15. Brontë
Space Monkey - Placebo
T he room darkens with the sky outside. The sun’s gone down and night has fallen. Jael never emerges from the bedroom. I’m left where I am, restrained to the chair, shackled by the metal chains.
Pain radiates through my body, sharp and unrelenting agony. I’ve gone more than forty-eight hours without my pain meds. The longest period I’ve ever gone without using them to mute the constant throbs and aches that haunt my wrecked body, even now so many years after my accident.
Yet I remain like this. I don’t bust out of the chains like I could.
Jael needs this.
She needs the control. The revenge.
For once, she’s inflicting pain on others, not the other way around. My body bears the proof. The deep cuts she’s made will soon heal and join the dozens of other scars decorating every inch of my body.
But she couldn’t help herself.
Causing pain awoke something inside her and she gave in to the darkness. She was drawn to me and couldn’t resist exploring what that meant.
There was a crazed gleam in her eye. Her features had changed. They were twisted and curled by cruelty as she mounted me and pointed the pistol at my head. If she was serious about pulling the trigger was anyone’s guess.
I wouldn’t have cared if she was.
This life has been hell almost every waking moment. Death has never been something I’ve feared.
She was right—if I was going to be sent to hell, experiencing heaven first was the best way to die.
But it wasn’t the first time I’ve felt her silky hot pussy wrapped around my cock.
Jael had long been on my mind during her days at the psychiatric hospital. Her eyes blazed even through the haze of pills and sedatives they forced onto her. Her light could never be extinguished no matter how hard they tried.
I watched from afar, from the dark corners of the hospital, seeing how she always triumphed.
In the recreation room, she’d sit with construction paper and safety scissors and she’d make beautiful things. Snowflakes in the winter. Hearts for Valentine’s Day. Origami swans and stars that Nurse Hinkley—who she’d nicknamed Big Bird—begrudgingly hung up from the ceilings.
She’d sit with others in the dining hall and give away her lime Jello if she thought it’d make someone else smile. Even though lime was her favorite.
Every evening when mail was handed out, she’d wait faithfully for that letter from her sister. The same letter that never came.
Somehow, she never gave up hope.
She’d swallow down the disappointment and sadness and press on, making the hospital feel like a home.
The only time I couldn’t watch her was when she had her sessions with Dr. Wolford. His office at the hospital was a fortress. No windows, reinforced walls, fingerprint entry smart lock. It was all by design.
She usually emerged from the sessions in a dulled state, like she was going through the motions. Once alone in her room, she’d curl up on her bed and press the pillow over her head until eventually she fell asleep.
I lurked in the shadows. I let myself into her room.
She was a constant on my mind and I couldn’t stand the agony of being apart.
Unbeknownst to her, she had become the only bright spot in my dark and lonely world. We had never really met, yet I couldn’t bear life without her.
In sleep, she was soft and unburdened.
I studied every inch of her. The twisted manner in which she slept, one leg out of the bedsheet, feet always bare. The subtle curves that the bedsheet hinted at as it molded to her body. Her full lips remained parted and she snored—not loudly, more like raspy breaths she let out in deep sleep.
The moonlight fell over the bed in silver strips, her dark skin a striking contrast.
I was enthralled.
And then the nightmares began.
What was peaceful sleep turned into restless tossing. Her face contorted in pain. She would whimper and beg. Her hands clutched at the bedsheets, and sometimes, tears even slipped out from under her closed eyelids.
I would hover closer, tense and concerned but lost how to help.
How could I reach her in her dreams? What could I do when I was the hospital secret?
If my father knew I was even inside her room, there would be hell to pay…
I kept my distance. The shadows swallowed me up as I watched her horror unfold.
“No,” she’d moan, twisting in the sheets. “NO!”
She kicked at the sheets. She clawed at the pillows. Her body arched off the bed and her thighs fell open. Her hand snaked in between and the expression on her face shifted.
I eased closer, lost as to what was unfolding.
Jael was touching herself. Her hand had slipped inside her panties even as she was in the throes of her nightmare.
Breathing labored and whimpers caught in her throat, the sight was strange and surreal. From through the thin fabric of her panties, the ministrations of fingers could be seen. The rubbing motion she was doing.
I moved even closer and did something I swore I never would—I touched her.
Only her wrist.
My giant hand made hers look even smaller than it was. I clenched my fingers around her wrist and went to pry her hand away.
