She who wears the skin
!CW!: MDNI, graphic violence, gore, mental abuse, captivity, violent language- !!!read the tags first!!!
Part 2/2 of Oneshot: researchers!141 keep a selkie within their arms' reach, but she is more true than them.
Part 1
a/n: sorry this took awhile; I succumbed to a writer's block and I knew how the story was going to play out, but I simply couldn't conjure the words to do so; anyways as a writing exercise, I decided to make an analysis of the characters so if you (my dearest, sweetest, sunshine readers) are interested in reading said analysis, then do let me know :)
Price's connections were concerning. He managed to fly you out the country, and in to another without documents. He gets what he wants. The rest followed him for their own reasons. Ghost was curious in how to tame such a creature like you. He had yet to accept you were both human and seal. He strictly saw you as a disfigured seal. Gaz was curious about your existence. He worried that your pelt could've been a vital organ, that you'd soon perish without it. He wanted to see if you'd change without a significant skin of yourself. But it was just a coat at the end of the day. Soap felt horrible about your situation, but he wanted to make the best out of it. Price kept him quiet about you with the same reasoning he'd remind you.
"If not me, then some other man would treat you worse. He'd hurt you, abuse you, force you to do things you'd never imagine."
And you'd turn your head away, losing fight. But the other men didn't burn the selkies' identity, just hid it somewhere rather secure.
They had been soft with you. Of course they had; that's how all the stories go. The man steals her coat, her prized possession, then poses as the hero. He brings her back to his place, offers her shelter, gives her his house that she'd feel inclined to make it a home. But it's not a home when it's the site of your stolen pride. It's not a home when you're constantly reminded to be grateful, that everything is a privilege. It's suffocation on the land of the air you were born to breathe.
But they did differ from the usual men, you suppose. They didn't necessarily forced you to do anything. They just kept you in a cabin that was literally in the middle of nowhere- you'd have more luck navigating the depths of the oceans than this wooden prison. They'd supervise your walks in the forest, keeping you away from the rivers and lakes. They didn't physically leash you, but you could feel mental fences being established within you. And you weren't sure how to stop it.
You only started talking to them after a week. Gaz usually gave you baths, claiming to multitask by checking up on your health while cleaning you. Soap had to fill in his spot while Gaz was running tests at some university lab.
"So, ye g'nna tell us yer name? Or dewey keep calling ye Bonnie?" he asked as he massaged a lavender scented shampoo on your scalp, your back facing him. You held the shampoo bottle which had pictures of yellow roses.
You didn't answer.
"I don even think we've told our names. 'M Johnny. Lad who gives ye baths is Kyle. Blondie is Simon. And the big man is John."
John. The man who's neck you imperfected. You internally smile to yourself.
"Oh? Yer shoulders relaxin. Water you thinkin about?"
You tensed your shoulders again, reminding yourself why you are here. You'd need to plan an escape, but you don't even know what continent you're on.
Johnny sighs, filling a cup besides you to rinse out your hair. He kept the water cooler than Kyle. He tried to ask if you'd prefer the cold water instead of the hot water Kyle matches with the ideal internal temperature of a human. You simply looked him in the eye and he lowered the temperature.
"I've always felt bad fur the selkies 'n those stories. I wouldn't want ma sisters goin thru that." he sighed, finger gently pressing your forehead back. You followed, but his hand sat on your eyebrows to shield your eyes from any stray waters that streamed.
"If ye got yer hands onna fur coat, an actual pelt and all... could ya still... y'know." his voice dropped, next to your ear as he scooped more water.
You never thought about it because you were never in a situation to try in the first place. It ticked you off to say the least. Why does he care when he's actively condoning this horrific situation.
"I know John's got a twisted mentality t'say the least, but I reckon anyone and anything is the happiest when free."
Then his hand held out the matching conditioner bottle with even more yellow roses and sunflowers on the front. You handed the shampoo bottle. Your fingers traced over the images as he worked the conditioner into your hair.
"I'm more free than you." you whispered.
His hands hesitated, but they resumed.
"Cannae ask how?"
"You're tethered to a man who treats you as an equal."
"Well... I suppose."
After Johnny had conditioned your hair, he kept it up as he carefully cleansed your body, especially your back right shoulder. John had branded you like a horse. An eye for an eye. He reminded you to be grateful he hadn't branded your neck like you had done to him.
You couldn't feel it when the blazing iron scorched your skin. The warmth was rather soothing, until your skin and nerves were fried. You had braced for the pain, but it never came- not until the iron had been relieved and the cold air graced your skin. You screamed into the towel Gaz had you bite down on. You'd rather break your own teeth.
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
You barely ate with them. They'd have you seated with them at the table; dulled, wooden cutlery at your disposal as they held shiny silver. You haven't ate in your human form for ages. It was free to go catch a fish in the sea. And the thought made you bitter. You'd refused to eat, and they'd refused to let you leave the table unless you ate a simple third of your portions.
