Wednesday, July 16, 2014

No, Daddy, No: Part 3: Old Magic

While she'd been organizing the books, Drake had settled himself in the floor, sorting through a deck of Magic: The Gathering cards.  One of the first things he'd done when they started dating was to buy her a starter deck and teach her how to play so he would have a partner.  Every few weeks, he'd buy a few booster packs, and give her the ones he didn't want for himself. After the first few months of their relationship, they hadn't played anymore, but he still continued to buy the cards.

"Where's your deck?" he said without bothering to look up.

Kate shuffled over to the fridge, standing on her toes to pull the small cardboard box off the top.  In the box were a few hundred Magic cards, dumped into a disorganized pile. They'd been in the box since before he left.  While at the fridge, she grabbed a box of cold pizza out of it and took it with her back into the living room.  She sat it on the floor beside him, and plopped down in front of him.  She hugged the box to her chest, smothering the sound she almost made when it hit the ground.  He reached out and tilted the box forward with a single finger to see inside.

"Well, this is a mess," he said, plucking from the box from her hands

"Yeah, it is."

He frowned at her.  "Do you remember how to play?"

Kate shook her head. "Been too long."

He sat his deck down and picked up a messy pile of cards and went to sorting them.  He was fast at it too, like a sort of geeky card shark dealing poker only with monsters and mana. Kate sat there in silence, watching him build her a deck he could beat easily. Not that her meager collection could stand up to the thousands he had been buying and trading long before they had met.  He used to leave them scattered around the house, and she constantly found herself tripping over them.  Piles of them had spilled all over the bathroom: on the small vanity, in the floor. He wouldn't let her clean them up either.

"Why did you come back?" she said.

"To get my property," he said, sorting the cards in his hand

"Your dad said you told him to sell the car."

"I'm not talking about the car."

She was silent.

"I need my little whore."

Kate laughed.  It was stupid of her, but she laughed.  How could she not?  He always had a habit of saying the dumbest shit at random moments.

He lowered the cards slowly, staring at her.  "Why are you laughing?"

"You…you sound like you crawled out of a bad porno."  She just kept laughing.  She couldn't help herself. Maybe she was still drunk.  She didn't know how long that sort of thing lasted.

She blinked as the cards hit her in the face. Before she realized what was happening, he had her by the hair again, dragging toward the kitchen.  The carpet tugged the towel loose and bit into her skin, rubbing burns into her belly and hip as she struggled to keep up.

"I didn't know you were this stupid. I don't think you know your place, bitch," he said, using his favorite pet name for her again.  He gave one last heave to get her off the carpet and onto the dirty kitchen floor, "which is something I'm gonna have to fix."

He shoved the chairs away from the poker table and dumped her there at its feet.  He picked a coiled chain up off the bar.  He'd clearly been busy while she dawdled in the bathroom.  Drake spun her around so she was facing the table and wrapped the chain around her left wrist, securing it with a small brass-colored padlock.  He wound the chain around the table legs, using the last bit of slack to bind her other wrist to the right table leg. He left her for a moment and rummaged through the drawers. The clinking of cutlery had her pulling at the chain.  She knew it was pointless.  Even if the chain only had a load capacity of sixteen pounds, she would have to tear up her wrists to break it.  That was if she had enough strength to break it in the first place.

He came back over to her, crouching behind her and resting his chin on her shoulder.  He held out a couple of knives in front of her face.

"Which do you think will scar? Hmm? Filet or steak?"  He held up each knife as he named them.  "I really want this to sink in."

Kate flailed, pulling on the chain and trying to scramble away from the blades. Between him and the chain, she didn't move very far.  She did manage to knock her skull into the side of his, which made him wrench her head to the side.

"Which one?" he said again, tapping her cheek with the smooth blade of the filet knife.

"HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW?" she screamed in desperation.  She didn't want this. Even the fucking belt was better than this.  He knew that.  He knew cutting was one of her hardest limits.

"Oh, you know," he said.  He trailed the blade down from her cheek over her shoulder to brush the cold tip against the largest scar on the top of her forearm.  It wasn't too big, just barely an inch long, but it was pale and shiny and very, very visible.  A smattering of smaller faded scars decorated the skin around it.

"Fuck you," she said bitterly.  She wouldn't help him mar her.  She wouldn't help him violate her in a far more intense betrayal than sex.

"Don't worry, slave.  You'll get to do that later." He went back to the drawer and closed it.  "I think I'll go with steak.  I know how much you liked to carve."

She shrieked.  He wrenched her head back and smacked her face.  The wail died abruptly in her throat.

Forcing her head down, he laid the cold steel against her back.  "Don't move.  Wouldn't wanna cut anything necessary."


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