I don’t believe in DNIs, but this blog’s content is mostly SFW (if violence and gore can be considered safe for work, lmao). The occasional nsfwhump will be tagged as such.
About me: Zipper (they/them), 20s, aro-ace
I take writing commissions! Find my commission sheet here!
My writing tag is #zipwrites. My current-ish projects are The Ol’ Ball and Chain, The New Roux, and On the Wing. Everything I post is some form of rough draft. Some go through more variations than others.
Off-Tumblr archive of my work in case Tumblr ever goes down: thezipperzone.blogspot.com
More about me n’ my blog under the cut!
Likes: lab whump, medical whump, hero and villain whump, dehumanization, kidnapping, captivity, pet whump.
Squicks: nsfw, cannibalism (please don’t ask me about these things)
My archived (unfinished, no longer being updated) whump series are The Animal I’ve Become, The Apprentice, Roux & Ambrose, and Box Bastards.
I usually tag trigger warnings with the “tw” after the content (ex: “blood tw”), or with the word “whump” after it (ex: “medical whump). I trigger tag my writing more than reblogs; you can expect to see/read gore and violence here, though, and if that makes you uncomfortable, feel free to unfollow or block me.
Feel free to send me asks or talk to me about whump stuff! Especially lab whump!
Need more twin whump. Whumper who grabs the wrong twin by mistake. Whumper who takes the "wrong" twin on purpose because they're easier to control/subdue. Whumper who addresses the whumpee by their twin's name/pronouns, blatantly using them as a stand-in for what they can't have.
It wasn't the fun kind. Very few of her dreams could be classified as "fun" these days. No, this was something dark and sinister and wrong.
The spotlight was bright. Blinding. Everything else was pitch dark, so she couldn't see the audience — but she could definitely hear them. Jeers and laughter and drunken yells reverberating around her skull as she tried to perform the way they wanted, dance just so, walk the tightrope without tilting too far one way or the other. Every step felt like it could be her last. And then — and then — one voice swelled louder than the others, too familiar, and she lost her balance. Stumbled. Fell, the ground plummeting closer and closer until she —
Vienna burst awake with a violent jerk and gasp, half-expecting all her bones to be crushed. But no. She was still here. She was in bed, the same sheets and blanket as the last few months. The lights were dim. The only sound in the room was the quiet hum of the mini fridge in the kitchenette. And she was thankfully, blessedly alone.
She sat herself up, forcing herself to try and steady her breathing. Yes. Still here. It was getting less and less disorienting to wake up in this windowless room, and she hated that. There were a lot of things she was becoming familiar with now that she hated.
Alec's voice. In her dream, in her subconscious, and she'd recognized it immediately. She didn't want him there. Didn't want him that close. But what choice did she have? Knowing him, reading him, interpreting him….. it was keeping her alive.
Like knowing the fact that were different versions of him. None of them were exactly better or worse than the others, not really. Just….different.
There were his moods. Happy Alec, excited Alec, angry Alec, bitter Alec. He didn't show much beyond that. Any crack in him closed almost instantly, like even he couldn’t stand to feel it. It was just as quickly replaced with resentment or rage, as if Vienna had somehow tricked him into showing vulnerability. Long gone were the days of him getting weepy while drunk. He was….happier now. More self-assured. More fulfilled.
Then there was his…. preferences. They sometimes lined up with his moods, but not always. While the overarching theme, always, was that Vienna belonged to him, his use for her varied. Many days she was a sex doll, pure and simple. Other times a stress toy. Or a release valve. Or a punching bag. Or a flesh and blood source of validation, especially the more she learned to sidestep his moods.
What remained a mystery was his public face. How he somehow managed to go upstairs into the world and move through it as if he were the same as everyone else. She knew by now that he worked in house repairs and renovations, and the idea that he was in strangers' homes each day baffled and horrified her in equal measure. The idea of Alec standing in someone’s kitchen, making polite conversation, fixing a cabinet hinge — while his mind replayed the same memories hers did —
The sound of her screaming, echoing off concrete.
Her body straining against restraints.
The buzz of the toy between her —
She had to bury her head into her hands and scream to get it out of her head. Meanwhile, he would probably smile recalling it.
It seemed impossible that it had been over three months. It felt like she'd lived a thousand different lives in that time, constantly assessing and adjusting and adapting around him. Living through things she couldn't have dreamt up in her wildest nightmares.
She'd kept careful track of the date. She knew what was coming. And maybe…. maybe. Maybe it felt like a lot to him too. Maybe she'd performed well enough. Maybe his appetite was finally sated. Maybe.
Alec came in like clockwork the next evening. Door banging open not long after 8 o'clock, shirt already lifted half over his head, pants undone, hands dragging her to the mattress.
"Finally the weekend." His breath was hot against her neck, his hands already tugging her shirt up. "I've been starving for this."
Despite the sick deja vu, something in Vienna still recoiled, still stubbornly screamed to her how wrong this was. Her hands shot out to put any modicum of distance between them, to cover herself, but all it earned her was her wrists being swiftly restrained above her head.
"You're not fucking stopping me," he said in a low voice. "You don't get to hide this from me."
And it began.
The world quickly became a blur of sensation; mouth, fingers, worse, until her body didn't feel like it belonged to her at all. Alec shifted her body like a doll, propping her on her side, folding her knees up, stretching her out. Every new position made her stomach turn with humiliation, made fresh tears spring hot and sharp. He laughed with every squirm, every choked plea.
Eventually, the edges of her vision started to fade, and Vienna tried to give into it — yes, please, let me leave, let me black out, please — and then he moaned. The sound was torn deep from in his throat, guttural and rasping, and it ripped her back to reality more harshly than his hands ever could. Because it wasn't calculated, wasn't designed to disturb or humiliate. It was just pure desire, raw and unrefined, even as she shook with fear — maybe because of her fear.
Every nerve in her body screamed in alarm, not just because of what he was doing, but the knowledge of how much he loved it. He truly, genuinely just… wanted her. Or her body, at least. Vienna felt a wave of nausea so strong that for horrifying moment she thought she might actually vomit. She forced it down and tried to let her mind float again.
But the moment had passed. And now she was stuck here.
It was a while later when he finally finished for good. Vienna didn't bother to check how long. Every second was one she could never take back.
As soon as Alec shifted away from her, Vienna curled on her side, trying to catch her breath. Her arms hugged her body and she whispered nonsense to herself — you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay — but the words felt hollow, foreign. Her body trembled with aftershocks of panic, every muscle aching from holding tension too long. She barely caught Alec's words as he walked out the door — shower before I get back — but gave an automatic, jerky nod and a whimpered, "Okay." Verbal responses, she had learned, were important to him.
And she obeyed. It was sick, but part of her was grateful that he cared so much about her being clean. At least she got to scrub him off of her skin as often as she wanted. Not that it seemed to ever really get her clean. She didn't know if anything ever would.
The vagueness of "before I get back" gave her a little hope that he'd be awhile, but it was barely thirty minutes before the beep of the door unlocking sounded through the room again. His trip upstairs had been to smoke a nighttime joint — she could tell from the sickly sweet scent that clung to him, the overly affectionate way he'd nuzzled into her hair and neck like she was something he owned, how he rolled over and fell asleep without too much tossing and turning.
He was sleeping better these days. Lying in bed next to her, snoring, face slack and practically serene.
You did that. You made him that happy.
She turned the other way and fell into uneasy sleep, trying to imagine she was anywhere else.
By the time Monday rolled around, Vienna's mind felt fractured. Her body ached and throbbed all over. As usual, Alec had made the most of his weekend. As usual, Vienna spent most of Monday trying to recover.
The biggest concern was how much her backside still stung, a consequence of this week's "challenge." The challenge had been to withstand at least twenty blows with the wooden paddle without jerking away. She'd failed, and that meant no new book this week. The sting of disappointment, of the small piece of hope snatched away, somehow hurt more than the bruises that covered the back of her hips and thighs. He hadn't stopped after twenty, of course. He'd kept going until she felt numb, until sitting anywhere besides twisted on her side on the bed was completely out of the question.
The rest was more familiar, things she was becoming accustomed to managing. The soreness around her wrists and ankles, the small but sharp ever-present pain between her thighs. Vienna tried to soothe the pain the best she could, rehydrate and feed herself, rearrange the space and clean the sheets so it felt even slightly like hers again.
She knew that something had happened this morning before he left for work — the ache in her jaw and the cracked corners of her lips said as much — but couldn't quite remember it in full. Nearly all she remembered, in fact, was walking among flowers that soared tall as redwood trees. Another lucky instance in which she was able to leave her body. Vienna sent her brain a quiet thank you before she closed her eyes to run the faces of her loved ones through her mind again. A moment of stolen peace.
Then there were nights like tonight. When Alec wasn't touching her, wasn't tormenting her, was just…. there.
It wasn't companionship. Wasn't friendliness. In some small way, she had at first hoped it was loneliness — a vulnerability, a string she could tug on and manipulate if she had to. But that wasn't it either. If she had to guess, Vienna would have said it was more like validation. Living amongst the spoils of his victory, the proof that here, he was all powerful.
Vienna sat on the bed, watching Alec carefully out of the corner of her eye as he sat at the table and ate. He had taken to spending time in the evening in the basement with Vienna even when he wasn't abusing her, eating dinner or watching TV. Vienna hated every second of his presence — but at the same time, she dreaded the moments he left, when silence pressed in like a coffin and she felt so crushingly alone she thought she might go mad.
Tonight, she had something on her mind. Something she had been holding onto like a fragile ember of hope for days. As the show on TV flickered into a commercial break, she swallowed hard and forced herself to speak.
"Do....do you know what tomorrow is?"
Alec glanced carelessly at her, still chewing. "Tomorrow? I have no idea."
"It's my first day of classes. For my junior year."
Alec raised his eyebrows, a smile slowly uncurling on his face.
"Oh, is that so?"
Vienna’s throat tightened. Her voice sounded too small, even to her own ears. “Yeah. And… I really think I should be there. This is the year we really get ready for post-grad. I need to start my student teaching. And — and you’ve had all summer with me. You’ve done everything you wanted to do. I need to go to school.”
Even as she said it, the words sounded pitiful, like a child bargaining for an impossible wish. She dared to look over at Alec, who looked torn between amusement and annoyance.
He turned toward her fully now, wry bemusement glinting in his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
"I-if I go back to school after this, I can catch up —"
"Jesus Christ." Alec barked a sharp laugh that made her flinch. "Shut up."
Vienna immediately stopped talking and pressed her lips together, her heart sinking.
"Go back to school?" Alec shook his head, grinning as though she had told the funniest joke. "What the hell gave you the idea you're ever leaving here, little girl?"
Alec looked at her expectantly, but she knew better than to reply.
"I don't know how to make it clearer to you, get it through your puny little brain — you're never getting out of here. Never. This is your life now. You wanna go back to school and learn some more? Huh? All you need to know now, slut, is how to please me. And I have to say," he smirked, "you've gotten pretty good at that."
Vienna glared at the floor, her pulse racing with shame and fury. She could already feel his words taking root in her head despite herself. Keep your balance.
"As for 'you've done everything you wanted' — oh, baby, not even close." He leaned back in his chair, stretching like he had all the time in the world. "We still have plenty more to do together. And besides...at the end of the day, what I want, is to have you here forever. To keep you, do whatever I want to you."
His voice dropped, coaxing, commanding "Now look at me. Look at me."
Vienna had been staring resolutely at the floor and forced her gaze upwards, cursing herself for bringing this up in the first place. Useless. Pointless. Stupid. Just another avenue for him to gloat.
"Good. Listen. I am never letting you go. There is no ‘after this.’ You're never going back to college, not seeing your little friends, you're never seeing mommy and daddy again — this is it. No one's coming to save you. You understand?"
“No — you’re wrong.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, sharp and desperate, like a candle flickering back to life after a breeze.
The air between them shifted instantly. A darkness passed over Alec’s face, and he raised his eyebrows with no trace of amusement in his features now.
“I’m wrong? Tell me, bitch, what exactly am I wrong about?”
“I - I - I don’t know,” Vienna stammered. The room suddenly felt smaller, hotter. “I didn’t mean it. I just — never mind.”
