I would... like it like that until...

As soon as he had caught his breath they told him to back off through the speakers.

I collapsed, physically, psychologically.

They made him leave me.

But did he really care? Or did he just do... what needed to be done and that was it?

Today no one spoke to me and I didn’t go to the gym.

I got my meals.

I can barely move so I stay in bed. And I sleep.

Day 31

I’m fine... I mean... I still feel sore, but I can move and crawl up the walls, so to speak.

White visited me to check on me, and he brought me another book: Charlotte Bronte’s ‘Jane Eyre’.

Yeah, really: they don’t even buy new books for me; they bring me my old ones.

I couldn’t help but comment on that with nothing more than ‘guilty’. Now, somehow it’s so obvious that all these stories are somehow the same. Looking at these books, even though I love them so much, makes me feel so different about myself. I always thought of myself as a non-superficial person, who uses her brain cells instead of giving in to a romantic illusion that someday I will meet a guy that turns out to be my Prince Charming. It doesn’t look like that’s going to happen, and maybe I won’t even get the chance to be my own heroine, or someone else’s in their eyes. Because... it’s been a month and I’m still here.

“Can I at least get my iPod?” I asked White when he turned to leave and tried to sound obedient, play the music he wants to hear.

I know he likes that and his facial expression agreed with me. Maybe I can make this work for my benefit, but the thought alone makes me shudder.

“Are you ready for the next session?” was his answer.

I forced myself to create a pause before I said yes.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t like being... forced. ... This verb... I hate it, but, I can’t romanticize this. I don’t want to say that it’s okay.

But it was... it was different. I’m sure that there’s something wrong with me. It wasn’t my first time, you know, but I never... got
there
.

He has a conscience. Not White, but you know who. I wrote how he reacted seeing me again, how he behaved because of my scars. He was sorry. I’m sure he’s sorry about the day before yesterday as well. And... I have to be honest: I didn’t even think about moving my body away as he started. I didn’t even think about it. I am insane, right? Maybe I was just scared like Hell. Maybe a part of me... likes to be scared. I am most definitely crazy.

However White told me that I would find my iPod and my station in my room after my session tomorrow if he was satisfied... If he was satisfied. And that makes me feel sicker than thinking about my disturbed mind.

Tomorrow... I have to admit that I am slightly disappointed that it’s not today, but it’s the first time I actually know when I will meet him.

He is human.

I have to tell that to myself.

He is human.