But then she moaned again. She trembled in place, mouth agape, brows knitted. It was a look of either the deepest pain or greatest pleasure, and it dawned on me it could be both.
The first time it ever happened, I wrenched her hand away, and eventually she went still.
The second time, I stood over her bed and let her finish.
The third time… I watched as she writhed and whimpered and questioned how I could possibly be of use. What could I do to make this end?
I reached for her hand, intending to pull it away. Instead, as I scooped it up in mine and my gaze fell to her spread legs, a desire that was dark and ugly bloomed. It was raw and primitive. Too intense to fight as it took me over.
This was how I could help her.
That’s what I told myself. That’s how I justified what I did.
I could give her pleasure. Even better pleasure than she was having in her fitful sleep. I cupped her pussy from through the clingy fabric of her panties and the heat that radiated pushed me over the edge.
She was so hot, so wet.
So fucking soft .
I stared at her conflicted face as I let my hand explore. It slipped down the front of her panties and my fingertips grazed the little fuzz on her mound. I found her slick pussy lips, dragging my fingers along her delicate folds with tension cording through me.
Every second, every touch, was intense. It was a barrier between us that had been shattered. A closeness between us that was developing.
I was the one rubbing her clit. I was the one with my thick, long fingers buried inside her.
It was me who made her come so hard her thighs squeezed shut around my hand and her toes curled.
All while I watched the pleasure flicker across her dozing face. All while she thrashed and fought through her nightmares.
But it was me who was giving her something good despite the bad. That was taking care of her.
Her pussy gripped at my hooked fingers. Two of mine were three for most people. But her slick walls welcomed me in a pulsing wave.
Sometimes, she even opened her eyes. She peered up at me in the dark like she was trying to make sense of what was happening, her mind foggy and lost. I looked down at her and pumped my fingers deeper. I rubbed at her clit ’til her eyes were snapping shut, the rest of her seizing up in an orgasm.
And then she’d slip back asleep.
It became a routine we developed. It escalated until I was driven to give her more pleasure. Make her feel even better as the nightmares plagued her.
Soon it went from my fingers inside her to my cock buried in her tight, little warm pussy. I was big and thick, but she was always wet enough to take me. Her thighs would fall wider as if some distant part of her knew she had to accommodate me.
I had never been with a woman before I was inside Jael.
Disfigured and hidden away, no woman would ever want me. It was a harsh reality I had accepted a long time ago.
Yet, in this way, I could help the woman I was obsessed with. I could help her while also knowing what it was like to experience her in this way.
My strokes were always slow. I took my time, every drag of my hips designed to pleasure her. Make her feel as good as I could.
Her pussy clenched around me. She was soaked.
Dripping.
She writhed beneath me and gripped at the bedsheets. Her features twisted in pain from her nightmare, then softened into pleasure.
I slipped deeper. I shoved her nightgown up to her stomach and my large hands groped at her supple flesh.
In these moments, I was mesmerized by her. I was in as much of a trance as she was in her nightmares.
Jael was… beautiful and special in every way, whether she realized it or not.
When I came, it was always with a thick grunt beyond my control. I turned into an animal in those final moments, rutting away between her limp thighs, and then pouring my release as deep as I could.
I made sure to clean her up. I righted her nightgown and pulled the covers back over her.
The most obsessed part of me longed to press my misshapen, scarred lips to hers. Though I always resisted.
It felt even more intimate than what I was already doing.
She was so beautiful and I was so hideous—she would be horrified if she opened her eyes to a monster like me kissing her on the lips.
But some part of her did know I was there.
There were times she really did wake up. She really did start screaming in a wild panic.
I would shrink into the shadows again. I’d make my escape before the nurses ever made it to her room.
The looks of pity they gave her as she told them about the shadow man were an injustice. Just more signs of what a fucked up environment the hospital was. My father wouldn’t have it any other way.
After what I’ve done, Jael’s revulsion and anger toward me is more than deserved.
But she’s also fascinated in a way she doesn’t understand. She hasn’t grasped that we’re more alike than she realizes. The possibility she could have a kindred spirit in a monster like me disturbs her to her core.
Someday.
She’ll get it.
I hear the scrape of furniture in the other room. She’s barricading herself in again. She’s convinced herself I’ll escape and hurt her. Even though I can probably bust out of these chains, I won’t be doing that… yet.
For now, I’ll let her have some agency. She deserves the freedom before I smash through the illusion and make her understand.
There is no escape from me and my obsession.