“No, I heard you loud and clear,” Alec said coldly, standing up from the table. “You said I’m wrong about you getting out of here. You think someone is going to save you from this. That’s what you meant, right?”
He walked over to the bed so he was towering over her. Vienna backed away from him until she hit the wall, shaking her head nervously.
“Or maybe you meant you’re going to try to escape.”
“N-no, I didn’t — I’m s-sorry —“
Her plea broke into a scream as Alec seized her ankles and yanked her forward. Her body hit the edge of the mattress, her legs dangling helplessly. He bent over her, his face inches from hers.
“Listen to me, bitch. You are here to stay. Not for a couple months, not for a couple years — forever. And when I’m done with you, when I’ve used you all up, you’re still not leaving. Not alive, anyway.”
He grabbed her chin roughly, looking right at her as her eyes filled with tears. “So let me say this one more time, so you really understand: this is your life now. This house — this basement, this room — is your world, and I am your god.”
The words struck her like blows, and something inside her buckled.
He glared at her threateningly for another moment, and then said, “Maybe I need to fuck that into you, so you really remember.”
“No no no,” Vienna gasped, shaking her head. “No, please, I’m sorry, I know!”
“Know what? Say it.”
“I - I’m not going to escape! I promise!”
Panic rose in her as Alec pulled her shorts down, but she didn’t dare fight him.
“And what else?”
“I —“ Her brain felt scrambled with fear as he worked on his own clothes, the dreaded sound of him unzipping his pants.
“And no one is coming! Please, please — WAIT!”
Alec had penetrated her without hesitation, without any preparation. It hurt, burned even more than usual as he forced himself inside her clenched walls.
“OW — ow, please —"
“You forgot something, bitch,” Alec grunted, pinning her hips to the bed as he began to thrust. Vienna was writhing, howling in pain, and he grabbed her face again to force her to focus on him.
“I am your god. Let me hear you say it.”
But she could barely breathe, and his words were so vile Vienna didn’t think she would say them even if she could. Alec saw the defiance mingling with the pain in her expression, and he snarled and began to move even more violently, hips slapping against her in a brutal rhythm. She was screaming now, her hands clutching at his shirt in a combination of wanting to fight him and desperately needing something to hold onto.
“I - am - your - god,” Alec grunted, punctuating each word with a savage thrust. It felt like he was punching the air out of her, ripping her in two. “Look at that — you're bleeding, slut. I’m making you bleed. How long do you think you can keep it up? Fucking say it!”
He changed his method then, pressing himself so deeply inside her that her vision swam from the pain. Vienna's resolve crumbled.
“You’re - you’re my god!” She said breathlessly. “Please, stop, you’re hurting me —“
“Louder!”
“You’re my god!” Vienna wailed.
“That’s fucking right, I am,” Alec growled, and after a few more hellish seconds he began to slowly withdraw. “And what do you do for gods, Vienna, hm?”
“I - I don’t know!” Vienna sobbed. All that seemed to exist was the agony coursing between their bodies, the degradation that cut so deep she wasn't even sure she was human anymore.
“Hm.” Alec forced himself so deeply inside her again that she screamed anew. He dug his fingernails into her hips as he restarted his brutal pace. “You fucking pray to them. Pray that I stop, bitch.”
“Oh, you repenting, too?” Alec laughed and panted as his hips slammed against Vienna’s. “Good girl. Which god are you praying to?”
“You!” Vienna sobbed. “I’m begging YOU! Please — I — h-have mercy, it’s killing me —“
Alec laughed again, loving her choice of words. “Say my name, baby, pray to me nice, and maybe I’ll stop.”
“Alec!”
One last desperate shriek was all it took to send him over the edge. His breath stuttered but he just as quickly turned it into a growl, rageful eyes piercing into her tear-filled ones until finally, blessedly, he stepped away.
For a moment, there was no sound but the noise of Vienna's ragged sobs and Alec's uneven breathing. Her thoughts felt jumbled, broken, like the last several minutes of sudden violence had shattered every piece of her brain into shards. How — how could that innocent topic, the first day of school, led to this? She knew she was bleeding. She would have known even if he hadn't told her. Everything in her felt utterly destroyed.
His voice floated above everything.
"What you crying about? Hm? It all sinking in?"
"I - I ju - I just - I just want to go home!" Vienna sobbed.
His fist hit her with such force that the world went white for a moment. Vienna felt like he'd slammed a brick against her face. Warm blood was already dribbling down from her nose. Alec grabbed her by the chin, yanking her back up towards him. What followed was less a kiss and more a continuation of the violence, his mouth smashed against hers, tongue flicking out to lick at the blood dripping onto her lips, smearing it between them. Vienna felt dizzy, too shocked to even cry out.
He leaned back, but only just enough to speak, grip still tight on her jaw.
"You," Alec breathed, "are not going anywhere."
Then he shoved her back into the mattress, letting her broken body flop back down. A strange mix of disdain and pride mingled in his expression as he looked over her bloodied, shaking form. "Now go clean yourself up. You look disgusting."
And then he was gone.
Vienna's ears rang in the sudden silence of the room. Her body felt like it had been wrung out and left hollow, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The lock clicked behind him — a sound that usually filled her with despair but tonight landed like a strange, merciful finality. At least he was gone. At least for now. The quiet, analytical part of her mind snapped on as she tried to take stock of what had just happened. There was a painful throbbing in her nose and cheek, but the blood seemed to have slowed or even stopped. Her legs were shaking, and the pain there was sharp and abrupt. The sheets beneath her back still smelled like detergent from the recent wash despite being stained with her blood.
Punishment. Torture. Not just because of what she'd done, but what she dared to believe. Not like the other night, when Alec had been driven by pure desire, or over the weekend where a smug amusement had fueled him. The contrasts were dizzying. She didn't know how her body was made to survive both extremes, just that the message was getting wound tighter and tighter into her being: You are mine to use as I please. Your will could not matter less. You are what I make you.
By the time Vienna had half-heartedly cleaned and cared for herself, her eyes stung, but she had no more tears left as she crawled back into bed.
She hated herself for speaking. For pushing. For reminding him she once had a life outside these walls. The punishment was her fault. It always was. That’s what he wanted her to believe — and sometimes she almost did.
Her chest tightened as his words replayed in her head like a curse: This is your world. I am your god.
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to hear them, not to let them etch into her mind. But they already had.
Her heart thudded painfully as the other half of their exchange clawed its way forward — her own slip. No — you’re wrong.
God, why had she said that? Why couldn’t she have just kept quiet? The moment had burst out of her like a flame, hot and reckless, and for a second — just a second —she had felt it. The truth of it.
And that was what terrified her most.
Because beneath the fear and the shame and the bone-deep exhaustion, a thought still flickered in the shadows of her mind: He is wrong. Someone will come. They have to.
Vienna clutched the blanket tighter around her trembling body, curling smaller and smaller as if she could disappear into the mattress. Tonight had made one thing clear: she couldn’t let him see that spark again — not yet. Not until the moment came when she could make it real.
Until then, she would survive. Even if surviving meant swallowing her words, bowing her head, pretending to believe him. Even if it meant taking the pain, crying when he wanted, begging at just the right pitch. Doing whatever it took to placate him from one moment to the next. Performing.
Even if surviving meant making her whole world smaller than it had ever been before.
Spent way too long researching this before posting lol. but please, if something's wrong, tell me. i'd rather be corrected than spread misinformation.
⋆˙⟡ Doctors don't run. Almost ever. Running in a hospital is a safety hazard, knocks into patients and equipment, and signals panic to everyone who sees it, which is the opposite of what hospital staff want to project. In a true code blue situation, there is urgency, but it looks more like extremely fast, purposeful walking and a kind of controlled chaos where everyone knows their role. The sprinting attending dramatically sliding to a bedside is a TV invention.
⋆˙⟡ "She flatlined" does not mean what you think it means. A flatline (a straight line on a heart monitor) means asystole: the heart has stopped producing electrical activity. You don't shock a flatline. CPR, yes. Epinephrine, yes. But the dramatic defibrillator moment everyone loves? That's for ventricular fibrillation, which looks like chaotic scribble on the monitor, not a flat line. Shocking a flatline in real life does nothing. Your doctor character would know this. Your nurse would know this. Your paramedic absolutely knows this.
⋆˙⟡ Medical professionals have a dark, dry humor and it's a coping mechanism, not a character flaw. People who work in high-stress, high-death environments often develop humor that sounds brutal to outsiders. BUT It's not callousness, it's a pressure valve.
⋆˙⟡ Hospitals are obscenely loud and smell very specific. Writers default to clinical silence and "the sharp smell of antiseptic." Real hospitals smell like a combination of cleaning fluid, stale air, cafeteria food leaking through vents, and occasionally something you don't want to identify. They're also constantly noisy. Intercoms, rolling carts, the beep of a dozen different monitors all slightly out of sync with each other, people talking too loudly, visitors crying in hallways. The silence only comes in very specific moments, and it's jarring precisely because it's unusual.
⋆˙⟡ Waking up from a coma is not waking up from a nap. Someone who has been unconscious for more than a day or two will have profound muscle weakness, and they often can't hold their own head up. They'll be confused, possibly for days. They won't be able to speak normally if they had a breathing tube, because their throat will be raw and damaged. They won't recognize people immediately and then have a tearful reunion five minutes later. The brain coming back online is slow, strange, and disorienting in ways that aren't photogenic. Patients frequently don't remember the first several days of recovery at all.
⋆˙⟡ There's a specific hierarchy and it matters to the people inside it. Attending physician, fellow, resident, intern, these are not interchangeable words for "doctor." An intern on their third week is legally a doctor and can barely order a sandwich without second-guessing themselves. An attending has full clinical responsibility and has seen everything. A fellow is post-residency, specializing, somewhere in between. Nurses operate in their own parallel hierarchy that intersects with but is absolutely not subordinate to doctors in the way TV suggests. Experienced nurses regularly catch errors that residents make, and both parties know it.
⋆˙⟡ Patients are almost never alone in their room doing emotional things. Nurses check vitals. Phlebotomists come for blood draws at ungodly hours. Housekeeping rolls in. A different doctor than the one managing the case comes to consult. Meals appear. An orderly needs to take them to imaging. The room itself is rarely private for long. The idea of a character lying in a hospital bed having a long, uninterrupted emotional conversation is something that mostly happens in fiction. In reality, someone knocks and enters approximately every 40 minutes, sometimes more.
⋆˙⟡ Paperwork and insurance are a constant, grinding presence. Discharge doesn't happen because the patient is better. It happens when it's approved, when a bed is needed, when insurance says so. Patients are sometimes sent home earlier than feels safe because the system demands it. Doctors spend an enormous, demoralizing amount of time on documentation, estimates suggest 2 hours of paperwork for every hour of patient care. The administrative weight of hospital medicine is a slow-burn horror that almost no fiction touches, which means the moment you do, it feels startlingly real.
⋆˙⟡ Prognosis conversations are never one clean scene. When a doctor tells a family that someone is dying, there isn't a single moment of devastation and then forward motion. People mishear. They ask the same question rephrased five different ways hoping for a different answer. They argue with the information. Someone pulls out their phone to Google the diagnosis. Someone else goes completely silent and leaves the room. A week later, one family member still believes recovery is possible and another has accepted the death entirely, and they haven't been able to talk about it. Information lands at different speeds for different people and the gap between them is its own source of suffering.
The dream came in flashes, in snippets: Zander's feet trying to sprint but barely moving as though stuck in quicksand, Vienna's voice calling out for him in terror, shadows lurking and looming around every corner, the sound of Vienna's sobs echoing around the unknowable space, the sight of her struggling against hands that were not his….
It was all terrible, all gut-wrenching and earth-shattering and wrong, but then the dream crescendoed into one final, horrible image. One Zander would have given anything to unsee.
He woke with a jolt, lungs dragging in air like he’d been drowning. Sweat clung to his shirt, the sheets twisted around his legs. For one fractured second he was still in the nightmare — Vienna’s lifeless eyes staring up at him, her body limp in his arms, his voice screaming her name into a void that swallowed it whole.
“No —” His voice cracked, barely more than a croak, though in his head he'd been screaming only moments earlier. He stumbled out of bed, clutching his stomach as if the horror could be clawed out of him. The room tilted. He shoved out into the hallway, bare feet slapping against the hardwood.
