Their next show had to be perfect, otherwise Fay was not guaranteed the privilege of having two eyes.
At least, that’s what they imagined Elkhan might do to them. Perhaps the loss of a leg was in order instead. Or a two hour whipping. Oh, he’d recently bought a new cane, one sturdy enough to break a few ribs with only a couple of hits. That too. So many options for the circus owner to pick from, so many scenarios for Fay’s nightmares to adopt as swiftly as a stray kitten.
“Again.” they barked at the gymnasts, clustering all their thoughts and letting them disperse in the form of an order. The twins gave a haggard look, breaths heavy, yet Fay merely ushered them back into the rink with a swift motion of their head. Their exhaustion was evident, and despite a misty form of empathy persisting in their chest, Fay could not falter in leadership. Any slip up, as Elkhan loved to highlight, reflected poorly not only upon the person in cause, but also on the ringleader. On their—Fay’s—negligence. Negligence was unacceptable in his domain.
Fay watched closely as the gymnasts resumed their routine almost flawlessly, yet tainted by the imperceptible sloppiness specific to fatigue. They debated offering a break after they finished the set. That thought was instantly set aside as a stripe of light appeared to their right, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps alongside a cane.
Instinctively, Fay straightened up. Their eyes followed the routine before them, yet their mind followed Elkhan’s approach. The man stopped beside them and followed their gaze, hands resting on the polished staff. A moment of silence followed.
“I trust everything is in order. I’ll watch today’s rehearsal.” Elkhan spoke up, his tone carrying finality. He didn’t turn for confirmation—he was aware that he did not require it.
Fay inhaled deeply, that realization intensifying the always-present frustration in the back of their throat. They regurgitated a reply before they could process it fully. “A heads-up would’ve been nice.”
Elkhan shifted, and, for a second, Fay pictured the cane strike their head until a half moon indent formed. Whatever expression they made following that product of their imagination must’ve satisfied the circus owner, because nothing followed except for a hint of a smile at the corners of his lips. Of course the bastard got off on their unease, they thought.
They looked into the rink, where the twins were diligently working on one of their more impressive moves, undoubtedly having noticed the owner's presence.
He took another painfully long pause before responding. “Has Roger mastered his last act?”
The mention caused Fay’s gaze to trail down to the sand lined floor. They considered lying, yet that would be recognized and bring forth unpleasant consequences. “Not yet,” they began, “but he’s almost there. He just can’t manage the final toss, but-”
“So many ‘but’s…” Elkhan licked his lips, then faced a suddenly-wary Fay. “You are aware of the fact that this show will be attended by incredibly influential people, correct?”
“Yes, I just-”
“Did I give you permission to speak beyond answering my question?” A stern element that hadn't been there before appeared in his tone.
Fay almost shuddered. They shook their head, pursing their lips. Whether it was out of obedience or out of fear of impulsively cussing out the person with the most control over their well-being, they were not quite sure. What they did know was that self preservation was something they ought to work on a bit harder. Their body was still sore.
That hint of a smile returned on the other's face, taking an increasingly wolfish turn. He tilted his head, eyes trailing across Fay's face with a closeness so great that they wondered if their skin would cave in where they'd been observed.
“Manners are a crucial part of our relationship, Fay.”
They did not speak up then.
Elkhan seemed simultaneously pleased and amused as he continued. “I keep having to remind you of them,” he circled around the mauve-haired ringleader, making a show of lifting a lock of hair off their shoulder before letting it fall back down, “and my patience is growing thin.”
“I'm a patient man, am I not, Fay?”
Fay almost laughed a reply, but that eventually remained unvoiced. Instead, they forced a nod, jaw clenched and features colder.
“So what does me losing my patience indicate?” The man pressed on, now behind them.
Fay sighed, exasperated. They hoped it wasn't too loud as they mentally prepared their response. They did not get a chance to voice it.
In an instant, the side of Elkhan’s cane was pressing against their throat. Fay's hands instinctively shot up with a gasp, gripping the material on both sides of their head and pushing outwards with all their might. They barely registered the way the twins flinched and continued their work silently in the distance. They couldn't breathe properly, yet they were painfully aware of the fact that Elkhan was not using his full force. They continued to push, attempting to get their airway to do its job correctly again.
“Hands down.” The smile was evident in his voice.
After another quick push against their windpipe, Fay gave in, expecting their sudden obedience to counter the warning move. Their hands lowered into fists at their sides, fighting all natural preservation instincts. The grip only grew stronger. Ragged half breaths soon turned into mere gasps. Their fingers twitched. They couldn't breathe.
“Tsk. Turn your head towards me more.”
Elkhan tilted the cane upwards to forcefully push into their jaw. Fay did not resist. They could barely see a blur of the man's face in their peripheral, yet they knew he was practically basking in their expression. Drinking in every gasp, every twitch. Every ounce of pain glimmering inside their eyes and settling down like snow, so beautifully hypothermic. He was planning a blizzard.
It was only when Fay's vision was nearly overtaken by dark specks that he stopped.
Fay fell, sand sticking uncomfortably to their knees and palms as they coughed and gasped violently. A moment was all they had to themselves before a cold, familiar material pushed against their chin. They raised their head, looking up at Elkhan from their position, utterly miserable. The man's smile was wide.
“How unfortunate it is that I have to keep you intact for two more days. I loved that show you just put on.”
Fay's breath caught in their throat before they remembered they were allowed to use it. Elkhan bared his teeth in his next grin.
“From the top,” he instructed the gymnasts without taking his eyes off the figure on the floor.
His hand was in Fay’s hair the next second, and with a grunt, they were pulled back up to their feet. He let go in favor of holding the cane again, and Fay did not dare fall without permission.
“I'll keep count of the error record after the show.” Elkhan stated, settling casually.
They were in the same position as before, side by side, as if nothing had happened. The entire existence of Fay's pain, the validity of it, was wiped away with a look and a word. The gymnasts stood by in their previous positions, the wooden cane horizontally propped against the ground, and no trace of the struggle remained. Just before commencement, Elkhan's whisper reached the ringleader's ear.
“You won't recover so easily then.”
...
i'm finally getting more into OC stuff!
thanks to @chaotic-orphan, whose writing motivation advice i used to get myself to write this! :D the timer technique worked, yay!
ps. if you want me to remove the tag, lmk!
double ps.-- people, go check out her blog if you haven't already, it's awesome
Fay’s gaze burned into the cane nearly like it did into them.
