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A deep, heavy sigh emanated from Jonathan’s slender and frail chest. His torso didn’t seem big enough to accommodate the inhale it had taken to procure as much breath as he needed to expel the plethora of feelings that plagued him, but needs must, and he was nothing if not a risk taker. Fainting spells were a little beyond him. As fragile as he might seem to those who were willing to take their own risks and belittle or mock him, he was particularly determined in a manner so stubborn he could muster up strength from spite alone. And he was wasting that energy on his newest hobby.
It was torture. Self-flagellation. Punishment of the self in lieu of the ability to punish another. Jonathan was so very aware of it all, painfully cognizant, and thoroughly unimpressed by the fact he’d become a prime case study for his own subject of choice. It was humiliating, to be so simple. To fall within the standards of normality. That was how everyone else should be, not him. He was above it, beyond it. He was the master of it, even if several colleagues and students would argue the contrary if given the chance. Even now, as he recognised the pointless triggering of his emotions, he still couldn’t pull himself away from the window of his office. He knew your schedule, and any minute now you would be passing by, unaware of him as he hovered behind to the side, obscuring himself from your view should you deign to take a quick look to where you were now heading.
Perfectly timed, almost to the exact second he had marked visually on his wrist watch, he caught a glimpse of you. Definitely you, right there. He would have been able to tell from miles away, and even without his glasses on. From the way you walked, he could tell that there was a change in you. Of course, as your therapist, Jonathan knew your interior so well, perhaps even better than you did yourself, but his lingering gazes and studious leers meant he had developed a good sense of your exterior habits too. And while normally that level of control, that thread of authority over someone else, might have given Jonathan the satisfaction he hoped for, this time it was a slap to the face of his entire being. The longer he looked, the more obvious it became that you were not alone. Someone by your side had begun to speak to you, and that difference he noted in your pace and gait seemed to be down to them. You smiled at him, laughed at whatever words he said.
A new beau. Someone else, someone other than Jonathan, for you to tether your needs and wants to, someone who wasn’t in turn attempting to wriggle their nasty fingers into the ridges of your brain. Without really knowing the concrete truth of the matter, Jonathan felt his blood begin to boil.
You hadn’t mentioned any of this in your sessions with him. Could you really have bonded with someone so quickly? Within a week between today and your last hour spent with him? It seemed unlikely, given what he knew about you. But still, it bothered him. And he wondered if that was because it felt like he had been rejected. Like you had moved on. Weren’t you, only weeks ago, lamenting over the fact that he was your only true relationship? Your one contact in an otherwise shallow world of surface level connections? How special that made him feel. How true it rang. How quickly it confirmed and encouraged his deeper feelings that had been slowly developing.
Jonathan seethed, filled with nothing but vitriolic hatred which he knew, if unleashed, could tarnish the lingering shreds of his reputation with colleagues and peers who were constantly looking for a reason, any reason, to be rid of him. His tenuous grasp on his own emotions was slipping, but he could maintain the metaphorical mask until he could be adorned with his physical one. All of that would have to wait, however. For now, he could only stare, look on with a jealousy he refused to acknowledge but which lingered regardless.
Once you were out of view, he turned his back completely, leaning against the wall beside the window that offered nothing but pain. With a sigh that was more of a growl, he slumped down into his tarnishing leather office chair and let his head thump down onto the open book atop his desk. It was a cruel trick that the mind played, where the only memory it allowed you access to was the one you were least keen on remembering. And for Jonathan, in that moment, it was your act of apparent and ultimate betrayal that lingered there.
But it was fast approaching your diarised appointment, and he knew he had to calm himself down enough to begin the session as standard. Then, he could finally do what he’d been intending to do for months now.
Now he knew that you were a quick mover, not someone who lingered and waited and pined like he had been. No longer did he have to halt his plans and control his desires. Someone else had attempted to steal what he believed was his rightful place, especially given how long he had been working on you, manipulating your form into the perfect… He cycled through the options. Victim. Subject. Patient. Partner. Either way, it was time to put into practice his long awaited plans.
