Chapter 16 Daylan
sixteen
Daylan
I am filthy.
My body is exhausted, and my soul is heavy. I lay on the bed, feeling the weight of what I have just done deep inside me. Tears slip from my eyes, shame curling inside me as I listen to Lazarus move about the cabin. I should pray, but I do not have words for it.
I cannot explain to God what I have done.
What I have let be done to me and how much I craved it.
My cock sticks to my leg as I lay on the bed, coated in sin, and my ass aches. I can still feel him inside me, though he finished coating my insides with his seed when the storm was still raging outside.
It is quiet now, and dreary. The clouds have settled in to stay, and from where I am lying in my shame and filth, I find it fitting. I am not made for sunshine today.
“Lambchop, we gotta clean you up,” Lazarus says from somewhere. I don’t know where he is. I lost track of him the moment I spilled my cum.
The mattress dips and my body tenses as a cool cloth lands on my bare ass.
It moves between my ass cheeks, and I almost shout for him to stop touching me, but it feels good, so I bite my tongue.
Lazarus cleans between my legs carefully, then nudges me in the side.
I turn my eyes to him, and he smiles, holding out the cloth.
“You can clean your own dick,” he comments, as I take the wet fabric from him.
“Thanks.”
He pauses, kneeling beside me and looking down into my tear-stained face. “You have done nothing wrong.”
“Then why does it feel so ugly?”
“Because you are lied to. You are told it is ugly when it is natural and beautiful.” “Not for me,” I protest, for he doesn’t know the punishments I have been made to endure for thinking such things.
Lazarus sighs. “Would God create bodies that can do what we just did if he did not intend for us to use them?”
“I am not meant to use my body in those ways.”
“Who says? Father?” He sneers as he says his name, and I do not have the will to battle with him right now, so I don’t answer, but that doesn’t stop him. “Your body is yours, Daylan. You can do whatever you want with it, as long as it’s not hurting someone else.”
“You use your body to hurt. You murder and maim. You leave star symbols to cause panic. You do devilry and wickedness with your body, Lazarus.”
“I use my body to gain justice,” he says, like there is some difference in what we are both saying.
“Justice for what?”
Lazarus ignores my question, as I knew he would.
No matter how much I try to push him to get answers about his time at Bright Haven, he refuses to let anything out of his mouth.
Sometimes, I catch hints in the things he says but nothing as deep as a true confession.
Instead of an answer, he pushes himself to his feet and heads away from me.
I roll over with a sigh and grab the wet cloth, pressing it against my sticky pelvis.
I scrub at my skin until I am certain it is clean of him and of me, though I will carry what we have done inside me forever.
The mattress dips again, and I raise my hand, not even looking at Lazarus as he takes the cloth from me.
He disappears again, footsteps trailing away only to return. He nudges my arm, and I look up at him.
“Water,” Lazarus says, holding out the plastic cup we share towards me.
I had not thought I was so parched, but now that drink is being offered, I am famished. I take it from him and guzzle it down fast, then hold the empty cup out to him. “More. No question.”
“Don’t puke,” he comments, rising and going to fetch me more water.
I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap the t-shirt over them, resting my bound hands on my knees. Lazarus returns and hands me the cup again, then sits on the mattress beside me.
“I promise I have reasons, Lamb.”
I sip the water and think, body aching and soul stretched too thin today. “Then tell me what they are, and I will understand.”
“No, the shitty thing is that you won’t,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “Not yet, but maybe someday.”
“Is that why I am still alive? You are waiting for someday?” I ask, sipping more water.
“I told you already. You are alive because I allow it to be that way. You breathe because I haven’t found a reason yet to take that away from you. You fascinate me, Lambchop.”
“I am yours,” I whisper, recalling the shameful words I spoke in the heat of sex.
“You chose to be,” he reminds me, with a wicked grin. “You begged for me, and when I come again to you with a hard cock and balls that need emptying, you will beg for me again.”
That he is not wrong sits inside me like a lead weight, sending a shiver through me.
He tears me apart with his wicked body, but takes care of me with his gentle heart as if he is one person, cleaved in two.
I do not know which version of him I am getting when he wakes in the morning, and I am growing tired of all the games he plays.
I finish the water and hold out the cup for him to take, then lay down on the mattress pretending the wet spot beneath my toes isn’t remnants of my seed.
The truth of what I’ve done, of what I have become here in his presence sinks into me, and I shudder where I lie.
I feel less like the Lamb of God and more like a faithless heretic here in this horrible cabin.
“Did you like my cock, Lamb?” Lazarus whispers, crawling onto the mattress and curling himself around me.
“Yes,” I confess, body shaking.
“I know you did,” he murmurs, reaching to smooth my hair off my face. “And there is nothing wrong with that.”
I nod, not because I understand, but because my head is too full of thoughts to put any into words right now.
Instead, I allow myself to sink into the mattress and close my eyes, wishing for sleep to come and take me away.
Lazarus trails his fingers over my back, swooping and swirling his nails against my shirt.
“Crab,” I comment, realizing what he is doing.
“Your constellation,” he adds. His pattern changes, and a small sliver of fear ripples through me as I recognize the mark he is drawing now.
“Aries.”
“Mine.”
“I wish I could see them,” I whisper, as he continues drawing crab and ram on my back, alternating the symbols. “I forget what stars look like. I miss the scent of the earth.”
“We can go outside tomorrow,” Lazarus says.
“You will let me?” I am growing mad being in this place.
Perhaps fresh air is what I need. When I was first brought to Bright Haven, I was terrified by everything being so new so I used to walk along the inner fence, pretending that I was back on the road with my parents and that the growls of the damned were animals hiding in the trees.
It was silly, but it soothed me to stand with my nose up to the sky, sniffing at the stray scents of dirt and leaves that would slip over the fences.
“In the daytime when it is safer, yes. We can go outside.”
“Will I still be tied up?”
“Yes,” Lazarus says. “But I will keep you safe.”
I smile to myself as he traces the patterns that represent us onto my back, distracting me from my horrible thoughts and lulling me into the sleep I wished for.