CW: male whumpee, female whumper, big whumpee, little whumper, possessive whumper, creepy whumper, long term captivity, foot whump, wound cleaning
The caretaking act lasts almost two days. Liam lies in Delilah’s bed, and she changes the dressing on his foot about five times a day, wrapping it so tight each time that it cuts off the circulation, leaves his foot aching and tingling. He says nothing, grateful that given his “illness,” she’s content with his weakest smiles. She brings him glasses of water, and hot broth that’s so thin it’s almost clear. She lays cold or hot cloths on his forehead for no apparent reason and sits at the edge of his bedside and strokes his chest. She keeps herself incredibly busy doing almost nothing, while Liam lies in bed and tries to look like he’s suffering.
The days pass endlessly slowly, especially when Delilah has her hands on him.
Then, around day three, his adoring nurse gets bored. Liam blinks into consciousness and she’s sitting on the end of the bed.
“Darling? I think it’s time for you to start walking again.”
There’s nothing alarming in the sentence, but Liam still tenses. His body aches in response – he’s been so tense, for so long, that he’s almost constantly sore.
“That…that sounds good to me,” he agrees cautiously. Sitting up slowly, he peels back the covers, paranoid all the time about how quickly he’s moving, and whether he should pretend to be in pain. “Thank you for tending me, princess. I couldn’t have recovered without you.”
Beaming down at him, Delilah strokes his head, and Liam fights the urge to cringe. “I’m so pleased, darling. Shall we see how you walk?”
“Of course.” Liam dips his head and scoots to the edge of the bed. He sets his feet on the floor, and with a quick breath in, pushes himself to his feet.
The puncture in his foot hurts. It’s a bizarre pain, one that aches as well as stabs at him with hot needles of hurt. It’s not the worst he’s had, though, in Delilah’s hellish little cabin. He aims a shaky smile her way and hobbles across the floor.
Face alight, Delilah claps her hands together. “Wonderful! The flowers are finally blooming in the woods – there’s a place I want to show you, and now we can go!”
“Wait-” Liam’s voice catches on the word. The thought of wandering off into the woods, on a walk that’s god knows how long…
And she never gives him shoes. If she doesn’t give him shoes and something gets into that puncture, he’s probably done for. He can’t go. He just can’t. Liam swallows hard when he sees the displeasure on her face. “I-I’m sorry, princess, I don’t know if I’m ready for…for such a big, um, trip. Maybe we could stay close to home, today?”
Just let her give it up for today. Tomorrow, he can worry about tomorrow, but please, just let her work with him for today.
Eyes narrowing, Delilah regards him silently for far too long. So, she isn’t going to let him get away with this. “I thought you were healed.”
Her voice is flat and harsh, a whole different woman from the starry-eyed romantic of a few short minutes ago. “I-s-sweetheart, you’ve tended me so well, I, I am recovering…really fast! Just…I don’t feel ready to go outside yet.”
Liam winces internally as he hears the words. They’re too modern, not flowery enough. There’s no big appeal to romance, no references to historic lovers. Delilah’s blue eyes are cold as glaciers. “Of course, dear.” Her words are robotic. “If you’re so worried about your foot, let’s make sure you’re ready for tomorrow.”
Gulping, Liam holds himself steady. To back away now would be to seal his fate. “Princess, I’m not sure-”
“Lie down on the bed,” Delilah orders, and like the well-behaved pet that he is, Liam obeys. She leaves the room, and he lies there frozen, obedient as he always is, wondering once again why he’s lying there, letting her hurt him. No matter how often Delilah confronts him with it, the reality of his helplessness in the face of her games is always a vicious little mystery.
When she reenters the room, Delilah is holding supplies. There’s an unlabeled bottle of clear liquid and a hand towel. All business, she strips the bandages away from his foot while Liam tries, and mostly fails, to control his breathing.
“P-princess, what are you doing?”
When she looks up at him, her smile is mechanical. Something self-satisfied gleams in her eye. “If your wound is taking so long to heal, it’s probably infected. Most doctors now advise soap and water for cleaning, but this clearly will take something stronger.”
Eyes going huge, Liam sits halfway up, reaching out as if he can still her hand. “Wait!”
Then his foot is consumed in flames.
Even the nail going in didn’t hurt this bad. Liam falls back against the pillows, wailing. The burning goes so deep into him, like maybe it’ll crawl up his leg and take over his body. He’d swear he can feel his skin crackling, burning away under the acidic kiss of hydrogen peroxide. Blinking back tears, he sees Delilah, blurry, at the end of the bed. She’s smiling down at his writhing body.
Unwanted but unstoppable sobs build up in his throat. Liam is just barely choking them back when Delilah sits down next to him and tenderly takes his head in her arms. “Don’t worry, darling.” Her voice is rich with pleasure. “You’re safe now.”
Safe now. That’s what breaks him. Liam’s eyes squeeze shut so he doesn’t have to see her grin as the first sob leaves his lips.
