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“Father Benoît.” Edouard said with a cool tone, and his hand crawled behind my nape, keeping me in place, as he kept on pumping right into my mouth.
“Edouard Beaumont,” Father Benoît replied. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself?”
“Hmm,” Edouard just hummed. I froze, my earlier desire transforming into fear, as I helplessly continued the bobbing of my head. And then he came, filling my throat with his release while he kept my mouth on his dick until he fully emptied himself.
I stayed like that. I don’t know for how long I kept myself on my knees while my entire body swam with shame, but it was enough for Father Benoît to be gone by the time I finally got back up. I was shaky, and shocked. Disgusted by myself for what I’d done. Edouard’s friends had seen me before, yes, but still I had never felt as disposed as I did at that moment.
Later, when the church was filled with families of our local community, Father Benoît called me to the altar and disgraced me for everyone to see. He never used the words as much, but I knew they all knew. I had worked so hard to be different from my junkie mother. And in the end, I’d fallen even deeper.
Looking back, I realize that’s when the transformation started taking place. I had to. I couldn’t let them see my needy, unloving self. The one who craved to crawl on hands and knees and be adorned with toys and lace. The one who desperately wanted to be owned and loved. No. That part of me had to go if I wanted to survive.
And survived I did. Until that same person who once owned me, entered the school doors barely nine months ago. That‘s when my life started to crumble, every forged layer gracefully smashed until nothing, nothing could protect me anymore.
He’s hot on my tail. Edouard…or the stranger who looks identical to Edouard. In the dim light I can barely make out his features, but the golden mask shines in a taunt, challenging me to give up. There’s the faint sound of a piano, but the heavy panting shoos it away, replacing my state of mine with increasing worry. I’m getting worn out.
I have lost track of time.
Weren’t we supposed to last for only two hours?
It feels like I’ve been on the run for a lifetime. I think of the other participants who were here tonight. The one who was terrified. Has he been eliminated? Of the one who fought me outside. Has he found a way inside the castle yet? I wonder which mask wants to claim him.
I wonder if I’ll be able to make the right decision when the moment comes. My insides burn at the thought of Edouard’s eyes on me, lit with a scorching desire. One I wasn’t going to give in to. Because I was given a choice by the Dictator himself.
“You’d better choose carefully.”
Carefully. Carefully. The word plays on loop in my mind, intertwining with my heavy breaths.
What would it be like to choose Edouard willingly?
Any other murmur is stolen from my thoughts, because the moment I reach the end of the narrow corridor, Golden Mask comes running for me from the other side, a grimace on his face. I dodge him, though barely, and hit the wall. Pushing myself away, I clutch my hand around the metal of my knife, then make a few faint slashes his way to get him to back off. It works. He slithers backwards, leaving me to scan the space for a way out.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“It’s too late for you,” the real Edouard answers. He’s approaching from my right side, closer than expected, since I was distracted with his look alike, and I scowl at the way my body hums when it connects to his dark, hungry glare.
I jab the knife in his direction. He grins, licks his golden tooth and takes a step forward. He’s still out of reach, but we both know I’m outnumbered. Still, I’ll fucking fight him.
“Gotcha amour,” he says. Rolling my lips, I stare at him, the knife held high in my hand, ready to strike once more if I have to. “But you’re right. You have changed.” He chuckles. “Where did you learn how to use a knife? Surely a well-respected establishment such as this place doesn’t teach you such foul activities?”
I snort. “Who says I was taught how to use one? We’re not all killers here.” I expect him to take the bait. To become angry, or at least show some surprise at my knowledge, but he just shrugs, his grin turning into a full-blown smile. A cool, wicked smile his prey must get whenever he’s about to torture them. I clear my throat, feeling my insides tingle with fear, and fill the air with a few more slashes of the knife.
“It’s for defense,” I explain when he doesn’t speak.
He feints surprise. “Oh? You need to defend yourself in this place?”
“From you,” I admit through clenched teeth, hating that it is me who has taken the bait. His eyes flash viciously and he takes a step closer.
“Oh, you don’t need to defend yourself from me, mon chat. I already caught you.”
The next string of movements happen so fast, I can’t keep up. He swings at the knife, but I dodge his attack, slicing open yet another part of his black cloak. He roars, then goes for my throat, and before I blink again I’m pinned against the wall. He squeezes, shutting off my airways, challenging me to look at his smile while he slowly increases pressure.
“So, so beautiful. And stubborn. And lovely,” he whispers. The golden rings dig in my skin but he doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes dip to where my neck curls into my collarbone and with the tip of his own knife, he slides between the buttons of my school shirt, and tears the material open.
“No,” I gurgle.
“Yes. I want to see it.”
“No!” I pant, throat aching from the lack of oxygen, but the material is already sliding off my shoulder. He takes in the sight with heavy lidded eyes, then uses the tip of his knife to ghost the shape he carved into my skin years ago, marking me as his.