He reached into his desk drawer and removed a small vial. A bright orange liquid sloshed gently within the thick glass confines. His latest attempt at his fear toxin. You’d be the perfect test. A few drops in a welcoming cup of tea and he could finally make his move. No appointments after this one, the hallway his office was on completely devoid of any other occupants. This was it.
In the slight reflection of the vial, Jonathan could make out his reflection. The jealous rage settled into a deep wrinkled scowl on his forehead and he smiled at the image of it. It seemed jealousy suited him. It was a suitable motivation for continuing his work. For so long he’d been distracted by you, and now, by some miracle of coincidence, the concept of losing you meant that he had regained his concentration, and regaining that meant he could get you back too. A delightful turn of events, one that made him chuckle as he plotted in the silence of his office, waiting for you to arrive. A dream for him, a nightmare for you.
Though he had timed how long it took you from first sight to standing at his door, Jonathan had been far too distracted by his own excitement that when you knocked, he jumped in tender fright. The sensation of experiencing the shock sent a tingle of glee down his spine, a telltale stirring of more lustful emotions softly flowing through him. Your voice only strengthened them.
“Professor Crane?”
“Yes, come in.”
Jonathan’s office never felt like a peaceful place to you. It always seemed to exude the kind of atmosphere that was the antithesis of what someone would want from their therapist’s place of business, and he made no efforts to change that. In fact, it was safe to assume that he had curated it in such a manner on purpose. The room very often felt like it was closing in on you as you spoke to him, rendering you incapable of escape from his oddly seductive charms. But right then, as you sat on his cough and tried to calm your breathing, it felt like an encroaching tomb, sealing you in your fate.
The tight, strict rhythm of the antique clock in the corner was all you could find to focus on, trying your best to work your heart beat to it’s steady pace in hopes it would soothe you while you tried not to become flustered just by being in his presence. You believed you were hiding your crush well so far, and that if you weren’t, he was used to this kind of thing. It probably happened all the time, you imagined. A close relationship with someone who listens intently and understands you? That was a definite recipe for misplaced feelings.
You couldn’t, however, have imagined that Jonathan had similar feelings, despite his often more personal and potentially inappropriate behaviours. And more than that, you couldn’t have expected that you were so good at concealing your desires that Jonathan had missed the signs entirely, becoming jealous over nothing with a no one.
It wouldn’t stop him from trying, though. He was a determined soul.
Jonathan raised his hand so silently, so slowly, that you had barely noticed it even once it was resting atop yours. Only when his thumb slid from your wrist to your thigh did you suddenly jump, shirking away from him and sitting back away from him. He seemed perturbed by your movement, but remained silent as always. It was one thing, after all, to seek intimacy, physical or otherwise, from a patient, another thing entirely to force it on them.
It wasn’t that you didn’t want his touch. Despite how awkward it felt, how taboo in nature it seemed, you still found yourself wanting. The presence of his fingertips against your lower back as he ushered you in, or on the back of your hand in an attempt to soothe, or brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear to stop it from irritating you, it so often made your blood run cold rather than hot. But you found yourself reeling with glee any time he chose to bestow that particular affection upon you. Like he was choosing you over the ‘rules’. As though he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, despite knowing how wrong it was. There was a sordid excitement there, but you knew it had to stop, otherwise you weren’t sure you could keep your feelings hidden for much longer.
But he could sense that you were withholding something of importance from him, and able to smell your nerves as they clouded the room, Jonathan leaned in, keeping his hands folded between his spread thighs, and encouraged you to give in to him.
“Take your time. This is your space to speak freely. What’s on your mind today? What has you in such a state? Pulse quickening. Sweat on your palms. Lips dry. Something is bothering you. If you can’t tell me, then who can you disclose your problems to?”
The stress he caused you was intolerable, and you could guess all too palpable given the physical reactions he had pinpointed. The way he looked at you, like he could see inside of you, into your mind, made you feel almost nude. Too vulnerable, too exposed. Dirty, in a way. But that thought crossed over with a distinct tingle, and you pressed your legs together in an attempt at controlling the other physical effects that Jonathan seemed to stir in you.