By the time he reached the bathroom, he was half-sure he’d vomit. He braced against the sink, gagged, but nothing came up. Just bile, just shaking, just his pulse thrumming like a war drum in his ears.
“Zander?” His mom’s voice, groggy but alarmed. A moment later she was at the door, hair mussed from sleep. She stepped inside carefully, like she was afraid of spooking him. “Honey, what is it?”
He shook his head violently, gripping the sink harder. His reflection swam back at him in the mirror — wild-eyed, pale, like a stranger. “I — I saw her. She was —” The words shredded in his throat. “She was dead, Mom.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, but she crossed to him quickly, laying a gentle hand on his back. “Sweetheart, it was just a dream. Just a nightmare. It wasn’t real.”
“It could be real.” Zander's voice was a rasp now, barely audible, like if he spoke too loud the universe would make it true. He turned on her suddenly, eyes raw. “That's what's so — we don’t know. Every day she’s gone, it’s —” His breath hitched hard, shoulders curling in on themselves. “Every day it could be the day we find out she’s not coming back.”
Her eyes filled. She reached for him, but he flinched like the touch burned. His whole body was trembling, a barely-contained storm.
“Zander,” she whispered, voice breaking. “She’s strong. She could still be out there. We have to hold onto that hope.”
He pressed his palms over his eyes, shaking his head so hard it made him dizzy. “Hope doesn’t mean anything if — if she’s already—” His voice cracked apart, jagged and guttural.
His mom pulled him in anyway, even as he fought it, clutching him against her chest the way she hadn’t since he was little. He didn’t relax. Couldn’t. His breath came in ragged gasps, chest caving under the weight of what he couldn’t stop imagining.
And in the silence between them, the thought hung unspoken but heavy, choking them both: what if the dream wasn’t just a dream?
Eventually, his mom walked him back to his room. Smoothed back his hair after he crawled into bed, like he was a small boy waking from a nightmare about monsters under the bed. It wasn't too far off from how he felt.
After she left, he curled onto his side, still feeling nauseous. Monsters under the bed. If only it were that simple, that clean-cut. This was another type of horror entirely.
There was no sleep after that. Partly because he couldn't bear to close his eyes and risk seeing Vienna's lifeless eyes again — but also because, how dare he? How dare he relax, rest, sleep, when Vienna was still out there? Still….
Zander groaned and rolled to his other side. This was unbearable. In the past — in another life — he would text Vienna after stress dreams. He'd wake up from having seen all his teeth fall out, from having shown up to a basketball game with nothing but flip flops and a deflated ball, from dreams where his sisters were in car crashes or landslides or relapses.
She'd always text back. Usually in the morning — Vee actually slept through the night, imagine that — but sometimes just minutes later, words of comfort or silly little videos to make him laugh. A few times she'd even FaceTimed him from her own bed to whisper sleepy reassurances, the tether between them so comforting they'd both nod off before they had the chance to even say goodnight and hang up.
But now — those were only artifacts from an ancient, unreachable world. And so Zander stayed awake.
Zander stayed in his room into the early afternoon the next day. His limbs felt heavy, his brain fuzzy and unfocused. Probably the lack of sleep. Or the nightmare itself. Or the constant, clawing feeling of helplessness and grief in his chest. Whatever it was, he felt exhausted and restless at the same time, chained to his bed even while his thoughts ran a million miles an hour.
A light knock at the door, and his mom came in. Zander's heart clenched. Something about seeing her after last night made him feel unbelievably tender, like his whole body was an open wound. The way he'd clung to her, cried, he hadn't broken down like that with his parents since…. he couldn't remember when. Probably before Lauren got sick, nearly a decade ago.
"Hey sweetie."
"Hey." He immediately hated how much the grunt sounded like his father.
"I've been texting with Mrs. DeNova, and I'm going to go see her later today. Bring them some freezer meals, see if there's anything I can do to help around the house."
The DeNova's house? Zander's head snapped up. "What?"
His mom just nodded. "Little things like that help. They've got a lot going on."
Well, that was certainly understating it. "Is it not, like….kind of later for that?" They had just passed the three month threshold of Vienna being missing, and to his knowledge his mom hadn't been to see her parents once. They barely knew each other, really.
"That's actually the point. When Lauren got diagnosed, we had so much help those first several weeks. Then, after a couple months…. things started to die down. People get distracted."
She wasn't wrong. He had indeed seen it happen with Lauren, and in a nightmarish deja vu it was happening now with Vienna — the fatigue around the ongoing struggle, the quiet acceptance of maybe this is how it is, the urge for people to find something new and shiny and exciting. It made Zander so angry he could physically feel it in his chest.
His mom added, "They need to know that no one is going to forgot about her."
Zander felt a surge of gratitude so strong that tears stung his eyes. He looked away, blinking, but nodded strongly. "Yeah. Yeah. That's….thank you."
"I think you should come with me."
Her voice was careful, slow, like she knew she was handling a bomb that could off with the slightest misstep.
The thought of walking into Vienna's house, seeing her parents, made Zander's whole body tense. The same house where he'd met her parents for the first time, agonizing for an hour beforehand with Vienna about what to wear — not shorts, that's too casual, but a tie seems kind of crazy, right, is a polo going to make me look like a dickhead — until she'd burst out laughing, half caught between frustration and amusement, "Unless you're planning on going in your bacon and eggs boxers and nothing else, it can't possibly matter this much!"
The same house where she'd shown him around, pictures and knick-knacks and meals and memories that made him feel like he'd known her all his life.
The same house she'd called and FaceTimed him from a thousand times while on breaks from school, to tell him something cool she'd seen outside or make sure he wasn't working himself to death or just to hear each other's voices.
The same house where her parents still lived, but she did not. Where her absence must feel like the biggest void imaginable.
Zander raised his eyes to his mom, hoping they weren't too shiny. "I….I don't know if I can."
She looked at him for a long moment, then said, "We're leaving in twenty minutes. Make sure you get something to eat first."
And that was that.
It was about a forty-five minute drive to Vienna's house. They'd been so excited when they'd figured this out freshman year, before they'd even started dating. So many of their friends lived hours away, maybe even in other states, and being that close felt like kismet.
And they'd only gotten one fucking summer to even enjoy it.
Zander was in the passenger seat, earbuds in his ears. Nothing was actually playing in them. Having them in just felt like somewhat of a shield against the energy humming between him and his mom, an unspoken understanding of what was going on here that neither of them seemed able to actually articulate. He looked out the window, watching trees and cars blur by and trying not to think about what today might feel like.
"There's another reason this is a good time to go over," his mom said abruptly. Zander turned to watch her, and she continued, "You're going back to school soon. You and all the other kids. It's going to be a hard time for her parents, not sending Vienna."
Zander wanted to be angry at the quiet assertion that Vienna would still be missing by that point, but he'd be lying if he hadn't thought about this himself, so he said nothing. She glanced at him before refocusing on the road. "I don't want to feel nervous sending you back."
"I doubt the rest of us are in any danger."
"Baby." Her voice was surprisingly stern. "I need you to take care of yourself."
"I will." Her hands were stiff on the wheel, years of worrying sketched into the lines of her face, and Zander suddenly remembered where he got his propensity to carry the world on his shoulders from. "Hey. I will, Mom. I promise. I'll be fine."
"I need you to eat." Her voice was tight. "I need you to go outside. I need you to talk to people — if not us, then a friend, or your coach, or someone. I need you to remember you still have a life and a future."
"I…." Zander closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. He gently lay his hand on hers until her tight grip on the wheel loosened. "I will. You don't need to worry about me. Okay?"
And when she nodded took a breath for what seemed like the first time in minutes, the lie seemed worth it.
Zander expected the DeNova's house to look different somehow, but it didn't. Same stone and siding exterior. Same garden in the front, maybe just a tad more withered than usual. Same squirrels and birds picking around the birdseed that Vienna's dad liked to leave out. It could have been anyone's happy suburban home.
But when Mrs. DeNova opened the door, looking older and more exhausted than he'd ever seen her, the difference was undeniable.
Still, she smiled, greeted them, thanked them for coming. When she gave Zander a hug, he felt the same ridiculous lump in his throat he had at the vigil. Get yourself together, man.
He followed the two women through the house to the living room, hearing vague snatches of conversation: Milo probably won't come down, he's working on something upstairs….been a difficult week….I'd be happy to help around the house, and Zander's always good for yard work…..whatever you need. But most of it was lost to Zander as he floated along, Vienna's face smiling at him from what seemed like every wall.
They sat for a while in the living room, and at first the conversation had felt unbearable to Zander, agonizing in its tediousness. It was only when he caught sight of a certain photo on the wall of Vienna, maybe eight years old and grinning with a kite, that he'd been able to break through. "Hey, is that from your parents' place on the Cape? She told me about that festival and how she went through, like, half a dozen kites…."
Mrs. DeNova broke into a grin like the sun rising in the morning. For a while they lost themselves in swapping memories, and it felt….miraculous. Painful. Relieving. Gut-wrenching. So many things at once he didn't know quite how to hold it. His own mother watched the conversation with some sort of quiet fascination.
Eventually, she suggested they do a few things around the house. Mrs. DeNova immediately and predictably protested, but Zander's mom wouldn't hear it. She sent Zander outside to mow the lawn while she got to work in the kitchen.
It was the kind of work he enjoyed nowadays. All physical, mindless, slightly punishing in a way that felt right. By the time he finished he was sticky with sweat but felt a vague sense of accomplishment. Walking back into the AC was pure relief. Until he got close enough to the living room to hear what his mom and Vienna's mom were talking about.
"….I remember, with Lauren," his mom was saying, "it's almost like I could feel everything she was going through. That might sound ridiculous, but…"
"Not at all." Mrs. DeNova's voice was choked. "It's as if….as if….a piece of my heart is out of my chest. Out in the world, unguarded. And I can't…."
Her voice dissolved into tears, Zander's mom's quiet reassurances sounded out by the ragged gasps. Icy cold that had nothing to do with the air conditioning enveloped Zander as if he'd walked right into a frozen lake. He couldn't go back in that room, couldn't face her mom like this —
He turned around and bolted up the stairs.
Where he thought he was going, he had no idea. Mostly he just felt the sudden urge to escape. Maybe the could make it make sense by going to the bathroom to splash some water on his face or get a cup of water.
But he passed her bedroom first.
For a moment, it was as if everything else in the world fell away. Like he'd plunged underwater and everything above was silenced, blurred, in this quiet little pocket.
Each little detail in the room shone like a piece of Vienna herself, and for a moment she felt more alive to Zander than she had in weeks.
A beat up stuffed rabbit on the bed, one eye missing. Zander smiled reflexively at the memory it conjured, Vienna's face burning as she tried to stuff the plushie under the pillow during his first visit. "Don't know why that's there…"
A collection of shells along her windowsill, still somehow pristine and free of dust. Vienna had a story connected to each one of them, a reason why they were special. Zander could've listened to her talk about them all day.
A malong lay draped artfully over her dresser. Zander remembered video calling with Vienna one day and asking about it, and the conversation had somehow led to them creating an entire itinerary of what they would do when they were able to visit her family in the Philippines someday. Another daydream that never came to be.
A photo collage so big it nearly went from flood to ceiling. Vienna's smile shown brightly over and over throughout. It made his throat burn. He gently brushed his finger over one, letting the memory wash over him — Vienna and him on the first day of classes sophomore year, smiling over their shoulders with their backpacks on. He thought it'd been the silliest idea and followed along only to indulge her. Why he couldn't appreciate the small beauty of those moments at the time, he'd never understand.
It was something he'd never really been great at. In the beginning of their relationship, Zander's feelings were tangled in such a tight ball in his gut he had to fight the urge to run from it. Not because he wasn't happy, or it wasn't going well — no, it felt almost as if he was too happy, didn't know how to hold onto all of it. Didn't know how to reconcile having something so beautiful and the possibility that it might just end one day.
He'd held out, obviously. Those feelings had loosened, softened. Vienna's presence had a way of doing that. He'd come around to the fact that happiness was worth having even if the ending was an unknown
But this was not the kind of ending he'd anticipated.