They've been adding more food to your plate.
They never asked you to do chores. There wasn't a TV in the cabin. They offered you books, but it was redundant. The last book you read was in middle school before you abandoned civilisation. Johnny had left for a week and came back with kid books from his parents' attic. He retaught you how to read, which unfortunately got you to speak more as you read aloud.
Now after dinner they expect you to read a story to them.
And after you read you'd wash up, and one of them would accompany you to bed. They had the decency for separate beds. John wouldn't talk unless you talked first. You'd lay in bed, bury yourself under the covers so he couldn't see you, and he'd sit on the bed, just watching. You tell yourself he was only watching your breathing to make sure you fell asleep. You barely slept for the first month. You would've attempted an escape but when John took you for a walk outside the cabin on the second day, the realisation was heavy enough to fracture whatever remaining spirit you had left.
Simon wanted to do the least with you, it seemed, but he was still around. He'd lay in his bed and you'd lay in your's. You caught a glimpse of him outside chopping wood in a t shirt. He had numerous scars along his muscular arms. You recognised which ones were bites, scratches, and chews. Whenever you'd show a hint of protest, he'd invade your personal space they all had granted you. His stare made you feel too vulnerable, and it ate you alive.
Kyle tried all sorts of things to get you to sleep during the first month. He was worried your body would malfunction, that your health would be thrown out the window if you didn't get enough rest. Eight hours minimum is what he'd stress. He filled your bed with pillows and an abundance of blankets, but John was too paranoid to give you more than the bare minimum. Kyle experimented with your diet, trying to see which foods you preferred or if you could still eat like a seal in your human form. Yet it's in your nature to reject it all.
Johnny would ramble on about stories from his childhood, what kind of sandcastles he'd build during his beach days. He'd tell you tales of his uni life, the parties and the humanity of it all. He'd softly sing songs. When he saw that you wouldn't sleep one night, he taught you how to whistle. He asked if he could touch your face to correct your lips. You felt inclined to. He was the kindest and the most understanding. His fingers basically hovered the entire time, like he was scared to touch you after all. And when you let out a single, clean note, he jumped from his seat and showered you with praises. You gave him a small smile before John entered the room and scolded Johnny.
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
Spring came with a natural gentleness. You noticed more flowers appearing on your walks. You wondered if they'd ever let you get near a body of water besides the bath. You'd watch them tend to the overgrown grass outside, holding all kinds of sharp blades. It's probably what they kept in the garage you weren't even allowed to glance at.
But you'd sit on the porch, some comic book in your hand, watching them work. Or them watching you be domestic. You were desperate to get out, so you had fawned. You gave up parts of nature, abandoned your teeth, and became obedient. The insides of your cheeks had scarred from how often you chewed in distress.
John started to hold you while you both slept. It took a while for you to get used to how he held you; it was uncomfortable and invasive. He would quickly fall asleep while you were unable to toss and turn. He'd also taught you how to cook, cautiously trusting you to handle a fruit knife for the vegetables. You're not sure what held you back from stabbing him straight in the neck. Maybe it was the way he was preparing himself for your attack, or the fact that the other three were just on the other side of the counter, spectating.
They all took turns going to work, making sure at least one of them was supervising you. You were sure that you were in England. They seem like the type of men who never leave home. Kyle likes to share about his favourite football team with you, often bringing you merch to wear, matching with him. The jerseys he brought didn't necessarily fit you, but it was better than wearing their own clothes. The scarf he gave you was soft, and you often wrapped it around your head and neck, covering your hair. You weren't used to hair, but they treated it like it was normal.
And you had to force yourself to be normal for another twelve months.
You had forced yourself to assimilate into their way of life. You made refuge in the hollow spaces of their hearts. They were yet to demand anything other than obedience from you; they even let you stay barefoot. You didn't exactly agree with their ways, but you were compliant- or maybe it was your pliant adaptiveness. You didn't focus on time, but rather preserving your true nature. You often imagined swimming in your better form, hunting and bathing in the sun. You missed the sea. You longed for any body of water larger than a bathtub.
This spring was a bit harsher with constant downpour of rain. And with rain came thunder. There was lightning, which happened to struck down a rather thick tree. They brought you along to cut down the bits of the tree to store for firewood, but not enough to make firewood pieces. You were yet to go into town with them, but you made peace with sitting down on a camping chair as they swung axes. Then Johnny brough a sled to haul the chunks of wood back towards the cabin, taking you for a ride as he sprinted while you clutched on. The scarf flew off your head, floating away in the air as you continued being dragged. You laughed a bit more freely compared to when you first met the woods.
Once a week the boys would chop the wood into suitable pieces and sometimes you'd go with them to watch, spend a little time touching grass. This time was a bit different. John decided to get the chore out of the way while the other three had their own needs to tend. Kyle was in some city leading presenting his research that he had been working on in his university lab. Johnny went for his shift to work to keep an income towards the cabin. Simon went to a local pub to watch a football game. You had been curled to John's side, listening to some book he was reading aloud after you read your chapter. He noticed your restlessness- but you were never fully comfortable with any of them.