When you still hadn’t answered his question, too focused on hiding your obvious arousal at the genuine care and ever so slightly seedy way in which he seemed to watch you, Jonathan let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair.
“Perhaps we should call this off. Not just our session today, but our remaining scheduled appointments. If we can’t have complete honesty then the work we do together will be useless. You are supposed to feel comfortable enough to share with me here, and it is rather obvious that yo-”
“No! Please!”
The begging was borderline hysterical, but you couldn’t tone it down. Having Jonathan leave you, in any respect, would shatter your being.
“Please… Doctor Crane… Don't… I just…”
“Yes?”
He braced himself, ready for you to confess that you were withholding information about a new relationship from him, a sordid little secret affair that you, for some reason, chose not to bring into his office for whatever reason.
“I… I think…”
A simple answer would have been that you found yourself falling for him and his ever more present flirtations. But you seemed entirely incapable of speaking it in full, despite his growing impatience.
“I think… I th-”
Jonathan interrupted, correcting you and shaking his head in disappointment as he realised that everything he’d worked on with you in relation to your confidence seemed to be going out of the window the minute you were under slightly more pressure than usual.
“Do you think? Or do you know? If it’s within you, then the answer is surely more concrete than you’re letting out.”
You took a deep, steady breath, attempting to let your nerves out with the exhale that came with it but ultimately failing to do so. The next sentence you were able to get out, though formed with the intention of confidence, still managed to come across on a shaking voice.
“OK. I know.” Another deep breath, exhaled slowly and with as much patience for yourself as you could find, and you continued. “I know, now… After a lot of thinking, that is… So maybe I think… Maybe I don’t know… I… can’t.”
The tension filled the room, and the second you had finished uttering your last nonsensical word, Jonathan’s eyebrows raised quickly and then lowered again slowly. He scowled in your direction, covering the short distance with his torturous stare. His fingers tensed and flexed, knuckles whitening as he clenched his hands into tight fists in complete frustration.
“Oh you can’t, hm? Or you simply won’t, rather?”
He spat the words out violently across the table from the large leather wingback he sat in, the size of which always seemed to swallow him but from which he now emerged with a bolstering anger you’d never seen before in him.
“Please, Doctor Crane. Don’t push me, I-”
“I push you to do better!” He slammed his palm down on the coffee table between you, realising that his emphasis was perhaps a little misguided given your emotional state and the discussion you were having. So he cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, a stiff exhale pushing through his nostrils as he tented his fingers in front of his chin. “Do you think you’re going to find someone else who will put in this kind of work for you? Someone who will push you? Do you know how often therapists tell their client what they want to hear? How frequently they misguide in an attempt to validate your feelings? Too afraid to say the wrong thing or else they’ll suffer the wrath of a poor review in this oh so unfortunately 'customer’ focused landscape we are in?”
Jonathan stopped, not expecting an answer, not waiting for one before he decided he might have pushed too far too soon. He had to play this carefully. Breaking you down psychologically and turning you into his perfect subject was a long game, and he had to play by his own devised rules.
“Please, let me get you a drink. Something to settle your nerves.”
But the intended outcome was of course the opposite, a stark contrast from what was conjured up by the gesture. If all went to plan, two or three sips would have you in a state of pure terror and completely malleable to his every whim.
“That would be lovely, Doctor Crane.”
And you were none the wiser. You trusted him, and that implicit faith stirred something deep within him. The concept of losing you to another was interesting, the fear it struck in him, but, for possibly one of the few times in his life, the adrenaline felt far sweeter when he considered the positives. Of course, those positives were his, not yours.
“Here. Freshly brewed tea.”
You took the cup from him, sniffing at the oddly orange coloured liquid contained by the stained porcelain.
“It smells like… I don’t know. Not oranges. But the colour…”
“I sourced the leaves myself. Brewed it fresh with some added properties known to induce the kind of mood I prefer my patients to be in. Open to experiences and their base level responses.”
You eyed up the cup once more then turned your gaze to Jonathan who was watching you like a hawk, waiting for you to taste his concoction.
“Wow… Is it… Is it like drugs?”