It's not an ending. The thought broke through fiercely in his mind, almost as if spoken by someone else. Do not even think that shit. Don't you dare. He forced himself to look back at the collage, eyes searching for another photo of the two of them. There was one from just months ago, Zander lifting Vienna up in a hug after a volleyball game while her head was thrown back in laughter. They looked so…..happy. Unencumbered. Clueless.
Could they have known then? Was there any way they could have seen this coming? The photograph seemed like it was from some fairytale past, when they were living in an impossible bubble of love and safety, not realizing how close it all was to shattering. Vienna, bright-eyed and laughing in the photograph, surely couldn't have known.
And how fitting was it for him to finally be happy, finally be building the life he'd dreamed of — only to have it snatched away in the cruelest way imaginable. How utterly fucking typical.
Zander sighed, tried to blink back the tears, and then nearly jumped out of his skin. Vienna's dad was standing in the doorway.
"Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry —" Zander felt distinctly caught, intruding somewhere that was absolutely not his. He'd been so caught up in memories he'd almost forgotten anyone else was in the house. That the room didn't just hold things between Vienna and himself. "I — I was just looking for the bathrooms, I'm sorry, I'll —"
"No, no." Mr. DeNova's voice was calm and steady as an ocean tide, his expression gentle. "Stay. It's alright."
Zander muttered more apologies, something about not wanting to disturb, but Mr. DeNova waved him off. The older man crossed the room and sat delicately on Vienna's bed. It was immaculately made, Zander realized, in a way that Vienna would probably not have done herself.
"When I'm in here, I feel closer to her somehow."
For a moment, Zander's throat was so tight he was afraid he wouldn't be able to respond. He was able to croak out, "Yeah. Yeah, I was just thinking that."
Mr. DeNova nodded but didn't say anything. The silence wasn't tense, wasn't sad. It was as if he was simply patiently holding space for Zander's feelings to crash over him in waves and recede. After a moment, Zander continued, "And I was thinking…. it's amazing how a room can really sum someone up. I mean, the shells, the photo collage, the books….it's all just….Vienna."
Mr. DeNova looked at him then, a glimmer of something warm in his eyes. "You've always seen her. I've noticed that."
Up close, Zander could see what the TV cameras could not: the drawn look on Mr. DeNova's face, the dullness behind his eyes, the extra gray peppering his black hair and beard. He looked like a man would aged years in a matter of months, wrecked in a way no parent should have to be. But when he spoke, it was with the same gentle and kind cadence he'd always had.
"You shouldn't feel bad about coming in here. I do, quite often. I don't move anything. But I try to keep it nice. No dust. So it's ready for her when she comes back."
Mr. DeNova's voice was low but full of conviction, and the when, the quiet confidence in his voice, made Zander's heart swell.
"Zander?" His mom's voice carried up the stairs, slightly edged with worry. "Sweetheart, where did you end up?"
For the first time, Zander saw something crack behind Mr. DeNova's eyes. "Go ahead. Don't keep her waiting."
"Thank you. A lot. I just…. I needed this." Zander remembered his mom's words and added, trying to match Mr. DeNova's unwavering belief, "And I want you to know, I'm not giving up on her. Not ever."
Mr. DeNova smiled, eyes shining. "Ah. Now you've got me." He removed his glasses and wiped tears from his eyes. Zander was mortified to see him crying, but Vienna's dad didn't see at all embarrassed. He just took a deep breath, put his glasses back on, and said, "I know wherever she is, she's not giving up on us either."
Zander could have crumpled right then, could have sank to the floor, collapsed in the other man's arms and cried every last tear out. Instead, he swallowed thickly, nodded once, and walked out the door.
The drive home felt much shorter, somehow, then the drive there. And when Zander walked back through his front door, he carried a small ember of hope that had not been there before.
Every day was beginning to feel like a chess match. Or maybe, each day was just one move in a much larger game, a game between the two of them that Alec seemed to cherish and Vienna had to scramble to master.
For Vienna, pieces moved across the board with extreme caution, only after considering every possible outcome. She learned to read his moods, his tells, the sound of his footsteps and what they meant. Being intuitive had always been a strength of hers, but now it became an absolute necessity for survival. And it was only made harder by how unpredictable he could be.
For Alec, the game seemed to be played with utter confidence. With no hesitation, no shame, and certainly no regrets. Vienna could tell he was taking mental notes about her: what made her break the quickest, what sent her into dissociation, what was most likely to keep her engaged and trapped in the present. What cruel points he could repeat and repeat until they drilled their way into her skull, feeling almost like the truth.
Most days Vienna felt like she was losing. Not all. But most.
She caught a win every once in a while. The other day, they'd been in the small room of the basement and Alec was pacing, stretching, while she finished up the last of the dinner he'd brought down to her. To anyone else, it might look like he was loosening up for a workout. But Vienna knew better. Her breath caught. Not again. Not now. Think. Distract him.
She forced her lips to move. “Did you… did you ever play sports?”
That stopped him mid-step. His head cocked toward her, eyes narrowed. “What?”
She pressed on, even as her stomach turned. “In school, I mean. Like… football. Or wrestling? You’re…. strong."
For one terrible second, she thought she’d made it worse — that he’d see right through her. Then the smirk crept across his face.
“Football,” he said, almost proudly. “Linebacker. Coach said I hit harder than anyone.”
Vienna nodded quickly, swallowing her revulsion. “I can believe it.”
Alec moved closer, but instead of grabbing her, he settled down on the mattress with a swagger, launching into a story about a game, a tackle, how he’d left another boy gasping on the field.
She tried to nod and react in the right places, even as every nerve screamed to shrink away. The story was grotesque — how he glorified the violence — but it was better than the alternative.
She focused on her breathing. One breath at a time. She’d bought herself a reprieve. Maybe only minutes. Maybe hours. But it was something.
Another day, Vienna tried something new. Tried to get close to him, like they talked about in the crime shows Abi liked to watch. Maybe he'd start to see her as human.
"My mom works at a hospital," she told him. "She's not a doctor, though. She works in HR. I used to love to visit her there as a kid. And my dad….he's an engineer. He loves making things. He's taught a few classes at the community college where I'm from."
Alec was sprawled in one of the chairs at the table. He didn't look up from his phone. "I know."
Vienna tried to silently absorb the gut punch. Of course he knew. From what she could see from the television — and what he liked to gloatingly tell her every so often — her parents were making every effort to keep her name as alive as possible, sharing old photos and family memories with media outlets. Although knowing Alec, he probably knew all those details before he even took her.
She wet her lips and tried another tactic. "What's your family like?"
Alec’s head snapped up. For a moment his grin was gone, and something darker flickered in his eyes.
"….your mom, your dad, siblings…?"
“No siblings," he grunted, "not that I know of."
"So you're an only child, like me." Vienna's heart was pounding in her chest as she forced herself to keep her tone light. "Did you like it? I sometimes wanted one, but I mostly liked —"
"Shut up."
Immediately, she obeyed. His phone was face down on the table now, all attention on her.
"You wanna know? My mother killed herself a couple months after I was born. Weak. Got passed between houses for a while before getting sent back to dear old dad."
Vienna had to will her own jaw not to drop. "Oh. Oh, I'm so, so sorry, that's awful." His nostrils flared. "Did your dad….was he….?"
Alec raised his eyebrows at her. She could see every muscle in his face had tensed.
Vienna’s heart stuttered. She almost wished she could take the question back, but she pressed on. “If someone hurt you, you don’t have to —”
“I said shut. Up.”
The words cracked like a whip. He stood so fast the chair tipped over, clattering to the floor. He loomed above her, face twisted with a sudden heat that chilled her blood.
"What are trying to do here, hm? Get little stories out of me?" Vienna was sure he was about to hit her. "You think you're really clever, huh? Trying to be cute?"
He crouched suddenly, too close, his voice a hiss. “Do it again, and I’ll show you exactly how I was raised. You won’t like it.”
After that, she'd backed off on questions that could be considered too personal. Kept it light. She felt like she was able to garner a few things from observation and careful listening alone — he'd grown up a couple states over, he'd dropped out of college, he couldn't seem to get to sleep without having a drink or a pill — but constantly felt she was playing catch-up. It was dizzying to Vienna how much he knew about her, how he sometimes seemed to be able to read her mind.
And he seemed to revel in proving that.
Vienna was bound spreadeagled to the big bed in the large room of the basement, limbs stretched out and restrained just enough that she could squirm, but with no hope of going anywhere. Alec was sitting on the bed next to her, for now just watching her face. Observing her twitches of fear, her darting eyes, the way her chest rose and fell heavily in awful anticipation.
"You're fun to watch." He brushed a piece of hair back from her face and she swallowed hard. "Very expressive. Did you know that?"
The only noise from Vienna was harder breathing. She knew this mood. He was ramping up. Getting ready for something. The reaction made him grin.
"When I do this…." Alec moved to kneel by Vienna's face, mattress shifting under his weight. She grimaced and looked away. "You're uncomfortable."
"Here…." He straddled her and her body instantly tensed, breath stuttering. "you're scared. Very scared."
"But this…." Alec snaked down her body until his face was between her legs. Vienna's heart absolutely leapt at the proximity and her eyes went huge, limbs jerking. He laughed softly. "There it is. The terror."
"I don't —" Vienna's voice came out as a choked plea.
"I know." Smiling wider. "You don't like this one. Don't like my mouth on you. I've noticed it every time. The panic, the way you try to pull away…." He sounded almost dreamy. "That's what makes it so good, little girl. If you'd just lied there like some girls do, I'd have gotten bored ages ago. But you….you make it perfect."
Vienna felt like her throat was closing up, strangled by shame and humiliation. You're making it better for him, she told herself furiously. But she couldn't stop the anguished whimper that escaped her lips when she felt his fingers on her, spreading her open.
“Anybody could hurt you." He said it as if was obvious. "Rough you up. Slap you around. The damage wouldn't be too much different from a car wreck, at the end of the day. But this?" Alec pressed a kiss to her hip bone, smiling as she instinctively flinched away. "Only I get to do this. This makes you mine like nothing else can.
"You can scream, squirm, cry… none of it matters. You feel everything, and I get to watch.”
"Wait," Vienna begged desperately. Her heart was stuttering out of control, because he was right, he was, this was the one act she could never get out of her head for, the one that in some ways she dreaded above all, that made her feel like she wasn't the one in charge of her body whatsoever. "Wait — please. Let me do something for you. I-I'll make it good. I promise."
Alec chuckled. "What a good girl. Don't worry, we'll get to that later."
And with that he began with his mouth, soft at first, nuzzling along the delicate skin between her thighs. Every deliberate movement was agonizingly slow, forcing her to feel each second, each sensation. “Mmm… so warm, so responsive,” he murmured, lips brushing and teasing. “Can you feel me? Can you feel how much I like this?”
Her body arched reflexively, betraying her horror, and she gasped, choking on a sob. “Stop! Please! Please stop!”
Alec laughed, low and delighted, pressing closer. “Stop?” he repeated, as though tasting the word. “Oh, no… I don’t think so. I want to see every inch of you, hear every little sound you make.” His tongue flicked against her faster and firmer, tracing patterns that made her shudder uncontrollably.
Vienna felt bile rise in her throat, disgust and rage and humiliation rearing up. Without meaning to, her hips jerked, but he followed them easily. Alec's pleasure was clear on his face, in the moans that vibrated between from between her legs like the cruelest echo imaginable. The feeling was absolutely unbearable, and yet there was no way to stop it.
"God, no, stop, please, get away —"
But his mouth traced a deliberate path over her, lips and tongue exploring, pressing, sliding. Each muffled groan, each sloppy smacking sound echoed in the small room, mingling with her own desperate cries. Her muscles ached from fighting, her nerves aflame, but there was no escape. Every time she tried to curl away, he adjusted her, nudging her legs further apart, leaning down to trap her, his hands insisting on every inch of her body.
As usual, Alec knew it was coming before she did. His eyes flicked up to her, wanting to see the look on her tear-stained face. "You're going to cum."
"No, no —"
"Mmm." Alec sucked on her for a moment, and she practically shrieked. "We'll see."