“Fay?” Their head lifted at the sound of their Pa’s voice. For a few moments, they did not turn, instead mentally contemplating their chances. If they were to get the cane tested, all under the pretense of it belonging to one of the recent shooting’s victims, they could obtain and advance physical proof against Elkhan without unnecessary questions from the hospital to slow them down and, therefore, without his knowledge. No more corruption, just mere evidence.
That would warrant freedom. Actual freedom.
They turned to the slouched figure on the bed and stepped to the side, inhaling deeply. Hesitation flamed in their mind, yet rationale doused it—they needed to do this now, before Elkhan returned. It was their only shot. Their thumb moved to fiddle with a ring, almost absentmindedly, as they spoke: “…Pa, I need to go.”
The man frowned. The hurt in his eyes sent a thorn spiking around Fay’s heart, and they braced themselves for the unintended venom his words would spew. “You just got here! We haven’t seen each other in so long…”
“I know...” They interrupted. A look at the clock confirmed they didn’t have much time left, and they softly took ahold of their father’s hand, their thumb moving to his ring instead, feeling along the chiseled texture engraved in silver—the sun matching his perfect opposite. In an almost physical manner, they plucked their brain away from dwelling on thoughts of the semicircular counterpart belonging to their Ma. “I’m sorry. This is really important.”
If only he knew just how important. How much the course of their life might depend on it. “But I’ll visit again as soon as I can, I promise,” they made sure to add.
“You said that last time, and it took a year.”
That made them grimace. Visiting proved especially difficult when a certain psychopathic bastard kept them on circus ground at all times, but that knowledge did nothing to mellow the guilt. What could truly help, though, was bringing forth justice. That could only be achieved if they moved. Now.
Leaning forward, they pressed a kiss against their Pa’s forehead, retreating with a soft smile that held waves of sadness which they prayed the man wouldn’t notice. “It won’t be that long this time.”
With that lingering promise, another squeeze of his hand, and a reciprocated “I love you”, they left the room gripping Elkhan’s gruesome cane.
Any sort of tranquility that Fay had imposed upon themselves in the past hour was gone as soon as the door shut behind them. Their feet moved quickly, suddenly in survival mode alongside their eyes, which darted to follow the signs that would guide them towards the hospital’s laboratory. A few frowns were directed at them as they rushed, but they did not linger for long considering the current havoc. They lowered themselves a couple steps at a time, descending to the ground level with impressive swiftness, and in a few moments, the counter leading to the lab came into sight.
They forcefully quieted down their pants as they approached the dark-haired woman there.
The cane shook in their hand as they straightened it, ready to raise it to her line of sight. “There’s an object sample that needs to be tested, it belongs to-”
“There you are, Fay.”
All muscles in their body strained.
From the hand now settled on their shoulder, strings of scalding ice wrapped around their limbs, holding them immobile. Elkhan easily pried the cane out of their grip, and with it, he pried away their liberty again. The woman did not get to see it.
What she did see was Elkhan’s charming smile, which he mechanically intertwined with pity, and he forced out a sigh before addressing her. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry for the confusion. You see, my friend Fay here has a gravely ill father,” he leaned forward, as if sharing a secret, “they’re still in denial, trying anything and everything to make him well…”
Somehow, as the woman’s expression softened, Fay’s blood ran even colder. She was believing him.
They shifted, and Elkhan’s cane was suddenly pressed against the side of their leg. With that warning—whatever the fuck it was supposed to mean, it wasn’t good—all their movements halted.
The woman turned to Fay. “What room is your father in, sweetheart?”
Pressure increased against their bone, drawing a hesitant answer out of them. “401. Robin McKinzy.”
The nurse’s keyboard clicked for a few moments before she raised her head with a tender smile. “We get regular tissue and blood samples from your father to ensure the grafts are doing their job properly,” the woman explained softly, her voice holding a charitable spirit that made Fay want to scream. “The last one we got tested perfectly, so there’s absolutely no need to worry.”
To the side, their need to worry nodded.
“They were out of my sight for just a second,” he started, “but that won’t happen again.” With that last statement, his eyes met Fay’s. They easily unveiled the mask of charisma—and beneath it, they saw no mercy.
Oblivious to what she was sentencing Fay to, the woman expressed her apologies and gave them the clear to leave. The ringleader’s legs moved heavily, as if weighed down with stones, as Elkhan steered them away and towards the exit. His arm slithered around their shoulder, pulling them to his side, imitating a friend generously supporting the other’s steps. Breaking that facade, Elkhan leaned toward their ear.
“I don’t know why you thought that would work.”
As he paused, they passed a staircase, and Fay’s eyes followed it for as long as the angle allowed. They’d promised. They’d promised to their father that they would visit.
“You’ve gotten reckless, Fay. We’ll see to that.”
They might never see him again.
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notes: So… I might’ve had to split this chapter into two AGAIN to match the length of the others, because I’m physically unable to stop yapping. It’s in my blood. Though that does mean that the next chapter will be out quicker hehe..
Uhm, either way, get ready for the next part. The (slight) comfort you saw in these past two is a thing of the past there.
CW: torture; blood; suffocation; broken bones—like really broken; stress position
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The drive to the circus was silent, so Fay was not surprised when Elkhan threw them into his trailer by their hair.
They staggered to maintain their balance, stepping to the side as they turned to face him. The circus owner’s usual amusement had faded, massifs of unbridled anger leaving it in the shadow—an unusual reaction for him. Fay backed away from the figure approaching them, but their resolve loomed unmoving. They decided that whatever pain the man had planned for them, there was little they could do to worsen it.
Might as well…
“You fucker.” they blabbered, resorting to the unkempt, latent anger that protected their ego, but not their body. “I’ve been stuck in this hellhole for a year. You said I could see him-”
A swing of his cane quickly rebutted their initial refusal to fall. It collided with the side of their head, and, in a split second, they found themselves on the ground, with the world spinning around them and crimson trickling down their temple. Despite it, there was something else that troubled Fay’s vision into a flicker.
Elkhan never hurt them above the throat.