“I suppose in a sense. But where better than to experience the very mild effects of the hallucinogen than in here with me, a professional. It will help, I promise. I know what you want to get from these sessions, and this? This is just a guaranteed way of getting it.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t. I wouldn’t want to…”
That sentence couldn’t be finished. You were concerned that losing your hold on yourself would mean you might let slip your interest in him, and that couldn’t happen. Not yet.
“That’s fine with me, dear. Far be it from me to hinder any regression. I must pay the bills somehow, after all. You can make your choices, make them wrong, and then let me pick up the pieces.”
He was attempting to put pressure on you through guilt, and you knew that. But it worked anyway. Jonathan stifled his grin as you sipped from the cup greedily, having to soften the cruel expression into one more placid so as not to arouse any suspicions.
“Well done, dear. Now, shall we begin? Get to the meat, so to speak?” The way he annunciated the word made you shiver, playing off the physical response as one inspired by the tea as opposed to his thin lips speaking such a meaningless word in such a filthy tone. “Why are you struggling to place your trust in me? You can tell me anything. You have told me quite a lot. Why stop now?”
You were trying to let the tea calm you down, to find the space, the capacity, to answer him clearly and honestly without any kind of shame, but it was proving more difficult now than before. As you tried to process your running thoughts of panic, you saw something shift in the corner of the room. A dark shadow, seeping in from the ceiling and spreading like damp down the walls. As you spun your neck to face it, it disappeared, and Jonathan followed your eyes before bringing his back to face you with a smile.
“Are you OK?”
“Uh… Yes, I’m fine, I just-” Another one, this time with a defined figure, reaching out to you from behind Jonathan, long, ragged nails on outstretched fingers skating over his shoulder and coming towards you. “Doctor Crane!”
Jonathan followed your pointing and trembling finger, looking over his shoulder, committing to the act though he knew he would find nothing there. Hallucinations, that’s all they were. The tea was working.
“Should I give you a few minutes? Perhaps I’ll leave the room and allow you-”
“No! Doctor Crane, no! Please. Please don’t leave me. Please. Don’t leave me alone.”
His sly smile crept up onto his gaunt cheeks now regardless of how obvious the expression made his guilt and his enjoyment.
“Don’t leave you alone in here? Or at all? Surely you mean within the confines of this room. Because you have your friend to keep you company outside of these four walls, don’t you?”
“Who are-”
“Are you ignoring any feelings for me? Burying them in someone else to take the pain away?”
“He’s not anyt-”
“Or is it a lack thereof? No feelings for me whatsoever despite your blushing and smiling and deep desire to please me, to have me be proud of you.”
“That’s not fair, Doctor Cr-”
“In your quest to avoid abandonment, a fear so pathetically predictable that it’s of no interest even to me at this point, are you seeking to get there before it?”
“I’ve never mentioned-”
“Is it an attempt to exert control?”
“Over wh-”
“Does it make you feel better to be the one who abandons? Cruelly, and with no warning. A quick pulling back from anything that was or could have been. A simple note of disinterest would have been far less painful than that. But who am I to question your motives. I’m only your therapist. Not a friend, not a partner, not a lover. Not even potential. I am a service you pay for and use. Yes?”
You’d given up trying to answer his quick fire questions. Each one felt like a dagger to your chest, striking the bones of your rib cage hard enough that they seemed to resonate outwards, vibrating through your soul. Now, though, he seemed to be waiting for you, perhaps without the intention of interrupting as he had done each time since. But there were no words, only shuddering, choking panic. You were struggling to catch your breath, unable to find yourself in the space. Each accusatory claim, each tender twist of the knife into your psyche, each reveal of aspects you hadn’t divulged yet, brought with it another shadow, encroaching, stalking, closing in on you alongside those claustrophobia inducing walls. It was as though they were backing him, creating an army on his side, there to intimidate you into whatever semblance of submission you could offer.
And you couldn’t convince yourself that they weren’t real. Because Jonathan refused to give you the satisfaction of calming your nerves. He followed your haunted gaze, craning his neck and turning from you to survey the darkness behind him. And when he turned back around there were no platitudes, no confident reassurance that you were fine. Only his smile, wide, toothy, and full of delight.