“I can't!" Vienna sobbed, but he seemed to only take it as encouragement. It took only a minute or so more of the torment before she shattered. She gave a shrill, nearly pained scream as she hit her peak, her entire body shaking and twisting in a useless attempt to escape the stimulation. Alec drew it out as long as possible before removing his lips from her with an obscene slurping noise.
When he raised his head to look at her, gloating triumph was in every line of his features. "Thought you said you couldn't? Hm? What happened to that?" He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Vienna said nothing, eyes screwed shut, sobbing. Her entire core seemed to be buzzing with unwanted sensation, a violation deeper than she would have ever thought possible. And she heard Alec laugh.
"Well, you know what liars get? I think they get a few more."
"No no please I can't anymore please don't I no please —" The desperate plea was garbled by panic, by how hard Vienna was panting. Alec's eyes lit up.
He lowered himself back between her legs, his breath hot against her skin. His voice was muffled now, but the giddiness carried through. “God, I could do this forever. You taste like you were made for me. Doesn’t matter if you beg. Doesn’t matter if you break. I’m not stopping, slut — not until I’ve wrung over last one out of you.”
She sobbed, thrashing against the bed, but his grip only tightened, holding her open as his mouth descended once more. The sound of his moans — pure, greedy happiness — filled the room, louder than her choked cries. He savored her like a man starved, and every flick, every press, every relentless exploration was worse for the knowledge that it wasn’t a passing impulse.
He was going to keep going. And going. And going.
The moment his mouth touched her again, Vienna realized just how much more sensitive she'd become after the first forced orgasm. Her screams grew louder, hoarse and ragged, mixing with the muffled sounds of his pleasure. Each whimper, each desperate plea, seemed only to fuel him. “That’s it,” he groaned. “That's exactly it."
Her muscles tensed and convulsed against her will, her body betraying her again and again. She didn't count how many. Couldn't bear it. Her muscles were screaming, every nerve raw, and still he toyed with her, as though she were nothing more than clay to mold to his cruel amusement. She felt simultaneously hollowed out and overstuffed with sensation, unable to tell whether she wanted to scream or just collapse into nothing.
Then the pain started to hit. Sharp, burning, somewhere she had never felt pain before. Panic surged.
"You're hurting me!" Vienna wailed. Normally he couldn't care less about her pain, but this of all things, surely, was not supposed to hurt like this. "Please — you have to stop —"
Alec bit down on the soft flesh of her thigh, dragging a ragged scream from her throat. "I don't have to do shit. I get to make you like this as long as I want, whore."
The sight of him, fuzzy through her tears, not stopping, filled Vienna with a loathing so intense she screamed again. But it wasn't for Alec alone this time.
The real trap wasn't being locked in this room. It wasn't even being trapped under his weight. It was being trapped in her own self, in her disgusting body that moved just the ways he wanted it to, in her weak, naive mind that somehow couldn't help but play into his hands, victimize herself again and again. Stop reacting! STOP! Just go limp!
She barely knew when her body stopped responding. Alec’s mouth and fingers had driven her to a place where thought and sensation blurred together — her muscles trembled, her chest heaving, tears streaked down her face, and yet the overstimulation didn’t stop. She was caught between wanting it to end and not having the energy to fight at all. The room spun, sounds of him, of herself, of her own ragged breathing reverberating in her skull.
When she slipped into unconsciousness, it was like falling through a hole with no bottom. And then… she came awake, and the sharp, undeniable reality of him on top of her hit harder than any haze of sensation or terror could. Her body stiffened reflexively, panic ripping through her veins as he moved, asserting himself, claiming what he wanted.
Her screams came out as strangled sobs; words tumbled over each other, incoherent, desperate. He grinned.
"Thought this might bring you back."
He lay a hand over her throat — not pressing, not strangling, just there. A reminder of how completely he had her. Vienna grit her teeth, focused her eyes on the ceiling, and prayed for an ending. She didn't care what kind. She just needed this to be over.
She tried not to think about how much he sounded like her as he got closer — breath ragged, sounds coming from deep in his throat, hips thrusting.
After it was over, Alec returned her to her bedroom. Her legs were shaking so hard she could barely walk, and Vienna collapsed onto the bed as soon as she could, body curling in on itself.
Her whole lower body ached — raw, rubbed, tender in ways she never imagined. It wasn’t pain that throbbed so much as a deep, sick exhaustion. Her muscles quivered, her skin felt coated in sweat and spit she couldn’t scrub off. Her stomach lurched with every ghost of sensation that lingered, reminders she couldn’t erase.
"That was beautiful," Alec said, voice so genuine she cringed. "You're beautiful." He brushed a curl away from her red, swollen eyes, and Vienna suddenly saw herself from his gaze: naked, broken, shivering. Claimed.
I'm not this. I'm not this. I'm not just an object he can use. I'm not just something he can force reactions out of. I'm not a little girl. I'm not a bitch, or a slut, or a whore. I'm Vienna. I'm Vienna. I'm not this.
Vienna forced her eyes to him.
"I hate you," she said with as much venom as she could muster. But Alec didn't frown. He didn't look surprised. He barely even blinked.
Instead, he smiled.
"You think I expect anything less? Of course you hate me." The smile widened. "You hate when I touch you. You hate hearing my voice. You hate being in the same goddamned room as me. That's part of the fun, little girl."
He lingered over her for another moment, drinking in the sight of her broken on the bed, before turning to finally leave. "Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning. Maybe you'll even stop shaking by then."
When he was gone, the silence pressed in on her like another set of restraints. Vienna didn’t move at first, too wrung out to even lift her head. Her body trembled uncontrollably, twitching with aftershocks she despised, betraying her even now.
She stared at the clock on the bedside table until the numbers blurred through her tears. It hadn’t been minutes — it had been hours. Hours of her begging, bargaining, pleading, and still being forced to endure the cruelest violation she'd yet known. Not just her body. Her mind, her heart, her spirit.
She wished she had fainted. Wished she had blacked out sooner, before she’d had to feel the vibration of his laugh against her skin, before she’d heard his voice murmuring, You taste like you were made for me.
I'm not that, she thought again furiously. I'm not a toy. I'm not something to be used. This is not what I was made for.
As much as she wanted to disappear into oblivion, Vienna forced herself to focus on the thought like a lifeline. This is not what I was made for.
She was made to be part of a family, her parents' one and fully cherished child, one of a gaggle of cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents, varied in hue and background but completely united by love.
She was made to be a friend, the one who could always be counted one for a positive attitude and shoulder to cry on, who loved nothing more than a girls night in with her friends, all giggles and good spirits and love.
She was made to be a helper, not just for her loved ones but for everyone around her. A girl who baked cookies for new neighbors and tutored kids and did it all with the most intentional love.
She was made to be strong, to use her body as her own. To work up a sweat on the volleyball court, high fiving with her teammates after a particularly audacious dive. To carry herself forward on hikes with Zander, to let their troubles fade for just a little while in a world of nature and love.
Love. She was made for love. With all these things, but especially with Zander. For afternoons laughing out on the quad, for him lifting and spinning her around after a basketball win, for her taking him on a late-night milkshake run when he was about to pop from stress, for then lying in bed late at night in each other's arms, safety and home personified.
Yes. Love. Her life had been full of it, nearly bursting at the seams, and three months later it felt so distant it might as well have been a fairytale. Now the only one living a dream was Alec. She'd given him everything he wanted — her words, her tears, her body, every little reaction.
I want Zander.
The thought hit like a sudden drop on a roller coaster, unexpected but true. All of a sudden she craved him like air. Zander, who filled her with warmth from her head to her toes. Zander, who could always make her laugh, but would never laugh at her. With whom touch felt like something freeing, enlightening, warm, not like it was hollowing her out from the inside.
Everything about it was starting to feel more and more foreign. And that hurt more than anything else.
She curled her body around a pillow as if it were him, and let the sob rip loose. At first it was wordless, just pain spilling out, but before she knew it words started to take shape.
rescued! Living Weapon who thinks that they died and went somewhere better
so I was scrolling through Whump (as you do) and I had this idea of a Living Weapon who was rescued, but they think that they died.
like:
LW is found barely conscious on the battlefield, breathing shallow and almost dead
Team brings them back to base, heals them and what not
LW seeing Caretaker when they wake up and they think Caretaker is an angel
They knew they died on that battlefield. They felt their life pouring out through the hole in their armour, the blackness creeping in on their vision, the quiet stillness and silence that followed.
All they know is that they are finally free from the torment of their handlers/owners/whatever, and now they don’t have to worry
You can’t be hurt if you’re dead, right?
And so they actually recover well, thinking that now they are in Heaven or some other, better place away from the carnage of their past life, which now just seems like a horrible dream.
The Team are angels to them, there to help and heal them, and Caretaker is of course their angel
And so imagine the horror and pain they feel when they see one of their handlers brought in for questioning
And the crushing reality that they are still alive and their old tormentors are still around
Zander no longer felt like he was living in the present. It kind of worked for him.
The present was extremely unappealing. The present meant that what happened to Vienna was real. The present meant acknowledging the horror movie that was his life now, the tension and the grief and the unrelenting knowledge that something absolutely terrible was happening to the person he loved most and he could do nothing to stop it. He didn't even know what — though he had some ideas that haunted him. Things that might be happening right now. In the present.
So he spent as little time there as possible. More often, Zander was in the past. He could spend hours reliving it, scrolling through photos and videos and posts of Vienna's. The trashcan in his room started to fill with pens, drained of ink from pages and pages of memories that he wrote down in as much detail as possible. Hours could pass this way. Sometimes days. On the better days he'd do it outside in the sun, lounging on the back porch, Lauren always finding a way to be there too. On the days that he couldn't stand anyone's presence, even his little sister's, he'd lock himself in his room, blinds pulled shut.
The present started to seep its way in at night. When he lied in bed with nothing to distract him but his own frantic thoughts. Sometimes he berated himself for trying to distract himself from reality when Vienna probably didn't have that luxury. How could he dare relax, cope, eat, sleep, breathe while she was gone? He'd punch his pillow, scream into it, try not to cry himself to sleep like he was the victim here. And then start the cycle over again in the morning.
He'd even texted Agent Miller a couple times, using the cell number Miller had given him. Zander was sure the messages pissed the agent off, but it's like he couldn't help himself — Miller had, surreally, become his closest connection to Vienna. Looking at her pictures, searching her name, waiting for updates had all become more or less a compulsion for Zander, and being in touch with Miller allowed Zander to feel like he was doing something. But at the end of the day he was starkly aware that he wasn't.
He scrolled back through their messages now. Zander's were mostly desperate bids for attention or reassurance — How's it going? Anything new? What can I do to help? — that made him cringe later. Miller's were nice. Zander figured they had to be.
Evening summer air rustled the curtains around Zander's bedroom windows. His parents and sisters were downstairs eating dinner, but he hadn't joined them. Besides the punishing run he'd gone on in the morning, he'd stayed cooped up in his room all day. He and his father had gotten into a shouting match the night before — again — and Zander couldn't quite stand to face either of his parents right now. Food really didn't have much of a taste these days anyway.
Vienna's voice, her laugh bubbled out from his phone. It was a video he kept returning to: he, Vienna, and Abi had gone to Lakewood's wellness fair that past spring and Vienna had instantly gone to the therapy animals. In the video, Vienna was holding a rabbit and was so happy she had tears in her eyes. She laughed out loud at herself, beaming at the camera and holding the bunny up. It made Zander feel like his throat was closing up.
His phone buzzed.
Lauren:
Can I come say hi?
Zander sighed. Swiped the video away, for the moment. He didn't want to hear any comments on it.
Zander:
Sure
A few moments later, Lauren opened his door and slid into the room like a spy on a mission. She padded over to sit cross-legged on the edge of his bed.
"You didn't come down for dinner."
"Not hungry." His voice was a grunt.
"Do you want to come downstairs? We could watch a movie?"
"Not especially."
"….I just thought maybe we could hang out."
Zander looked up at how small her voice sounded. Lauren had a way of looking at him that stripped away all his armor. No judgment, no suspicion — just those earnest eyes that still saw him as the brother who used to let her win at Mario Kart.
"I've just missed you, I guess."
Zander raised an eyebrow. "I've literally been home all summer. I haven't even been working."