It was purely for entertainment purposes, since they couldn’t perform with visible wounds—or possible concussions, apparently—but he abided by that rule at all times. This deviation was not accidental, they realized. Whatever Elkhan had planned for them, it did not involve their participation in the next few shows. A new sort of dread overtook Fay.
As their palms pushed them to their back and began dragging them away from the threat, their shaken brain ransacked itself, turning over and analyzing memories, facts, all in a desperate, primal attempt to come up with a solution that would grant them survival without having them licking his boots. The only option that emerged prompted them to raise their palms and speak.
“I was…”
They choked on the words as Elkhan moved to pull down the blackout curtains. Their energy channeled into scrambling them up as the man headed to his desk, beginning to scour through a bottom drawer.
“Fuck…” They mumbled as the hand they’d assigned to pat their head returned to their line of sight stained with blood. Even if they hadn’t planned to frown at Elkhan, their brows furrowed in discomfort as they looked at him. “I was supposed to have more time.”
Elkhan glanced up for a mere moment, then resumed his search, re-adopting that horribly calm tone that Fay had grown familiar with. It felt comforting now, in a sick way.
"Seriously? You thought you would keep that privilege after the stunt you pulled?”
A scoff came from the ringleader mid-movement. With some effort, they managed to steady themselves against the wall. "It's not my fault you left the damn cane! You would've done the same if you were me."
Elkhan rose with a thick length of rope curling in his hold.
Seriously? Rope?
"I'm not you, Fay."
As the circus owner approached, Fay retreated into their glare, determined to hold it.
In the back of their mind, alarm sounds blared, alerting that he would not stop at that, that they might be better off shutting up, but their mouth generated a sham of a laugh. "Really? You're gonna tie me up? That's pretty pathetic, you know."
Elkhan did not seem to share their amusement yet. The bastard probably only had the privilege of that feeling whenever he watched Fay writhe on the floor.
Which he was probably planning to happen fairly soon.
When his grip squeezed against their upper arm, they let themselves be led closer to the wall, planning to continue with the doom bringer speech, to increase its intensity like exceeding the speed limit on a motorcycle on a busy highway. Yet the moment they glimpsed his face had them reconsider. Something was awfully wrong; not surprisingly so, as they’d been suspecting, but somehow, that moment—that look—confirmed it inside their head.
So they reserved their snark for replies and remained still when he forced them back to their knees and began working on wrapping the rope around their wrists. Though they did think about spitting in his face, that beautifully satisfying option barely fled the confines of their plans in time.
“I’m not you,” the man repeated, tightening a knot, “and I feel like you've been forgetting that quite often lately."
Fay gave him a look. Not quite time for philosophy, was it?
"Sure, yeah. You're not me because I'm not a total prick.” Shit, that streak did not last long.
Elkhan’s next glare held a sharpness that seemed to slice through their vocal chords. "I'm not you because I hold power,” he began, thankfully having to glance back down to begin restraining their ankles, “because I am free. I can do as I please, when I please it.”
Fay merely rolled their eyes, though the sincerity of those words stung.
“You have none of those privileges, Fay.”
Just as Fay’s fictious aphonia began to heal miraculously, a length of rope was pulled upwards and around their throat.
Instinctively, they shifted away, but Elkhan pulled them back by the rope. "Stay."
The tone of his voice irritated their very being, the condescension, the way he spoke to them—like they were a damn dog. So Fay’s glare naturally followed, accompanied by their usual, favorite curse—
A moment was all it took before all their air vanished. A moment was all it took before he gave it back.
Their gasp must’ve been a good enough indicator to Elkhan that they would shut up, because the man casually let out on his grip and went on with the work. Coarseness scratched at their throat and the hand at the end of the rope pulled it backward again, attaching it to a hook in the floor, between their ankles—forcing them to either remain upright or suffocate. Just when they took note of the similar hook in front of them and thought they knew exactly what to expect, Elkhan rose, leaving their hands bound, but unhooked.
"You're not a lost cause. Though you do seem to have a habit of rapidly forgetting everything you're taught."
Fay swallowed. "Well forgive me for not staying at your feet all the time…" Their train of thought derailed as Elkhan, cane now back in hand, took a long, long, allusive look at their knees.
They froze.
As if Fay hadn’t even had an attempt at speaking, Elkhan carried on with his previous lecture. "You're going to remember this time."
The ringleader shifted, the rope protesting against their throat, and leaned backwards onto their already numbing calves—before they quickly set their mind against leaving the knees exposed and moved back into their initial position.
He wasn’t actually planning on doing that… There was no way. They shook their head.
“Hell no.” They scoured his gaze, finding no hint of a joke, and their tone shifted. “No, I’m not- come on, you need me for shows.” Another step forward. “I know something happened recently!" He paused and they took that as a sign to continue. "Yes, I know. I've seen the changes... in your behavior. If you just tell me what it is, I-we can fix it, we-"
“I think you’ll want to raise your hands to your chest for the next part.” His hand clenched around his cane, and so did Fay’s ribs around their lungs.
Hesitation—an all-consuming form of it—suddenly overtook them.
“Raise your hands, or I’ll break them too.”
Fay pursed their lips, debating their options, or, more precisely, lack thereof. The time for analysis was cut incredibly short when Elkhan brought the cane down and Fay’s arms lifted barely in time to avoid it.
Their left knee could not do the same, and a crack accompanied Fay’s choked cry.
Barely a moment passed to allow Fay to process that he’d actually broken their fucking leg before he did it again. Another scream tore as the broken bone began to shatter. Their instincts guided them to shift, to somehow at least straighten their leg, and they leaned forward, but the air began to thin. When they leaned back, the affiliated pain that followed pushed the hope for a comfortable position outside the boundary of their consideration. They merely reached upward with their fingers, managing to push one through an end of a loop, and they could’ve possibly gotten untied in a few dozen minutes if —
He hit again. “Don’t do that.”
Their hands unflexed, mostly out of reflex, but there was something else in there, inside their mind, that made Fay want to simultaneously curse and cry. A sort of need to listen to Elkhan before their rationale could even make the decision of it being their best bet, as if their body had adapted to preserve itself by fully dismissing their ego.
Another hit.
They craned their neck as their head tilted upwards, eyes shutting. They did not even get to pick from a wonderful false scenario to disassociate to before the hit came. The next whine was already hoarser, grace to the rope, which quickly reminded them not to move too much.