He gently put his large hand over both of your knees, "Y'gonna calm down?"
You looked up to meet his eyes, "Sorry", you tensed your body to keep it still.
"Do you need to go outside? Get some fresh air?" he offered.
You always said yes.
The night sky was clear as ever, constellations twinkling above. You laid on your back, staring at the stars while listening to the chopping rhythm. He told you he was going to take the pieces near the cabin, and would return to your side. He expected you to stay in your spot. You haven't necessarily given him a reason to doubt you.
But the air was slightly warmer and you could feel the lingering dew. His footsteps diminished and you turned your head to see the axe stuck in the trunk of a sturdy tree. You were curious. They'd never let you touch an axe- said it's not fit for a proper lady. So you got up, hand tracing over the cool metal. You continued tracing up to the handle, now wanting to see if you could lift the axe. They made it seem light.
Both hands barely encapsulated the handle as your body harshly met the ground, knocking the wind out of you.
"What were you thinking." his voice gritted in your ear as you squirmed under his large body.
His hands were pinning for your arms but you wriggled around, your mouth close enough to bite his arm, and you gave into your natural instinct, letting your teeth sink as low as they can.
"Fucking cunt!"
He stepped away, huffing as he grabbed for something in his boot. You crawled backwards to create distance, to give yourself space to brace for your punishment. He could trust you with a knife while cooking but reaching for an axe wasn't allowed?
"I know you were faking it all. It takes a lot to train a bitch." he muttered as he withdrew a moderate hunting knife.
It was now or never, and now was a good chance to run.
Your human form barely had muscles, and now you were definitely mostly bones and skin and fat.
The ground was harsh when you met it, and his body was on top of yours, but your hand was next to the knife. Just at your fingertips. You nearly dislodged your shoulder as you thrashed your arm forward to grab the blade, then stuck it behind you.
His body tensed, and he heaved. His hand rummaged for the blade, but his hands simply couldn't reach behind his own back. He let out a gurgling sound. You pulled back on the blade, which flung it way forward and out of your reach.
He was easy to shrug off.
Your body heaved for air as you watched him do the same on his back. Blood was spluttering from his lips. He looked like a beached whale. You took your time to retrieve the knife, bare sole dragging on the prickly grass. The stars illuminated your way around the forest. And when you came back to him like the good tamed animal you were, his body was still.
He looked pathetic.
Then all the memories came rushing back to you. All the times you bit your tongue. All the times you abandoned your nature so they'd be somewhat content with yourself. All the times you longed for the water. All the times they claimed to care for you but treated you as some pet project. All the times they forced you to be human but didn't actually treat you as one.
An eye for an eye, he told you when he branded your shoulder in revenge for your personal brand on his neck.
An eye for an eye, you kept telling yourself as you skinned off his coat in revenge for him burning yours.
Blood sputtered everywhere, but you were determined to make it work: arm tirelessly sawing and making due with a worn blade. It was relieving, it was hard, but it was very rewarding.
You weren't sure how long it took. But night was setting and yellow was seeping in the sky. The last sparkle of the stars had been long gone. You wore your new wet coat. You weren't even sure if it'd work, but it didn't matter at that point. You were exhausted. You had given up.
You had pulled the hood over, his blood spreading all over your body.
And there were footsteps that stilled.
Your head quickly turned. Your eyes met Simon who was utterly horrified. You weren't just a creature anymore, but a monster. A monster who was wearing the skin of his friend, who was crouching over some body. Some body that was too explicit, that was too much for the eyes. A sight no one is supposed to see in their lifetime. Blood pooling around and still steadily seeping through the meat of the body. He pried his eyes to look back at you. Your eyes were practically glowing beneath the shadow of your coat engulfing you.
And had Simon not seen your coat, he wouldn't have been able to guess who's body it was.
You stood up, the ends of your coat dragging. Simon couldn't muster a word. He felt the instinct to immediately run, flee, try to hide.
You wrapped your coat tighter around your body, and Simon's legs gave out at the sight.
It was an ungodly transformation. His skin morphed with your body, his face disfiguring to fit your's. You groaned at the discomfort it brought, but you pushed through it. Simon couldn't pry his eyes away.
And there you stood, a small version of John. He had your eyes. Simon was gripping the earth below him, begging not to be swallowed up by you. He tore his eyes away from you, trying not to dishonour the memory of his friend. He heard you walking away, deeper into the forest.
And you were free once again.
Ugh, this writing slump was actually kicking my butt. I'll probably attempt a rewrite once my brain gets better but I just wanted to post this in case anyone was waiting. I worked on this piece a bit by bit so I apologise for any tone or writing style inconsistencies.
To my sweet, darling, sunshine readers, I love you ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡ take care of yourself ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