With a great deal more resolve than you had expected yourself to be able to muster not only in his presence, but in the state of sheer panic you found yourself entering now, you found it in you to speak.
“I have to go. I have to… I have to leave!”
Escaping seemed like your only option. You wanted to stay, to answer his questions, to beg him to comfort you, but you feared it would only lead to further conversation that dragged you in a confusing loop. You weren’t in the right mind to debate or to argue, you couldn’t set any clear boundaries or to draw a line between reality and fantasy even. You wanted to make him proud, to face the demons that now seemed to be manifesting physically, but your body was begging to run.
In a display of further cruelty, Jonathan continued with his plan, an internal schedule ticking along nicely. He could use these fears against you. He stood up from his chair and made his way to the door, noticing the way your body tensed and quivered as he got closer to you, your muscles relaxing only slightly as he passed you by.
“You want to run? You can’t. Not really. Not from your mind. Not from me. No one will ever know you like I do. Abandonment comes in many forms. And you are doing this to yourself.”
As you prepared a shaking retort, unsure of your own feelings but still hoping to argue strongly enough that he might let you leave, Jonathan stepped quickly to the door of his office, a sleek side step that felt akin to the way those shadows moved. He took the handle in his palm and turned it, opening the what was once the sanctity of his office to the seemingly safer outside world. In complete silence he gestured to the dark hallway, showing you the way out. You couldn’t argue now, even if you wanted to. Couldn’t change your mind, because he had made it for you. So you stood on weak and trembling legs and made your way out, taking one cautious glance behind you at the shadows who had stopped to watch your exit.
The door slammed behind you once you were out in the corridor and as the sound dimmed, so did the light from Jonathan’s office with it. In the dark, a slow howl began to creep up in volume to replace the echo of your disappearance from Jonathan’s office. You could place it, only slightly, as coming from the end of the corridor. The darkness there was like a void, but you could see it shifting. It shambled, moving and creeping towards you. As it got closer, the light seeping from the crack at the bottom of the office door lit it, only slightly. You. And behind you, a friend, a classmate, people from your history, shuffling in sync as they reached out for you, led by your dark duplicate. A whimper escaped from your throat, mimicked by the shadow version of yourself, and you let the sound turn to a scream as you reached for the door handle without drawing your eyes away from the coming threat.
Jonathan listened to you struggling blindly with the handle. He wondered, as he felt his cheeks grow warm with equal parts shame and excitement, if he hadn’t made a mistake pushing you to isolation so soon in your experience with his toxin. But he had to trust his calculations. He had instilled that little bit of fear in you, the seed of worry that was now growing into a large and gnarled oak within your chest. He didn’t have to bide his time. You were already following his plan perfectly.
You began to bang your fists against the door, not caring about the noise you were making, only conscious fo the desperation to flee from the unknown dangers and return to the ones you were at least somewhat familiar with as you sat with them in Jonathan’s company. Leaning against the door with all of your weight, hoping the wood might absorb you and let you fall through, you tried to get away from what you felt was fate catching up to you. But just as the shadows reached within touching distance, you stumbled and fell to the floor at Jonathan’s feet. He had opened the door, merciful, but less than impressed with your incoherent mumbling of gratitude.
“Ah, back so soon? Just as I expected. A glutton for punishment. Did you know, criminals often return to the scene of their crimes to revel in them, to relive the blissful moments. For you, I imagine this is a fitting comparison. Though you are here to relive the pain, no? Or are you here because you simply can’t leave? Jealousy comes in many forms. I showed you mine, perhaps you can show me yours?”
Your eyes were focused on the door, waiting for your hunters to catch up with you, so in your silence, Jonathan continued. The words, though not producing a physical reaction in you, were getting through to you regardless.
“Not talking, hm? And here I am, letting you back in. But that’s because we are just the same. Kindred spirits. You’re returning out of fear, something you seem to despise. Though for me, that feeling is… fascinating. I fear losing you, to some extent. So similar. But where you have been reduced to this sickening display of cowardice, I relish it. Fear is… sustenance. Don’t you agree? How could you not?”