That time, Elkhan did not speak. He did not delve into any sort of fucked up speech about captivity or pain or whatever awful interests held him awake at night. He simply brought the cane down again, against Fay’s left knee.
And again, but switching locations. Once, enough to break the right knee but quickly returning to the left after that was out of the way. He wanted them to walk again at some point, but not soon, they realized as their right leg remained twitching with anticipation, yet almost untouched in comparison to the twiggy state of its twin, unsure if it would ever be able to heal properly. There was no letting them go. No vacating their post.
Fay was to remain at the circus, even if they had to hop on one leg for the remainder of their life.
Almost as if hearing their thoughts and eager to reiterate, Elkhan hit again.
And again…
Eventually, Fay’s voice turned fully hoarse. Each minor twitch convinced them that another bone had broken through skin to peek out unnaturally.
Again, again..
Until Fay wondered if there was anything left to break.
It was only when that thought crossed their mind that Elkhan stopped.
Fay did not struggle in the bounds, but they did struggle on keeping their head upright in order to conserve oxygen—and failed miserably. Their body was too tired to fight for ideals, so they settled on having just enough air to stay awake. Despite the position, their eyelids fluttered closed and adamantly refused to look at the results of Elkhan’s work.
He kneeled in front of their half-wheezing form, finally taking his time to pat at their head wound with a new handkerchief. He gazed at the blood, then folded the cloth and tilted his head at them. A sigh, as if disappointed, followed, as he threaded his hands through their hair, petting, untangling—all nearing care, if viewed from far enough and from the perspective of a half-blind viewer.
“Look at what you’ve done.” He crooned, tone gentle.
As they did not, a pull of the rope drew a ragged, throaty gasp out of Fay along with their gaze. When their eyes met, the man making sure the ringleader’s were open, the hand in their strands pushed their head down.
Internally, they gasped at the view. Their healthier leg had a lump uncomfortably sticking out, though thankfully lacking blood. The same could not be said for their left knee: a mingle of pearly sticks remained, all previously part of their bones, some thankfully still covered by skin, some not as lucky, instead ensnared by trails of still-flowing sticky crimson. A bloody sea of calcium shards, littered by useless patches of ripped skin. Fay could barely recognize what used to be in its place.
Elkhan, in the meantime, had engulfed himself in their horror and resumed caressing their head.
“This is what happens when you get cocky, Fay. You do not have agency here.”
They shakily inhaled, pressure keeping their head still and fear keeping their gaze on the scene. A few moments passed, Fay’s breathing being disturbingly lone a sound, now lacking the accompanied cracks. With the lesson seemingly imprinted into Fay’s mind, the man rose, but his hands didn’t move to untie them, instead finally completing the final step, after having previously secured their throat and ankles: hooking the rope around their wrists in front of them, to the floor.
They could not move. They could not breathe or shake, not without feeling their own bones shift inside their knee into more uncanny models.
Horrified, they followed him with droopy eyes.
He smiled.
Elkhan…? Their mind yelled, desperate, but their voice would not rise to cooperate. They watched as he stepped away from them, towards the door, and Elkhan, no—No, don’t leave me like this!—
The lock clicked.
And Fay, in their forcefully still crimson sea of pain, was left alone in the one moment they dreaded.
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author's note: not sure how realistic this all is, but i’ll leave it at “written just for fun and not necessarily to be accurate from a medical standpoint” bahah
The Half-Sun Circus—a once-in-a-lifetime experience. From all around the world, people gather to witness the excellence and creativity portrayed in their acts. Critics regularly note it as something truly unique; flawless, even. Yet that perfection has a cost. Behind the scenes, routine intertwines with pain.
Fay knows all too well that each slip-up has a cost. As ringleader, all mistakes reflect gravely on them, and their superior, Elkhan, ensures they are aware of the fact. Fay sometimes wonders if their skin will run out of space for scars.
As Elkhan’s behavior shifts for the worse, they eventually decide that they won’t wait around for that inevitable moment to come. Fay navigates suffering, work, relationships, and an interwoven past, all to put the unjust circus owner to a stop. Whatever it takes.
^ Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed! :)
* Disclaimer: Everything on here is mine, including the character art:) Please don't reuse without permission!! (reblogs are good and encouraged, ofc!)
cw: burns; short, slightly gory description of wounds-- marked with italics if you want to skip it
...
Fay expectantly eyed the hospital sign as smoke enveloped them.
A swirl tauntingly danced around their face, only serving to push their features more into a raging frown before they turned to the left. Elkhan, completely unperturbed, let his cigarette hang out the window, occasionally drawing on it and exhaling back into the car. They were tempted to snatch the object and stick it right into the man’s eye socket. Instead, they settled for a deadpan “Are you done?” and a clench of their jaw when Elkhan shook his head.
The next minutes were spent in silence. Fay stared out the window once more, working on keeping their breathing in check, and they were not quite sure if their struggle was caused by Elkhan’s attitude, the inescapable smoke, or the knowledge that they would soon have to face their unsuspecting father with still-healing hidden wounds. They prayed that the make-up would hold and that the turtleneck sufficiently rose up their throat.
A loud sigh drew Fay’s attention back to the newly exasperated Elkhan, who pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand.
They didn’t care, truly. But curiosity got the better of them. “What?”
Elkhan shook his head, glancing to the backseat. “I forgot to clean up the cane.”
Fay followed his gaze to the back of the car, where the metal cane lay. Indeed, after a closer look, hints of matter that certainly wasn’t supposed to be there wrapped snugly in the cane’s elegant wedges. Skin, dried blood, and, probably, a few shreds of their clothes. Unease overtook their gut, yet it wasn’t only connected to the grimy state of Elkhan’s cane. The state of his brain concerned them as well.
Elkhan never forgot. Especially when it came to sanitation, his memory sparkled as pristinely as he wanted his surroundings and possessions to. They’d sensed something was off about him recently—first, his increased aggression, with that last scalding beating, and now this? It wasn’t quite right. Fay found themselves frowning at him, silently demanding an answer. He stared back, awareness crossing his irises, yet that answer never came. Instead…
“Arm.” Elkhan’s single demand drew a hidden eye roll from the ringleader. With a deep breath and an incredible amount of self-control that kept them from delivering a punch, they angled their arm towards the man. In a swift move, he pressed the cigarette into a blank spot found between the tainted ones. A wince later, Fay’s distaste returned. They debated voicing their concerns, yet quickly realized it would prove useless. So they settled on another question.