"Okay, but you haven't really been here."
Zander's throat tightened. She wasn't wrong. It's like he'd become a ghost in his own home.
"And…" She bit her lips but continued, "you're not nice anymore."
The sentence was a knife. Leave it to Lauren to state it so plainly, in a way that cut right to his heart. It hit harder than anything his parents had said in their efforts to dance around everything. He sat up, looked her in the eyes.
"I'm sorry. I never meant for you to feel any of this, Lo."
Lauren gave him a look he couldn't quite decipher. "Well, I'm a person. I'm gonna feel things."
"Well, yeah, but it's not yours to carry," Zander insisted. "I'm your big brother. I'm supposed to shield you from stuff like this."
"All you're doing is making me worried about you. Fighting with mom and dad. Staying up here all the time. Never….never wanting to hang out with me anymore. It's really sad."
Zander sagged against his pillows. He had to do better. For her, at least.
"I just don't think Vienna would want that, you know?"
A bolt of frustration went through him. It was quite literally the last thing he wanted to hear — but we don't know what Vienna would want, because she's fucking gone — but because it was Lauren, he bit back his retort.
"How about this - we can go to the fair. I'll drive you and some friends." Her eyes lit up and Zander hastily added, "I'm not paying though."
She stayed bright as ever. "For real??"
"Yeah." Zander smiled. "It'll be fun."
****
The last thing he wanted to do was go to this fucking fair.
It wasn't so much that he minded being with his sister and her friends - sure, they could be kinda shrill, but they were easy enough to tune out, Lauren twisted around in the passenger seat to face them as they chattered - but the fair itself felt like torture. As they turned into the parking lot and he saw the ferris wheel looming, Zander's hands tightened on the wheel. All he could think about was Springfest.
Everything brought him back to that day — the way the sun glittered in the sky, the smell of popcorn and deep fried food, the laughs and exhilirated screams of the people on the rides. How hopeful and happy he had been back then.
What an idiot.
He walked with Lauren and her friends through the midway, trying to tune them out, but every booth and ride was a ghost, a punch to the gut. Lauren and her friends squealed and laughed and shouted as fifteen-year olds do, and Zander tried to smile with them. He really did. But he couldn't help but be relieved when they finally detached from him to get in line for a spinning ride.
"I'll catch you when you're done," he told Lauren as they scurried off, and as soon as the girls had their backs to him the easy smile slid off his face. He'd forgotten how exhausting this was. Pretending.
As Zander watched Lauren and her friends giggle wildly on the ride, the misery in his chest seemed to loosen just a little bit. He wondered, not for the first time, if this is what it would feel like to be a parent. It was something he'd only ever really expressed to Vienna, but oftentimes growing up he'd felt like a mix of brother and father to Lauren, like a co-parent with Tiffany. While his parents were running around ironing out logistics, working overtime to afford treatments, meeting endlessly with doctors, it was he and Tiffany who had borne the emotional weight with Lauren. He remembered reading books to her while she sat through chemo, drawing pictures to paper her hospital room with, the time they'd carefully cut the hair off a Barbie doll to match her.
Watching Lauren now, he couldn't help but think of that vow he'd made with Tiffany so many years ago while Lauren's illness was at its peak. It was another night of just the two of them at home while Lauren and their parents had to overnight at the hospital. Tiffany was about thirteen, Zander about eleven. Tiffany had heated them up Spaghettios — again, this was before they got wise and started learning how to make actual recipes for when their parents were out — and they were eating in front of the TV. It was something they did to make these nights feel more like an adventure and less like reality, less like two kids sitting home alone all night.
"We can never let her think this was her fault," Tiffany had said during a commerical break.
Zander didn't have to ask what she meant.
"It's not."
"We both know that. But she might not. She's practically a baby, Zander. The doctors are gonna protect her from the cancer —" hopefully, went unsaid between each of them — "but we're her big siblings. We have to protect her from the rest. She should never have to feel how hard this has been for us. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
And so it had been since then, Zander and Tiffany doing whatever they could to shield Lauren from the fallout the cancer had caused.
And then, when Tiffany's mental health had spiraled, when his parents were drawn into yet another crisis, who had been there to support their little sister but Zander? Shouldering the burden, being the steady presence when everything else seemed up in the air? Always Zander. Always. That was his role in the family, his job. In a way, that was why being with Vienna always felt a little miraculous to him — he could just be Zander. Whatever that meant.
And now, here he was, where he'd always sworn not to be: dragging the rest of them down with him. And Lauren could see it. Obviously. As much as they tried to protect her from every last thing, Lauren was an observant, intuitive kid. And she'd been through enough.
The rest of the day was pretty managable when he thought about it that way. Just for the afternoon, he slipped back into this old routine: shove his feelings down and focus on making sure everyone else was okay. It almost worked.
And then, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, Lauren tugged on his sleeve. “Are you going to get me a funnel cake?"
"What?" It felt like a cruel joke. Almost the exact thing that Vienna had said to him.
Lauren thought he was teasing. "I know, I know, you said you wouldn't pay, but that's like, the number one thing —"
“Stop.” The word snapped out before he could choke it back.
Her face crumpled in surprise. “I was just —”
“Just don’t. Okay?” His voice was sharp, too sharp, and her friends went quiet behind her.
Lauren’s cheeks flushed red. “You don’t have to be such a jerk all the time!”
The words stung because they were true. He stared at her - his little sister, trying so hard to reach him - and then turned away before she could see his face.
And just like that, the day was ruined.
****
The house was quiet when they got home. Lauren stomped upstairs without looking at him, her bedroom door slamming shut loud enough to make him wince. Her friends had scattered quickly after the ride back, whispering to each other while pretending not to look at him.
Zander sat in the kitchen with his head in his hands, the echo of her words still in his ears. You’re not nice anymore.
He wanted to tell her she was wrong, that he was still her brother, still the same guy — but even he didn’t believe it. And if he wasn't that….what was he?
It took him an hour to work up the nerve to knock on her door.
“What?” Her voice was muffled through the wood.
“Lo, it’s me.”
No answer.
He leaned his forehead against the frame. “I’m… sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
Still nothing. He waited.
“I just — it’s hard. Everything reminds me of her. Even you.” His throat tightened. He thought of her bright eyes, easy laugh, the way she could at once find fun in everything and then say something that told him she saw more than anyone thought. “Especially you.”
The silence stretched so long he almost gave up, but then the door cracked open just a little. Lauren’s face peeked through, blotchy from crying.
“You ruined the fair,” she said quietly.
“I know.” He gave a helpless shrug. “I ruin everything lately.”
Her lip trembled, and for a second he thought she’d slam the door again. But instead, she opened it wider and threw her arms around him.
“I don’t care if you’re sad,” she muttered into his chest. “Just don’t go away too.”
Zander held her so tightly it hurt. “I won’t. I promise.”
But even as he said it, he wasn’t sure he even knew how to come back.
the long term captivity trope, to me, heavily resonates with the disabled experience. being bedbound or housebound, often at the mercy of your caretakers, who have almost unlimited leeway to abuse or neglect you as they see fit (often while denying that it's actually happening). going out in public very rarely and for short periods of time, always accompanied. being confined to certain areas due to fatigue or inaccessibility of the rest of the house. only able to do low-energy activities like watching tv or listening to audiobooks or music. and sometimes not even that - sometimes just lying in bed staring at the ceiling because it's all you're able to do. pain and fatigue in general.
mind-numbing boredom and reliance on others for basic needs are the biggest common themes, i think, but it all resonates.
What bothered her about it the most, really, was the unpredictability of it all. On the days that he simply rolled off her and got in the shower, or walked out the door, she knew it was over for a short time. And those times where minutes bled into hours, when the abuse turned into a marathon session, at least she knew what to expect, that she had no choice but to endure. But when he hung around like this, lounging like the basement prison was his living room, she could never know if or when he would start up again.
Alec was leaning against the headboard of the bed, scrolling on his phone. The casualness of it burned, the sick contrast — he was sprawled out, comfortable, one hand folded behind his head. Vienna, meanwhile, had her hands bound above her head, a cloth gag tied around her mouth, body burning in places she didn't want to think about. She couldn't help but think how absurd it must look, a grotesque tableau of a man and his plaything.
Please let him leave…. She prayed silently. Please let it be over….just for a little while……
She tried to will it into existence. When he left, in just a minute, she'd get up and take a shower. That was always first. Then….maybe she'd make a bracelet. Alec had gotten her a set of colorful strings after she completed his most recent "challenge" (kneeling next to his chair holding his drink for a full television show) and she'd chosen the bracelet kit as her prize, eager for something tactile to do with her hands. While she was doing that, she could put on the TV for some background noise, maybe she could watch —
Alec set his phone down on the bedside table.
Every nerve in Vienna's body lit up in frightened anticipation.
He let out a low, contented sigh as he rolled back towards her. Absolute dread flooded her as his hands begin to trace her body, starting at her shoulders.
"Tell me to stop, and I will."
Instinct drove her and Vienna immediately tried to cry "STOP!" — but the gag muffled her words hopelessly.
"Huh?" Alec cocked his head, hands sliding lower. "Didn't quite catch that. Try one more time, come on."
Humiliation burned, but she did try, couldn't help herself, couldn't ignore even the smallest sliver of hope that she might be able to stop him. Sometimes, if she begged loudly or desperately enough, he really would give her a little respite. She hadn't quite learned yet that the was part of the game, encouraging her resistance in the long run.
And this, really, was the true purpose of the restraints and gag. As time went on, it was exceedingly clear that Alec had no worries that Vienna could slip away from him while he was in the room, and certainly had no issues with her struggling or screaming out — in fact, he often taunted her and encouraged her to be louder, fight him harder. Many times now he wasn't even bothering with tying her up. No, these were more like….accessories. Fun additions to his game that added that extra layer of humiliation and helplessness that he loved to see.
"Do you ever pinch yourself?" Alec asked her. "To remind yourself you're actually here? This is really happening? I do."
And he pinched her side, so sharp that she jerked and squeaked in pain.
“You have no idea,” he said, voice low and tight with excitement, “how much I thought about you. Every move, every little thing. And now…” He leaned closer, eyes glinting. “.…I have you.”
Her stomach twisted violently, bile rising, and for a moment she wanted to scream, no matter how useless it was.
"I imagined you so often. Just like this."
He let the moment stretch, and Vienna was sure it was going to happen now, he was going to start again, and she tried to brace herself, relax her muscles so it wouldn't hurt too badly — but then he stood.
Oh, thank God. The movement away from her made Vienna's muscles uncoil more than her own will ever could.
"You're so transparent, you know that?" Alec laughed at her as he got to her feet. "You can't wait for me to leave." He started doing up his pants, looking at her with a lecherous fondness. "Well, don't say I never did anything for you."
He turned to go, striding to the door and holding his thumb up to the fingerprint lock. But — wait, wait —
Vienna's cry rattled against the gag and she shook her hands and ankles in the restraints, trying to communicate, Let me out let me out you forgot to untie me —!
"Aw, what's the matter? You don't want me to go?" Alec crooned, turning back every so slowly. Cruelty glinted in his eyes as he approached the bed again. "No can do, little girl. I have things to do. A life. Can't just sit down here all the time, can I?" He patted her cheek with mock affection. "I"ll be back, though."
His voice was low and smooth as oil as he described what he planned to do when he returned, where and how he planned to touch, to hurt, to violate, letting the word rape wash over her like it was a vow. The images forced their way into Vienna's mind against her will and she couldn't stop herself from trembling all over.
"I'll leave you with that to look forward to."
The room seemed to constrict as the door closed behind him. He was just messing with her. Surely. He'd walk back through the door in a couple minutes and release the restraints, he wouldn't leave her like this, tied up like an animal, the scent of him still all over her, still sticky and sore between her thighs —
No. No, of course he would. This was pure Alec, she knew now, wanting to control every aspect of her, whether he was in the room or not. He would love to know that he was responsible for this, for the spiraling feelings of panic and shame and visceral disgust, the feeling of being claimed —
Oh God.
She wasn't even a person anymore, not in the ways that mattered. She was an object, something strung up for his entertainment, his amusement, his pleasure —
She couldn't breathe. Couldn't exist like this for one more second.