No response seemed valid, no answer was correct. So you decided to peddle your truth.
“J…Jonathan…”
“How informal! Do continue. It feels rather sordid to fall out of formalities, to dispense with the restrictions of our previously determined roles in our relationship. I think we’re past that now, don’t you?”
He was pushing you, but for reasons you couldn’t quite figure out, or at least couldn’t commit to believing. As much as you felt yourself falling for Jonathan, it was difficult to imagine him returning the sentiment. But the way in which he seemed to want you to stay, the fact he hadn’t laughed in your face over your reaction to something he couldn’t see. The jealousy that sparked an outburst. It was taboo, at least breaking several codes of conduct. You didn’t want to be responsible for a tarnished reputation on his part, but you were struggling to decide whether you would let him do it himself.
Jonathan, of course, felt differently. He couldn’t be sure whether in your fear-addled state if you had sussed out his attachment to you, but he could manipulate you into returning it all the same. He had noticed the way you looked at him, the way your skin shivered at his touch, the way you seemed to hate therapy and his methods but kept coming back again and again, not wanting to sever the ties that now bound you both. He loved knowing you so well. The swell of pride in being someone who could know you, who was worthy of studying you. And no other patient had ever felt so reciprocative. No other patient was so fascinating. So intriguing. He refused to lose you. He’d never been one for the formalities of standards and rules. That, to him, was the antithesis of study and research. He was aware of those lines, and he was keen to cross them at any given opportunity. He was just glad that he’d been able to bring you with him, finally.
“Whatever has frightened you, I can protect you. But of course, I’ll need you to promise me that those efforts will be worth it.”
In desperation you nodded, not even considering what he might mean before agreeing, if only to feel safe, to feel comfortable with your eyes open.
“In future, when I ask you to spill your secrets like bile from the depths of your tension wrought stomach, you will do so?”
“I… Yes. Of course.”
“With no lies. Because I will know if you are lying. I can tell with everyone. Lying, regardless of how fluent you are in it, involves an element of risk, adrenaline spikes, and even if you enjoy it, there’s still the sweet stench of fear rising up from underneath any bravado you think you can muster. I’ll know you’re lying before you speak, before you even know you’re going to lie. Your pupils will dilate, your heart rate will increase, your body will respond to the preparation to conjure fiction in minuscule ways that I’ll pick up on immediately. And I imagine your responses will be quite similar to the way your body reacts to arousal. It will be interesting to compare the differences, if there are any.”
“How-”
“Because I know. And because I know you. Do you think I couldn’t see you, writhing in that chair, attempting to do so discreetly but failing so miserably? Do you think my jealousy was borne of one-sided lust? I’m afraid I make my attachments with much more intention than that. I’m no gambler.”
A collection of dark, clawing fingers seemed to scratch at the door, grating against your consciousness as Jonathan seemed to ignore them. You would have considered this proposal regardless, but now you were committed to agreeing to whatever he wanted from you.
“OK.”
It was all you could muster, but it seemed satisfactory to him.
“Very well. I need you to prove how serious you are, how committed you will be. You’re not the only one who has suffered the pain of abandonment. And I want you to show me that you’ll never consider making such a mistake again.”
Another bout of profuse nodding, eager to show him how dedicated you were, how you would never so much as look in the direction of another, not if it made him feel bad, not if it made you feel like this.
“Unfortunately for you, dear, I’m finding it hard to believe you. Not because I think you don’t mean what you say, but because I know you all too well. You are a flight risk. So I believe we’ll have to employ some behavioural correction methods.”
You weren’t entirely sure what he might mean by that. He’d never been one to skirt around facts, and he was abnormally direct for someone placed in responsibility for your mental well being. Normally by now he might have begun waxing lyrically about the meaning and the history of whatever correctional methods he intended to exert on you, but instead he remained silent, gazing down at you as he rested himself so casually against the desk, between it and you, close enough you could smell the coffee on his long exhales.