“Did you light that up just so you could do this?”
“Mhm.”
“Asshole.” They mumbled and rolled their sleeve back down, ignoring the slight shake in their arm. The contact friction stung, yet Fay imagined their father seeing it would sting infinitely worse.
“Language. I do think your father would be disturbed by your attitude—should we go back to the circus to avoid that?” The following silence seemed to please him. A nod, and the car doors clicked to release. “Good, then. Let’s go.”
. . . . .
An assortment of familiar clinical smells enveloped the two as they wandered down the hallway to room 401. An air of agitation accompanied it, with people rushing to and fro, beeps contrasting the creak of wheels, and an inappropriate whoosh bringing the past forth in Fay’s brain. They attempted to push it back into its confines, but it only grew more deafening, all to the point of overcoming their senses.
The split moment in which images flashed inside their head seemed to take the full time of their true recounting. They first saw the hallway again, in the same disturbed state; then, the creak of exactly twelve wheels, carrying three battered bodies past gaping faces of their children, who desperately attempted to recognize the features they’d inherited. Elkhan’s father’s eyes, reduced down to their sockets, along with half of his face, rolled away from sight first. Fay’s mother followed, with the crooked nose she’d passed down to them having lost its bump and the mouth that used to spew nothing but sweetness now spewing a grimy swirl of crimson and sandy slop. Lastly, Fay’s father was glided by—the only one they managed to recognize, at least partly. Once out of sight, Fay’s eyes moved to the unblemished form beside them, yet Elkhan’s young eyes did not meet theirs.
As he turned, Elkhan’s features morphed back into the present. Despite their sharpness, a hint of something else lingered. Remembrance. They willed themselves to bury it and focus on the now, dodged a few sprinting nurses, and another look at Elkhan confirmed to Fay that he was just as clueless as them about the current commotion’s cause. They didn’t stop to find out.
All amplified sounds seemed to dim as Fay reached the door. The feel of the cold doorknob against their fingers sent a pang of distress wrapping around their ribcage with a merciless squeeze. When was the last time someone had checked on him? What was he feeling? How would he react to their presence—had Elkhan informed him of it? Fay took a moment, grateful Elkhan didn’t forcefully push them into the room, and inhaled deeply. With that breath, they acknowledged all their worries, all their pain, all their questions of which half would be discarded to the endless sea of nothingness, never to be answered. Even the unnerving, looming presence of Elkhan behind them. They exhaled all that away—at least for the next hour.
Stepping into the room, Fay switched all thoughts to a different part of their brain. Their father deserved to lack worry now. A sort of youthfulness that they hadn’t experienced in a long time settled across their features as soon as the man on the hospital bed turned to them. “Hi, Pa.”
The wrinkled face lit up at the sight, and the heart monitor beeped slightly quicker. “Oh, Fay! And Elkhan, what a surprise!”
With a smile—a genuine smile, unusually so—Fay approached the figure, and as soon as they were close enough to the bed, arms wrapped around them. For a brief second, they flinched, pain emanating from all the wounds, burns and bruises lovingly being pressed upon. They wondered if that was how their father had felt with his own injuries. One difference they were certain of was the fact that Elkhan, a few feet away, had pridefully taken notice of their ache.
Eventually, gentleness guided their own body to return the embrace. They realized then how much they’d missed it, and they yearned for more as soon as they parted and their father instead moved to inspect their face with calloused palms against their cheeks.
“You look older. It’s ‘cause you didn’t visit.” He remarked, the softness never leaving his gaze but entangling with a witty sort of humour.
“Hey!” With a tilt of their head, Fay forced a chuckle along some falsely offended snark. They knew he was right, though—the past year had not been kind on Fay, and between the beatings, constant berating, wounds and work, they themselves had noticed a certain morphing of their features in maturity’s favour. It was part of the reason they draped a cloth over the mirror whenever it wasn’t in use.
“Look, I wanted to, really…” Fay settled onto the bed and nearly recoiled as Elkhan made his appearance in their peripheral vision. As the men shook hands, whatever gratitude had arisen in Fay because Elkhan had saved them the burden of that conversation dispersed and converged into something dark. Their fists clenched out of sight, unclenching ever so slightly only when Elkhan pulled away.
“I hope you’re taking good care of Fay.” Their Pa said lightly, as if placing all the trust in the world in Elkhan. Oh, how he desperately wanted to believe Elkhan turned out unlike his father…
Just like the previous generation of cruelty, Elkhan flashed a charming smile. “Of course,” he glanced at Fay, who swore they could pluck out amusement from his eyes, “and I’ll continue to do so. You have my word.”
They truly wished then that Elkhan had inherited the familial inclination towards empty promises, as they clearly held different notions of what ‘good care’ signified. Unfortunately, they knew that hope fell null.
He settled on the empty chair in the corner of the room, earning a harsher glare from Fay that he didn’t seem to mind at all. Was he really going to stay the entire time? Their jaw tightened, adopting familiarity from their hands. One punch, just one, really-
Their father’s voice brought their gaze back. As he began reciting his recent hilarious encounter—with a nurse that forgot he wasn’t completely deaf and freely discussed family drama on the phone, in his room—the rage partly faded along with the knowledge that Elkhan was watching. They chatted, chuckled, and Fay listened closely to anything their Pa said. Truthfully, they weren’t quite sure if—no, it had to be when—they could see him again.
At some point, a shift from Elkhan drew Fay’s attention. His eyes were narrowed as he turned his pockets inside out, sighing when he didn’t find the object he was seeking. “I ran out of cigarettes.”
Fay nearly laughed in his face. Well, if he hadn’t wasted his last one on dragging out a mere wince from them…
“I’m going to get a pack, then we should go.” He didn’t explicitly mention to not even attempt to leave the room, yet that unsaid comment clearly resonated between the two. Thankfully, it seemed to bounce off the eardrums of their father, who gave Fay’s tormentor a smile before he left. As they turned back to face the older man, Fay noted the way his attention had shifted to the small tv screen on the wall, motioning for them to turn the volume up. They frowned, picking up the remote from a wooden table and holding a button pressed until a reporter’s voice cleared.