A shriek let loose around the gag, loud in the quiet of the room. Vienna yanked against the ropes, twisted her head to try to loosen the gag, to feel something besides this, but she was utterly trapped. Tears stung her eyes, rolled down her cheeks and she couldn't even wipe them away. She wailed and struggled until her throat felt raw and her muscles started to ache, chest heaving with exertion, but still nothing changed.
Then she started to float. The room blurred.
She must have closed her eyes at some point, because when she blinked them back open Vienna wasn't in the room at all. In fact, she wasn't anywhere she had ever been before. Maybe somewhere that hadn't existed, until this moment.
The colors were hard to describe — sparkling, pastel, vibrant, and calming all at once. Creatures flowed around her, but Vienna wasn't scared at all. She watched in amazement as a parade of them seemed to go by, seahorses, dolphins, fish of every size and color, some that she recognized from reality and some that were completely fantastical. All of it was set in a world of clearest, purest blue. The color was….familiar, somehow.
Her pulse slowed, and she lay a hand over her heart to steady it further — her hands were free! Vienna looked down at her body: her skin was brightly tanned and unmarred by bruises, and starting from her hips down she had a magnificent, periwinkle tail. Like….a mermaid?
Vienna could have laughed in delight, and she let herself, the tinkling sound filling the air — water? — around her. She tested the tail, just a flick at first, but soon enough she was pirouetting through the ocean, swirling, somersaulting, completely free, even playful. Everything about this place was peaceful, and she spent what felt like hours exploring every nook and cranny. There were enormous pink shells with shining pearls inside, glowing caves full of treasure, a palace that looked stunningly similar to what she'd seen in The Little Mermaid, prisms of light and color streaming from the surface, marine animals of every type, every last one of them friendly and affectionate. If she had it her way, Vienna would have stayed there forever.
"There she is."
The words seemed to echo down to her, like someone was above the surface, delighted to see her. But not for any good reason.
So Vienna swam away. The sea creatures surrounded her like a shield, and she knew she was safe. No one could touch her here. Yes, she could feel pressure in what were now familiar spots, her chest, her hips. Not between her legs, though. She didn't have any legs. That was the most magical part.
It was nighttime now, and through the glimmering water at the surface she could see the most beautiful, otherworldly constellations in the sky. Twinkling, shining, brilliant. Vienna focused on them with all her might, making shapes and patterns from the thousands of stars.
Her cheeks were wet. Not just from the seawater, but from pure reflex. She could hear sounds — someone grunting, someone gasping — but it's like they were coming from a television set. They didn't belong to her. They rolled over with the waves of the ocean, in a gentle rhythm, until she was lulled back into something that almost felt like sleep.
Eventually, the room swam back into view. Dim, dank, practically colorless. Alec was in the bathroom cleaning himself up, splashing water on his face. The familiar ache seeped in — between her legs, on her upper arms where he must have held her down. The restraints and gagged were abandoned on the nightstand next to the bed.
Vienna's eyes filled with tears…. but this time it wasn't because of the pain, or because of what had just happened. It was because it was over — and she'd barely had to feel a thing.
The rush of emotion hit her like another wave, and she allowed herself a shaky, relieved exhale. She could tell from the wetness on her face, the ache in her muscles, that it must have seemed like she was still here. Crying, fighting him. But her mind….her mind had been far, far away. Somewhere even Alec couldn't touch.
Vienna was back now, every sense attuned to the basement room, to Alec just feet away. But she carried that delicate, fragile spark of hope back with her. She could survive. She could make it through. She still had something that was just hers.
She sat up for the first time in hours, gritting her teeth against the pain of her muscles and joints coming back to life. From the corner of her eye, she saw Alec studying her. She knew that look: the cold, hungry curiosity he got after he was finished.
For a moment she tried to reach for her underwater world again, for something fantastical and impossibly far away from here — then stopped. She had something better. Something that was real, or at least had been once.
Her family. Her friends. Her classmates, her teammates, Zander — they rose around her, a shield of ordinary love.
“You’re replaying it, aren’t you?” Alec's voice was a jeer. He dried his hands on a towel and came closer, the corner of his mouth twisting. “That’s what you see when you close your eyes. What I just did to you.”
Vienna blinked slowly, her lashes lowering like a curtain. She ducked her head, letting her hair fall forward to shield her expression. To him, it would look like shame. Like despair. Exactly what he wanted to believe.
But behind the veil of her hair, she allowed herself a smug smile of her own. Not enough to give herself away — but just enough to feel it.
Because he was wrong. So very, laughably wrong.
She wasn’t replaying him. She was replaying everything he could never reach. Her mother’s hug. Zander’s easy, crooked grin. The summer night air through her window, carrying the sound of cicadas.
He could do anything to her body. Break it, bruise it, violate it. But this? This was hers. Untouchable.
Alec finally pulled back with a satisfied grunt, apparently convinced she was lost in some spiral of his making. He turned and walked toward the door, the familiar sound of the lock beeping and clicking before the door finally shut for the night.
Vienna didn’t look up until he was gone.
Then, in the quiet, she pressed her forehead to her knees and let the ghost of that hidden smile return, fierce and secret. For the first time in weeks, she felt something like victory.
Alec liked to keep things "fresh." That's what he told her, anyway.
He'd said it to Vienna as he undid the restraints that had held her in an impossible position — she trembled all over, muscles sore, skin damp with sweat. The massive bed in the main room, she had come to realize, was rigged with all sorts of ropes and chains and harnesses to force her body into any shape he wanted.
As soon as the restraints loosened Vienna crumpled onto the mattress, unable to hold herself up on her own. Alec chuckled softly.
"That was a rough one, huh? Bet you and your boyfriend never tried it like that."
Don't let him in. It was the same refrain she always repeated to herself when Alec tried to bring up Zander. He didn't exist here. Not like that. It worked, a little. The lack of reaction, she supposed, made it boring, made Alec bring him up less and less. Just every so often, a barb to hit where it hurt.
"That's the fun thing about us, little girl. We have all the time in the world. We can try so much. Keep things fresh. I love seeing your shocked little face every time."
The words echoed in Vienna's ears long after he locked her back in the small bedroom. Because that was it, wasn't it? The time. It's not like he had to be quick before someone came, before someone overheard. As the past weeks had proved, he could stretch it out to his heart's content. Use his imagination to do anything he wanted to her.
Keep things fresh. Yes, she knew that by now. It was why he liked to space out certain types of torments, let her think that just maybe she could survive before whipping out some new torture that had her break down in horror all over again. Maybe the worst part, too, was she knew how much he enjoyed seeing her react, beg, cry, scream, whatever — and yet she still couldn't stop herself. It was as if….almost as if she were complicit. Making it better for him.
Vienna made sure her shower was extra long and scalding that day.
****
The next day, the room was filled with the mindless chatter from the TV. It was Sunday morning, so a talk show was on. Vienna let the sound center her. She was still part of the world. She could ignore the fact that it was a weekend, hours stretching ahead of her.
Sometimes these moments felt like the only shreds of normalcy she had left. Vienna tried not to think about that part too much.
She sat on the floor between the TV and bed folding laundry. It was an unexpectedly soothing activity — the gentle rhythm of it, the sense of actually being able to be productive and accomplish something. Sometimes she found herself folding and re-folding clothes just for that grounding effect.
The door beeped, lock clicking automatically. Vienna's chest seized. She'd been so focused on her little bubble of domesticity she hadn't even heard him coming.
Alec sauntered in as usual, like he owned the very air they both breathed. A smile curled on his lips at the sight of her.
"Laundry again, huh? This is like your new hobby?"
Vienna didn't answer. She was doing her usual rapid assessment of Alec when he came downstairs: he seemed sober. He didn't seem angry, but he wasn't exactly calm either — his body seemed to buzz with a sort of excited energy. That didn't bode well.
She was startled out of her calculations when Alec turned the TV off. He correctly read the dread on her face and grinned.
"We don't need any distractions, do we? I know why you keep that on all the time, you know."
She resumed folding the clothes, hoping he couldn't see the tremor in her hands, the way her pulse picked up.
"You have nothing else. Nothing else to do but wait for me. Do you think about it? When I'm gone?"
She could tell from his tone it wasn't rhetorical. She forced her lips to move. "Sometimes."
"Sometimes," he jeered. "You know you're a shit liar, right? Oh, I bet it's constant. Thinking about me. The way I touch you. What I'll do to you next time I visit."
Fold. Fold. Flip. Fold. That's all the world had to be right now.
But Alec noticed. As usual.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you."
Vienna forced her eyes up to him.
"There you go. I don't want it to get so dull down here your little brain gets even slower. Would you like some more books or games or something?"
It felt like a trick question. Deny it, and set him off, or lose the meager privileges she already had. Admit it, and get taunted or have her words twisted. A split second deliberation — tell the truth.
"Yeah, I would."
"I thought so. Must be getting boring as hell down here when I'm not around."
He wasn't wrong. Her days ricocheted between heart-stopping terror, roiling disgust, and a mind-numbing boredom. The feeling was so deep that it almost frightened her, how her mind could either create entirely new worlds or just give way to a dull, buzzing static for hours on end.
"But you know, nothing comes free."
Her heart dropped like a stone into a deep, deep ocean. That satisfied grin was still pasted on his face.
"I was thinking about our game the other day, you know."
Vienna couldn't help but wince. She knew exactly what day he was talking about.
The first time he'd put the collar around her neck had felt surreal. It was made from the same leather as many of the restraints, meant to hold her tight but not cause too much damage to the skin. It was connected by a chain to the wall, giving her a small range of motion, use of her arms and legs.
Alec ordered her to try and get away. If she could avoid him, he'd said, she'd win a break for the day. She just had to try.
And God, she tried — running in every direction until the chain pulled taut, shoving at him with shaking hands, pleading at the top of her lungs. The tiny possibility of relief fueled her, made her desperate. Alec enjoyed every second, chasing her down, touching her more invasively each time before letting her go to try again. It was a cruel game of cat and mouse, one she was never meant to win. Vienna was sobbing, gasping by the time he finally shoved her to the hard floor to take what he wanted. He drew it out this time, luxuriating in her torment, in crushing the tiny spark of hope he'd planted.
The humiliation of it burned, that same old shame that kept following her like a shadow: you made it fun for him. You gave him what he wanted. You.
"We'll be doing a lot more of that."
His matter-of-fact voice broke Vienna's reverie.
"I — what — the collar —?" The word came out as a squeak and he laughed.
"Ooh, you know I love that little whimper of yours, don't you? Not the collar. The game."
"That wasn't a game." Vienna's voice trembled. "You were just messing with me."
Even speaking to Alec like that was a gamble, but this time it paid off: his lips twitched in a grin.
"Aw, don't be a sore loser, now. I'll tell you what — I'll make them more fair from now on. You could win. That's how you'll get your little prizes, hm?"
"I don't need a prize," Vienna said quickly, heart starting to hammer in her ears. Not like that.
Something flickered in his eyes. He stepped closer, crouched down so they were eye to eye. Vienna forced herself not to look away. In a low voice, he said, "That wouldn't be fair either, though, would it?" He let a finger trail along her jaw, seeming to enjoy the way her throat locked in fear. "I get my prize every single day. Don't you want a little something?" His finger dropped to trace her collarbone. "And I'll tell you something right now — we're doing this whether you like it or not. Don't be stupid and give up your winnings."
His hand drifted lower. "So — are you going to try my little challenge? Yes or no?"
"Yes." The word forced itself past her lips, anything to interrupt this moment.
"That's what I thought." Alec stood cheerfully, all the predatory threat of the last moment gone like it was nothing. "What kind of prize would you like to try for first? Another book? Any particular snack?"
"A crossword book." The words came out without her even consciously conjuring them, but it felt right: something interactive, to get her brain working, to stave off the feeling that her mind was atrophying.
"I could make that work."
The electronic beep of the lock seemed to fill the room as he opened the door again.
"Come on, then. I have a perfect first idea."
"N-now?" Vienna squeaked, clutching the shirt she'd been folding like a shield.
"No, I'll wait for you to decide," Alec said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Yes, now, bitch. Get up."