“Wouldn’t you like to feel safe? Wanted? Needed, even? I could take you now, cradle you in my arms, show you kindness that you can count on. But do you deserve it? Will you appreciate it?”
“I will.”
“Hm… Perhaps, in my old age, I am growing soft. I could find the kindness to provide you with it, but is it worth it?”
“Please, Jonathan. I just want it to stop. I want… I want you. I have wanted you. And I’m sorry
for… Please. Please. I’ll do anything.”
“I need you to suffer for me. I want you to be sufficiently confident in your promises to never leave. I hold the key to your terror, but I also hold the cure. I am the alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end. I am everything in between, and you will acknowledge this before we are done here, do you understand?”
Another silent nod, wide, strained eyes trying to convey all of your intent and sincerity.
“Good. On your knees, please. Lower yourself in front of your betters.”
You did as he asked, a fleeting moment of relief from the sound of your pounding heart beat in your ears, as though obeying him lessened your troubles and worries. Like it cast a light on the shadows. Good behaviour seemed to equal survival under Jonathan’s rule.
“Good. Now, please, if you will, remove my shoes. I wouldn’t want to make a mess of that lovely shirt, or hurt you too badly. I’m not evil, after all. And the socks. I’d rather have complete feeling, total control over the pressure.”
It was a simple request, and one you easily undertook. But there was more to follow.
“Now. Splay your fingers out on the floor. Spread them further. Exactly like that, well done. Your willingness will not go unnoticed.”
He lined his feet up with your fingertips, taking only a slight pause before he continued.
“Please don’t hold back on any sounds. There’s no one else in this corridor, hardly anyone else in the building at this time. I want to feel your pain, I want to recognise it. I hope to hear the quivers of fear as you wonder whether the skin will bruise, or your fragile bones will break.”
You prepared yourself for him, letting your hands spread out flat on the floor. And he didn’t wait too long before he rested his toes against your fingernails, the sudden pressure stinging and aching, sharp at first and then dull until he rocked back onto his heels. The relief was non-existent. It only made things worse. You were almost grateful when he rolled back onto the balls of his feet and let them come down on your digits again, harder this time, firmer and meaner.
“I could break you. Mentally. Physically. You know that, don’t you?”
Every second of silence brought his weight down harder on you, and when you finally whimpered a mewling response of affirmation, he decided this wasn’t enough.
“Bow down. Put your body flat, your head to the side. Facing me. I want to see your eyes, I want to see your fear.”
Each time he moved you could see his shadow warping and shivering as it followed him, a separate being to his corporeal form, a lingering reminder of what awaited you should you defy him and stand up, facing the office, the dark corners where the true horrors lurked. You placed your body flat to the ground, as much as you could, and placed your cheek on the cold ground, looking up at him as he smirked maliciously.
“There, nice and subservient. I can keep the horrors at bay, remember. But I require trust and dedication. You can’t abandon me, but in turn, I won’t abandon you. Symbiotic. Bonded. Needs, not wants. That’s how you must think of this. Of us. Of me.”
Your body was pressed firmly against the floor, and you let yourself squirm just a little. Not outright writhing, but a little shift to try and dampen the awkward sensations of arousal that rose up through your blood stream and clouded your mind.
Pinning you there felt good, it felt right. Degrading, yes, but no more so than he felt you deserved. So Jonathan leaned harder now, his foot pressing into your skull, the bones of his toes cracking slightly as they curved with your head. It was forceful, but still held an element of care. After all, this wasn’t supposed to make you fear him, only the consequences of trying to break free, of trying to leave. If he wanted you to be afraid, he had easier methods. But those were far too impersonal for this particular need, and he grinned wide at the thought.
With your cheek pressed to the floor, drool spilling over into a puddle that glistened on the wooden boards and your skin, you chose to stay completely still. In a muffled voice, the sounds of your vowels garbled by the distinct pressure on your jaw, you managed to get out the words he wanted to hear.
“Yes, Doctor Crane. Anything.”
“Good. Then I will see you for our session next week at our regular time. I would advise you come prepared. We’re about to start diving into some difficult work, but it will be worth it all in the end, I assure you.”