‘…confirmation that today’s mall shooting victims have arrived to the hospital, where the critically injured are being urgently treated and samples are being collected. The shooter…’
Ah, Fay thought, so that was what had brought all the havoc.
Their brain processed it half-way through their attempt to face the screen; resting against the wall, samples of Fay’s pain veiledly twirled around its base:
Elkhan’s cane.
…
notes: So… this is already like twice the length of my normal chapters—so I’m separating it into two parts :))
Taglist: @macknus
General taglist: @sarahsbookshop, @suitsandwhump , @daggers-and-dangers , @whumpywillow , @sootheandsavage
Applause echoed throughout the massive tent, accompanied by the occasional shout or whistle. Fay, positioned in the center, with others circling them theatrically, took a moment to bask. They tilted their head up to the ceiling, the spotlights’ intensity blocking their view of most spectators—a form of escapism they appreciated immensely at the moment—and they decided to count their blessings while still in reach. They cherished their short-lived ability to raise their hands triumphantly at their sides, despite a distant lingering sharpness in their newer cuts. They rejoiced as a tulip fell at their feet and their back didn’t protest excessively when they went to pick it up. They happily acknowledged its ambrosial scent, taking their time to inhale. When they briefly shut their eyes, gratitude arose from being able to choose the timing. Those were privileges they would soon lose.
The show had gone well, yet Elkhan was sure to still have plenty of failure logs on his list. He voiced all the ones committed by the other members of the circus during their after show meeting. Lara's inappropriate form, Charles’ sneeze, the twins’ moment of asynchronicity… None of them seemed pleased but diligently acknowledged his complaints. Murmurs began only after Elkhan’s exit, the others soon stirring to their own trailers to meet curfew.
Fay was not granted the privilege of a curfew or learning their mistakes. That might only prevent Elkhan from hurting them excessively. He wouldn't let that happen.
The ringleader’s mind attempted to recount their faults as soon as they got off the rink. Their body began leading them towards the circus owner’s trailer with dreadful familiarity, leaving a significant portion of their headspace to deal with their overflow of concerns. With each dazed step, another memory popped and flashed in their mind. That time they confronted him on being too harsh with the young Charles? Certainly on the list. Their quick outburst—outbursts, actually— in the rink, too. What about that one suggestion on show start times that he didn’t take well? Would that be included? Shit, the time they accidentally spat blood onto his new shoes… They’d forgotten about that, but that was definitely not the case with Elkhan. He remembered everything.
The sight of his door brought Fay back to reality, and they willed their anxious thoughts into oblivion. A quick moment of hesitation preceded their soft knock. Elkhan’s voice steered them inside, and they shut the door behind them.
The man didn’t even look up from his spot at the desk. “Lock it.”
A chill ran down their spine. The lock clicked as Fay hesitantly turned the key, not eager to add to their promised misery. Regardless of the fact that his trailer, able to extend into a full sized area, was the most spacious of all, Fay felt an impossible wave of claustrophobia wash over them. They turned. The room was neatly arranged, as usual, no item out of place, no stains of blood on the polished floor from their last encounter. Something stood out, though—Fay eventually recognized it was the lighting, which now uncommonly beamed from the small fireplace on their left. Shaking off the agitation in their gut, they positioned themselves at a distance from it and their gaze moved to watch Elkhan finish up signing some sheets, completely undisturbed. He took his time, perhaps intentionally letting Fay’s distress pulse inside their chest. When he eventually stood, they stiffened.
Elkhan sighed dramatically, acting oblivious to their distress. “So much paperwork,” he complained, a hand coming up to run through his hair, the other bringing a glass of whiskey up to his lips. “You should count yourself lucky that’s not something you have to deal with.”
Fay remained externally quiet. Lucky generally wasn’t a term they would’ve used to describe themself. They certainly wouldn’t have minded switching places with him, they thought at first, yet that qualm lodged itself into their brain, quickly posing another question: could they set their empathy aside to inflict pain as freely as he did? Could they stifle their remorse, a quality Elkhan did not seem to possess? Some well-deserved punches were in order. But more? How far would they go?
The clink of Elkhan’s now empty glass settling on the desk brought their thoughts back to the present and their eyes back to their usual task of analyzing their boss in a futile attempt to determine his future moves. Elkhan seemed more fatigued than usual. His expression reflected it, as well, with his normally visible grey irises now shadowed by narrowing eyes. Perhaps he would hold back? They prayed his hands ached from scribbling with his fancy pen enough to lessen the inevitable hits that were to follow.
“If you need a break, I can just leave,” they tried.
Elkhan barked a laugh, the familiar hint of amusement returning to his eyes. It closely resembled something; him as a child, with the same glint that appeared only when he hurt animals in spite of young Fay’s protests. Their own pain hadn’t been an interest of his then, only their fear. Fay wasn’t quite sure if the affiliated feeling settling inside them resembled relief or dread. Either way, the latter soon conquered.
He stood just off-center of the room, his newer metal cane in hand, and he waved it towards a spot on the floor. Fay swallowed. This again? After quickly debating the consequences of remaining unmoving, they reached the conclusion that his wishes would be fulfilled eventually—with or without their own will being involved. Their future self would thank them for sparing any unnecessary pain. Their feet slowly took them to where he was pointing. With another falsely encouraging look from Elkhan, they kneeled.
“Eager to get this over with, hm?” The man remained before them, forcing them to crane their neck slightly in order to see him properly.
“I’m not exactly looking forward to your beating routine, no.”
Elkhan’s lips pursed into a knowing smile. “Me neither. It’s gotten a bit repetitive.”
Fay blinked in surprise. They’d expected either a condescending retort or a hit, certainly not that sort of concord. The naive burst of relief that their heart allowed didn’t take long to be overridden by their head. Elkhan wouldn’t leave them alone, that was certain, but the position they had been guided into was one he’d only used for the common beating. And if the common beating wasn’t in order, something else—something worse—was to take its place.
“I figured we should try something new.”
To Fay’s horror, he headed to the fireplace to submerge the cane into flames.