Even just a few minutes after it was over, Vienna couldn't quite recall the details of what had happened out there in the main room. Just that his "challenge" had been to lie back, pliant, and not push him away while he lowered his mouth between her legs for a predetermined amount of time. When she failed within the first couple of minutes, desperate for it to end, he'd restrained her anyway and doubled the time.
She didn't have a snatch of memory after that, like she'd blacked out. But the bite marks and bruises all over her hips and thighs told her that Alec had not been happy with her dissociation.
By the time he returned her to the bedroom, shoving her into a chair, Vienna was coming back to life enough to know that she had upset him by refusing to participate in the game — but it only vaguely registered. Her stomach was sick, her inner thighs sticky and tender, and she was shivering so hard her teeth chattered.
"We'll have to play another one, then," Alec said, chest heaving with frustration even as he tried to keep his voice smooth. "You don't get to just space out and forfeit"
Vienna wrapped her arms around herself. Like he hadn't done enough already. "C-can't you just g-go?"
SMACK. His palm slapped against her cheek, making her head crack to the side as a startled yelp escaped her lips.
It seemed to soothe Alec's anger a bit. "There we go. That's what we'll do."
Vienna looked back at him in confusion, clutching her pink cheek.
"Five slaps. Count each one. You mess up, we start over. Get through it….you win."
He hit her again before she could even process his words. Vienna cried out again, trying to twist away in the chair, but he grabbed her shoulders and forced her to sit up straight.
"Alright, that one didn't count then."
SMACK.
"Ow!"
"Oh sure, cry. I could do this all day, you know."
She didn't have time to reply before his palm was flying at her face again. SMACK.
"O-one!" Vienna gasped out, looking up at him desperately for approval.
"There it is." The anger faded a little more and his smirk returned. "You're not the brightest, little girl, but I figured even you could get the hang of it."
He slapped her other cheek.
"Ah — two —!"
And the other again.
"Three!" Vienna's hand flew up instinctively to soothe the sting, but he grabbed it and forced it down.
"Ah, ah. No blocking. That's grounds for starting over too."
Vienna clenched her hands around the seat of the chair, willing herself not to move, not to block him. Alec paused this time, letting the awful anticipation build before rearing back to hit her again.
"F-four."
"See? You know how to play. One more. Are you ready?"
Vienna nodded, tears slipping down. He raised his hand.
"Are you sure?"
"Y-yes…."
His hand swung forward as if to hit her and she flinched violently. Alec laughed as he stopped short.
"You're so jumpy, you know that?"
SMACK.
The final slap was so hard she nearly fell out of the chair, saves only by her tight grip around the seat, but Vienna still managed to whimper a "five," and Alec chuckled.
"Well, you're the big winner, little girl. Feel good? Hm?"
Her cheeks stung like fire and she raised her shaking hands to them, wiping away tears and trying to soothe the skin. She'd done it, humiliating as it was. At least she was able to wring some sort of win out of it. Maybe he'd even leave now to go get it.
"So you'll get your little crossword book. And I'll even let you choose how you want it this time."
Before she could process the words, Alec grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her onto the bed. As he loomed over her, Vienna cursed herself for thinking there was ever a way to get out of this part.
****
The crossword book arrived the next day, as promised. "Well played," Alec had said cheerfully, slapping it down on the table.
For days she let it sit untouched, like it was radioactive. To open it felt like admitting the trade had been worth it. Like admitting she had willingly played his game.
But the hours stretched endlessly. She had already paced until her legs ached, already scrubbed the same patch of counter raw. The drone of the television was no more than background noise.
Finally, Vienna's hand moved on its own, dragging the book toward her. She opened it and stared at the neat black squares. Her pencil hovered. The familiar comfort of words, of filling blanks, teased at her.
She hated herself for the relief that trickled in when she wrote the first answer. For the way the silence loosened a little, the way her mind stopped spinning so frantically.
When she was halfway through, she caught herself smiling faintly at a clever clue — and the smile died instantly. Because even this, even here, Alec was in it. She had him to thank for the entertainment in her hand.
Her stomach turned. She pushed the crossword away, burying her head in her arms.
Also since Ambrose is like this rich dude so what if robbers break into his house when he's not there and they see a person ( Captive Roux ) in the house what would they dooooo
So, Roux isn’t strictly a captive in this version, but I decided to have a go at it anyway. Also, this got much longer than intended. Consider this dubiously canon?
Roux huffs, their shoulder blades thunking back against solid wood. Behind them, their wrists are chafed and burning—and still secured to the leg of Ambrose’s thousand-pound, fancy fucking desk. The gag, too, hasn’t gone anywhere, and their jaw aches with the effort of having tried so hard to dislodge it. By now, they have to admit it: they’re not going anywhere until Ambrose returns from his errands.
The indignity hasn’t faded in the past couple hours, either. “I can’t take you anywhere anymore,” Ambrose sighed while securing them, kicking and shrieking, to his desk, “but I don’t want you snooping around the apartment while I’m away. Be a good boy; I’ll be back soon.” And he patted their head, like a dog, and left them sitting on the carpet in his office.
Roux plans to throttle him when he gets back. They’ve already envisioned it a hundred different ways. When they hear the distant sound of the front door opening, they sit up straight, ready to give Ambrose hell.
But nobody comes to the office. Roux hears footsteps—wearing shoes, on Ambrose’s beloved carpets—plodding around the foyer, the living room, the kitchen, rummaging around, speaking in furtive voices … that’s when Roux realizes it’s definitely not Ambrose. And the housekeeper isn’t scheduled today (otherwise Ambrose wouldn’t have left Roux like this). A break-in?
Roux’s stomach leaps when the footsteps approach the office. “What’s this?” a voice murmurs, just before the doorknob twists. Two guys—both wearing ski masks and maintenance uniforms, each carrying a duffle bag—step into the office.
They freeze and stare at Roux. Roux stares back, their face inexplicably heating with mortification. “What the hell?” Guy #1 mutters.
Guy #2 stares some more. “Well, shit.” He takes a half-step back. “Is this, like, some kind of a sex thing?”
Roux snaps out of their shock enough to glare at him like he’s an idiot. “Does this look like a fucking sex thing?” they demand, over-enunciating so he understands the verbal abuse through the gag.
“Well, shit.” The guys look at each other, then back at Roux. Guy #1 finally passes off his duffle bag to the other and comes to kneel in front of Roux. “Shit, are you okay?”
Christ, they probably think Roux’s been kidnapped or something. And it’s not like that, he wants to say to them—but, he relents, it’s not … not like that. How the hell is he going to explain this? Yeah, sorry, I just live with this guy who does completely insane things like this to me sometimes. You should probably get out of here before he gets back. Does that work?
Guy #1 starts trying to undo Roux’s gag, and Guy #2 paces nervously. “Dude, we said we’d be in and out,” he hisses.
Guy #1 twists around to stare incredulously at him. “Okay, well, this is kind of important? Go keep watch if you’re gonna be a pussy about it.” Guy #2 storms off, the door swinging partially shut behind him. “Sorry about that,” Guy #1 says apologetically. “I, uh, we weren’t expecting—” He gestures vaguely.
In response, Roux just shrugs. They’re still trying to figure out what they’ll tell him when he finally takes off the gag. They don’t care that these two were trying to rob Ambrose—hell, if Roux wouldn’t get in trouble for things going missing, they’d let these two take whatever they want. But Roux doesn’t know what to do about this guy having seen how Ambrose treats them. Granted, it’s never gotten quite this bad before … Is tying someone up in your house a criminal offense? No, wait, more importantly—even if it is, if Ambrose got arrested, where would Roux go? They don’t have the savings to get their own place; they wouldn’t be able to afford their T prescription …
As Guy #1 keeps working on the gag, muttering about how tight the knot is, Roux hears an odd thump down the hall. Their eyebrows furrow, but Guy doesn’t seem to hear it. He’s so focused that he doesn’t even hear the door creak—or the figure creeping up behind him.
Roux shouts, but Guy turns too late. The knife slashes across his throat, spraying Roux’s face with spatters of blood. For a second, he’s still suspended upright, frowning slightly. Then his eyes go glassy, and he crumples to the floor.
Roux can’t take their eyes off him. They’re scared they’ll throw up and choke on it with the gag still on—but a voice above them distracts from the thought. “Well,” Ambrose says, gazing down at them as he wipes the knife blade on his slacks. “This is quite a mess, isn’t it?”
He smiles, no light in his eyes. He shoves Guy #1’s body aside—Roux didn’t even know that guy’s name, but he was only trying to help them—and kneels before Roux, brandishing the knife. Roux flinches, an incoherent noise escaping. “Oh, you’re so sweet when you’re scared,” Ambrose murmurs. “Just stay still, mon chou.” He saws through the material of the gag, then the ropes on their wrists, not leaving a single scratch on them.
When the gag finally comes off, Roux’s mind goes completely blank. “I—y-you—” The corners of their lips burn. They decide to shut their mouth.
Ambrose places the knife on the desk and takes out a handkerchief, wiping the blood spots off Roux’s face. “Petty thugs,” he mutters with a click of his tongue. “They didn’t hurt you at all, did they?” He lifts their chin, looking them over.
They completely forget to jerk out of his grasp, so caught off-guard by all of it: the body to their left, the puddle of blood slowly drawing closer to their pantleg, and Ambrose acting like he doesn’t see it, like he didn’t do it— “N-No,” Roux replies, turning away as if they don’t see it, either.
“Good.” Ambrose kisses their forehead, helps them up. He pulls out his phone as he leads them out into the hallway, dialing. “Hello, mon ami. It seems I’ve had an unexpected situation at home. Would you be able to help me clean up?” A ways down the hall, he casually leads Roux around the slumped body of Guy #2, still gushing blood. There’s a big streak of it down the pristine white wall. As Roux turns away gagging, they notice a splatter of it on Ambrose’s shirt. There’s no safe place to turn. “Wonderful!” Ambrose says, after a pause, and then they’re past the body and headed towards the bedrooms. “Thank you so very much, I’ll see you in a little bit.” He tucks his phone back into his pocket.
“Who—who was—?” Roux can’t seem to stop shaking. This doesn’t feel like it’s really happening, like it’s a dream they’ll wake up from soon and think, Well, I’m glad Ambrose isn’t that bad.
He slides a hand around their shoulders and steers them to their bedroom door. “Don’t you worry your pretty head about it. Why don’t you go wait in your bedroom for a little bit, and by the time you come out, this will all be sorted.” Like it’s a magic trick. Presto! The bodies have been disposed of.
“Ambrose—” Before they can get another word out, he squeezes their shoulder, just hard enough for them to acknowledge it as the threat it is. They shut their mouth. He opens the bedroom door. They step inside.
They’re not sure how long they spend standing upright at their dresser with their phone, 911 dialed, their thumb hovering over the call button. Long enough that they hear other voices entering the penthouse, things being dragged around and out the back door. Long enough for them to think that Ambrose, even with all his affectionate nicknames and forehead kisses, wouldn’t hesitate to slash their throat, too. He would know they were the one who called. He has dozens of lawyers at his disposal, and even if he did go to prison … he has friends who do his bidding; Roux is clear on that much.
The feeling—no, the fact—that they will never be safe hollows out their bones and makes its home there. Their wrists and their mouth ache.
The doorknob begins to turn. Roux jabs at the backspace button, erasing the numbers from existence. Ambrose pops his smiling face inside—the light returned to his eyes, a crisp new shirt on—and says, “Get dressed, sweetheart. We’re going out to dinner.”
“Alright.” Roux’s phone thuds to the dresser, and their arm goes limp. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
-
Tag list: @theelvishcowgirl @aviandaleks @gala1981 @laniakea0100 @spectral-whumpy-writer @whatwasmyprevioususername
having thinky thoughts about how zipper wasn't raised to designate people in their life into clear, distinctive categories (i.e., "this is my teacher, this is my parent, this is my friend") so due to the way their brain works, they have a number of different categories now: "friend," "annoying person i don't know," "customer," "good doctor," "enemy," etc.
they don't have categories for gavin and river tho. like, the closest thing gavin would be is an adoptive parent, but zipper doesn't think of themself as someone who has parents, and doesn't really think of gavin as their dad. (mentor, maybe?)
but river. river has transcended the friend category. zipper's just like, "oh, him? that's my river."