“You can’t be fucking serious.” Their words remained stuck in their throat for a few painful moments. Any indignation vanished, replaced by fearful realization. They shifted, suddenly restless on their knees as the man approached with an additional slight reddish hue coloring the end of the staff. “Elkhan-” they blabbered, pressing their palms into the floor and instantly pushing themselves back, “Wait. Wait, don’t-”
A strangled cry cut off their train of senseless thought. The crook of the cane, still unbearably hot, had been hooked around their throat until they sat back up on their knees. They half-expected for it to decapitate them, but it was gone in a second, leaving only a linger of searing pain. They reached up to feel at their neck, hoping their fear-frozen palms would aid, but Elkhan brought the tip of the cane dangerously close again.
They froze, and so did the small stream carrying thoughts of the past that had threatened to spill inside their brain.
He circled around them, crouching in their line of sight. He tilted their head up by their chin and inspected the wound with a soft “tsk”. Fay bit back a whimper before he rose again, sticking the cane back into the fireplace. “Sit up straight. Next time that might burn through more layers of skin.”
“No—” their protest merged into a sharp shriek as another wave of pain erupted, this time along their abdomen. Elkhan left it there for a while longer, watching Fay desperately try to put any distance between them and the cane. A hit across their back followed to get them straight once more. Fay’s breaths visibly shook. Their palms lay flat against the hard floor, nails screeching against it in an attempt to hold onto something—anything. They didn’t even have a chance to speak nor think in between the next three burns. Elkhan then paused, inspecting them, and Fay hoped he’d grown bored.
A quick look at his glimmering eyes instantly disproved that theory.
“You were right, Fay,” he smiled down at them. “This is much better. Change isn’t so horrible after all.” Accordingly, the next welts were caused slowly. He let time pass between each of them, drinking in Fay’s pained sounds and briefly leaving their side to scald his handy weapon. Each time they slouched, another hit would bring them back to their previous position. Excessive force was never used, but they found themselves wishing they could withdraw that prayer. Elkhan left their abdomen to work on their back, then their back to work on their arms. Their previous cuts were sealed with ease as soon as they started bleeding. The cane lingered around their face momentarily, but he decided against it.
Their entire upper body felt as if it was on fire when he finally stopped. As soon as his cane—which he carefully held until he was sure it wouldn’t damage his floor—was placed against the wall, Fay let themself fall to their side.
Elkhan suddenly winced. “Ah…” He kneeled on the floor next to them, reaching out a hand to push their own off their abdomen. “I should’ve had you change before. The costume’s ruined now.”
Fay only managed a grunt of protest.
With a sigh, Elkhan stood to his full height, eyeing the sight below him with a twisted look of pleasure flashing across his features. “Well, no matter now, I’ll buy you a new one. We’re going into town in a few days either way.”
“We…?” Fay hadn’t been outside of the circus in nearly a year. A soft frown settled along their contorted features. They wrapped an arm around their torso, quickly regretting it and wincing as they pushed themselves back to their side.
Elkhan grinned. “I figured you would like to pay your father a visit.”
Their eyes grew wide. They hadn't seen their pa in so, so long. The sight of him in that clinical hospital bed, surrounded by flowers, came to recall. Did he know that they hadn't been allowed to visit him? Or did he think that they'd abandoned him? They toiled and suffered, all to ensure his well-being, but he couldn't have known that. Couldn't have known the lengths the benevolent Elkhan went to for Fay to be granted his surgery funds. They couldn't have him know that— the guilt would consume him.
As if able to read their mind, Elkhan's amusement seemed to grow. He watched them, in pain and confounded, for a little longer, before speaking.
“Get some rest until then. Recover.” He ruffled their hair, then stepped out of Fay’s line of sight, and they soon heard the door click shut. It wasn't locked, and Fay's suspicion as to why was confirmed when the doctor entered. They processed the lack of a threat quickly and pulled their attention from her.
The fireplace partially came into view as they shifted, allowing better access for the medic to tend to their wounds. They watched the flames, dancing angrily within their confines, all memories of pain searing through their head as sparks flew, then quickly extinguished themselves. They’d always hoped fire engulfed more mercifully as a whole, namely when it granted death to the undeserving. Yet they found a new wish, deep inside their mind, that they could pluck sparks and have them collaborate in division, all to consume Elkhan without lenience. Perhaps it was time to let him burn.
Fay tapped the packed brush against their neck, groaning as purple still managed to peek from underneath. Their own reflection frowned back at them. Tilting their head upwards, they pushed a strand of hair to the side to gain a better view of the battered area, strained against the dim lighting of their trailer, and grimaced at the sight. Wherever the foundation creased, dark bruises relentlessly took its place. Resentment accompanied frustration as they pushed their hand down onto the vanity, letting the brush roll back into the glass.
They ran a hand through their hair, mind working with intensity in an attempt to figure out a solution that wouldn’t scream “hey, my boss beats me” to their entire audience that night. There was no time to purchase different make-up, that was for sure. Borrowing was off-limits, too—their paleness ensured any other shade would stand out bizarrely. Eyebrows still furrowed, they mumbled profanities, all directed at Elkhan, always creating problems and leaving them to deal with the aftermath.
Briefly, the option of simply not covering up flashed in their mind, yet that light did not take long to flicker shut. Would any member of the wealthy, snobbish audience bat an eye at the ringleader’s ring of bruises? Even if they did and decided to take action—which insinuated they wouldn’t budge at bribery, hence very unlikely—there was a fifty percent chance the police officer they reported it to was one of Elkhan’s connections. Then Fay would be ratted out, and Elkhan would not hold back on the consequences. They decided they preferred bruises over having their tongue cut out.
Fay was still staring in the mirror like a madman, debating their options, when the sound of their door clicking shut drew their attention to the figure stepping behind them. Without bothering to turn to look at Elkhan, they opted to gaze his less dangerous reflection. He seemed to love having them with their back to him—hell, he probably placed the vanity mirror in that spot for that exact reason. Sick bastard.
Fay gambled their health on a reply. “I doubt you pay visits to the others this often.”
Instead of slamming their head against the mirror, Elkhan fortunately seemed amused. “Good evening to you too.” He leaned his cane against the wall and moved to the side of their chair, inspecting the black and blue marks on their neck. “I figured the make-up wouldn’t do much,” he continued thoughtfully, “and I felt generous today, so I brought you something.”
He raised his hands, and Fay glanced at the top he was holding up. Indeed, it had a high neckline, proving useful for their current predicament. Yet what stood out to Fay was its shade—a completely different color than the usual flashy golden suits that contrasted Fay’s hair so well. This one was a crimson red, with only a few intricate details in their previous signature hue.
Elkhan seemed to take notice of Fay’s confusion. “Much more practical, don’t you think?”
Fay swallowed their reply. They settled on staying quiet, as the probable explanation their brain calculated was not particularly pleasant. The circus owner decided to continue either way.
“That way, when I do this,” in one swift move, he switched on a pocket knife and slashed it against Fay’s collarbone, ignoring their hiss of pain, “We don’t have worry about you bleeding through the costume anymore.”
As if on cue, blood beaded in a long line, masterfully filling in the gaps and beginning to drip down onto their clothes. Fay reached for a handkerchief, but Elkhan outpaced them and wiped at the cut with his own. The ringleader winced and glared through the mirror, only serving to draw a grin.
“I don't quite like that look.” Elkhan scolded. “Let's try again.”
Another slash, this time across the back of their left shoulder. With a grimace, Fay instinctively leaned forward, yet a hand pushed them against the backrest. There would be no way to clean that up properly on their own, they thought. At their side, underneath the table, they dug a fingernail into their palm as Elkhan cleaned the new wound.
“Thank me.”
Fay glanced at his reflection, dumbfounded. Elkhan's eyes were diverted from the mirror, instead focusing on keeping the fresh blood contained. They inspected his expression, hopelessly scouting out a hint of flippancy that wasn't there. A beat of silence passed, and the nail dug into the skin of their hand further.
“What?” Fay resorted to obtuseness, hoping to pull him out of his streak. Instead, the grip tightened on their shoulder, and the cloth swabbed against their back just a bit harsher.
His tone increased in firmness. “I don't remember having cut your ears out yet, Fay. Thank. Me.”
An overwhelming sense of outrage overtook Fay. They had to pause to keep themselves from snarling their reply, and even then, they were unable to contain indignation. “For what?”
Elkhan paused, and Fay's breath stilled with him.
Laughter echoed, painfully prolonged and impossibly lacking in emotion. The man straightened up. With no way to tell what he was going to do next, Fay observed him through wary, narrowed eyes. They watched him move to the nearby wall, and realization struck just as he grabbed his cane.
One hour until the show. If any ribs were broken now, if their open wounds were to be worsened with blunt force, it would be their responsibility to keep everything hidden under threat of much worse future injuries.
“Thank you.” Fay found themself speaking up, instantly hating the hint of despair that seeped into their tone despite the clenching of their teeth.
Elkhan turned, the cane still in his hand, eyes holding a satisfied glimmer. That glimmer, so painfully familiar to Fay, clicked in their head as something they'd seen even as a child. Their memory flashed images of early encounters and the dread that came with their parents bringing them to work. The cruelty, the mind games. Elkhan's inheritance of his father's role had not brought with malice—that had been gained a long time before.
“There we go. But that mishap has made it onto the list. I expect to see you after the show.” The man casually draped the new costume across a chair, saving any unnecessary instructions before throwing the bloody handkerchief onto the table and making his exit.
Fay stared blankly at the table. The energy required for them to continue preparing seemed to had been drained in those minutes. How pathetic, they thought. They'd been in the circus their entire life, they'd been working for three years, and Elkhan still managed to shed their unseen layer of self preservation. Their palms felt suddenly coarse as they rested their head onto them, breathing out heavily. They didn't bother to wipe off more of the blood, which freely drew its own pathway netherward from the wounds.
The door creaked open again, eliciting a flinch.
“Hey.” Fay immediately relaxed. Instead of Elkhan’s condescending tone, something much more melodic echoed behind them. They turned, blinking at the sight of Lara, with her hands still tainted the ashy white shade of gripping powder she so often used. The trapeze artist remained in the doorway, wiping her palms off her costume slightly.
She continued softly, yet her tone did not hold pity. Mere concern. Fay appreciated that more than anything in the moment. “I saw him walk out of here, noticed some blood… Are you okay?”
Fay fully straightened up in their chair, pursing their lips as if expecting an appropriate answer to be triggered by the motion. They yearned for comfort, yet that luxury implied attachment. That they could not afford.
“I'm fine,” they settled on. “I have to get ready, and you should too.”
Instead of the answer ushering Lara out of the room as they'd hoped, the girl stepped forward, stopping a few feet away from their chair. She tilted her head, instantly noting their wounds, and her eyes narrowed. “I'll help you clean those up,” she offered simply.
“It's okay, really-”
“You can't reach that one,” she nodded towards their shoulder, stepping to their left as their gaze followed her. Despite the height difference, Lara's figure didn't feel imposing. Protective, possibly. The woman analysed their face for any sort of further protest, and when that did not come, she picked up the bloody cloth and a small bottle of rubbing alcohol from underneath the vanity. A grimace snaked its way onto her face at the sight of the handkerchief. She threw it straight into the bin, instead unfolding Faye's. Alcohol soaked into the cloth, shifting its shade ever so slightly to a blue strikingly more soothing than the crimson.
“This is going to sting.” And with that, sharpness followed the sleek texture of the handkerchief. Fay winced, but did not protest. Lara silently cleaned their wounds, allowing Fay to retreat into their internal void, afterwards producing a few bandages that they figured she procured from her own trailer, across from theirs. She was done with surprising swiftness, and Fay drew their consciousness back to reality. Their “thank you” was sincere that time.
Lara gave them a warm look. “I'll see you after the show.”
Elkhan’s previous threat nagged at Fay's mind once again. Their body tensed, as if already preparing for the carefully regarded blows and swings promised to them that night. Lacking the candor necessary to inform Lara of it, they forced the corners of their lips into a small smile and their head into a quick nod. With that, the girl headed to exit.
The doorknob clicked as Lara twisted it. For a brief moment, as the opening door revealed the trailer's exterior, Elkhan's still figure emerged, his eyes burrowing into theirs with dreadful assurance.
...
AN: Might seem a little rushed since I've had like 5 minutes of free time daily for the past week.. But yeah, I decided to add a bit of comfort this time—pretty unusual to see of me, but it has a purpose in the storyline :)
Taglist: @macknus / @chaotic-orphan (tell me which one you prefer bahah)
