Chapter 23
Violet
In the beginning, my training period is like that first day on repeat: shake, shits, then fucking.
When Dr. Ambrose isn’t occupied with other patients, he visits my cage to force painful orgasms out of me. Sometimes, he’ll cum inside of me, letting his semen drip out of me and onto the floor where it mixes with my piss and shit.
He calls it intellectual training; I call it getting to know my father.
The overhead lights tell me when another day has passed; they go on and off at regular intervals. It’s hard to see out the window from my position in the cage. Sometimes though, if I angle myself just right, I can use the view outside to tell the time too. A cloudy sky. A starless night.
Every day, I’m locked in restraints for twenty-three hours.
“It’s because he cares about me,” I mumble to myself. “It’s for my own good. He knows what’s best for me.”
The lie helps me get through the day.
Each afternoon, I’m given the opportunity to shower. It’s like a punishment: a silent nurse uses a pressure washer to scrub me until my skin is raw. The only nice thing about it is someone cleans the floor of my room while I’m being washed.
No one speaks to me anymore. Not even the assistant. The only person who talks to me is Dr. Ambrose.
Time continues like this, until one day, the rhythmic clack of his boots on the tile signals his arrival, and instantly, shivers rake across my spine.
Am I looking forward to seeing him?
I am.
I angle my neck, desperate to see him, and I keep my head lower than the bars. I knocked my forehead into the cage so many times during the first few weeks that for a while, I had a bruise that refused to heal.
Now, I know better.
“My sweetest one,” he says with a wide smile. “You’ve been so patient while you wait for me.”
With those words, I know I’ll feel his body soon. His warmth. His embrace.
The weeks stretch on like that. A month.
Then another. Sometimes, during those hours when I’m alone, I repeat my name over and over again, reminding myself even if I can’t avenge my mother right now, even if I haven’t done anything to hurt Dr. Ambrose, even if I can’t control what happens to my body anymore, I still have me.
“Violet,” I repeat. “Violet, Violet, Violet…”
The name melts until it has less meaning, and I’m smaller. Smaller than a person. Smaller than a chair. Smaller than an empty bird’s cage. Even a doll gets a name, but I’m not sure if holding onto my name is good for me anymore. My future is in Dr. Ambrose’s hands.
The poison pills are still out there though.
“Your name has no value here,” Dr. Ambrose says, breaking into my thoughts.
I flinch, careful not to hit my head on the cage bars. Why didn’t I hear him approach? Where is my head?
The words scratch my throat: “How long have you been standing there?”
“Even when you can’t see me, I’m always here with you in spirit, sweet one. I’ll never let you out of my sight again. You know that.”
My skin pebbles, a chill whipping across my body even as a smoldering fire blazes inside of me. It’s a promise. My mother died. My foster parents abandoned me. My ex dumped me. Benji let me return here knowing I may die.
But Dr. Ambrose is still here.
And I’ll get him one day, I think. The poison pills are with my clothes somewhere, and if I can’t use those, then I’ll find another way to end this. I won’t give him everything. I still have myself.
The thoughts of justice are different now though, like a cloud dispersing into thin air.
“Violet,” I whisper, but it’s all wrong.
Dr. Ambrose’s upper lip curls, his bulbous nose pointed down at me.
“We need to give you a new name. A permanent one. Then again, this won’t be a proper name with capital letters; you’re just a thing, and things don’t deserve real nicknames.
This is more of a title, isn’t it? An informal one, at that.
” He circles the cage and taps his chin. “Shall we call you ‘slut’?”
My breath hitches. I actually like when he calls me that.
Dr. Ambrose wrinkles his nose. “You are quite the greedy cock slut, but it doesn’t quite fit.” He cracks his neck. “What about ‘sweet one’?”
I need that hint of praise. “Yes. I like that one.”
He chuckles. “I’m afraid it won’t do, then. If you like your new title, then you won’t fully transform into your truest self. In fact, it shouldn’t be about you or what you want at all. There is no agency in you anymore.” He licks his lips. “What about ‘my disgusting little freak’?”
I wait for the rage to take over every muscle in my body; nothing happens. I can’t summon the anger to fight back.
But somehow, I manage to bare my teeth.
“Not that one.” I shake my head, but my voice grows softer: “Please, Daddy.”
“Ah! Delightful!” He laughs, the sound cutting deep into my chest. “You are henceforth no longer known as Violet Ward, but as my disgusting little freak.”
My eyes sting, but the tears don’t come. Protesting is no use. Dr. Ambrose controls everything in my life; why wouldn’t he take away my name too?
There’s something about being called his freak that means something to me. It means I have a home. A place I belong. Forever.
I can’t accept it though, right? I can’t give up my name too.
Can I?
“Violet, Violet, Violet,” I repeat quietly.
“No. Not Violet. Repeat your new title back to me,” he says in a calming voice meant to coax me into a dreamless sleep. “Just like you were doing before I walked in. Instead of your birth name, repeat your true title: freak, freak, freak.”
I scrunch my eyelids together as hard as I can. I’m still here. I’m still present inside of my body. I can do what he wants and remember who I really am.
“Say it, now.” He hovers over me. “Be a good girl and say your real title for me.”
My chest burns. I can do this. I can resist him.
“No,” I whisper.
He stands abruptly. My heart lurches to the bottom of my stomach.
Panic rises in my throat. “Dr. Ambrose?”
“Daddy,” he corrects in a curt tone.
My entire world drops, a razor blade slicing me open. Is he disappointed in me? Did I upset him?
Why do I care?
“I’ll even accept ‘Father.’” He sneers. “Perhaps you think I’m unworthy to be even that to you.”
Weakness floods my veins. “Daddy,” I say. “Daddy, I’ll be your freak—”
“No, darling. You won’t be a freak. You are my freak. And until you accept that, I can’t waste my time on you.”
My vision blurs with tears. Before I can say another word, the cage is closed and locked.
I cry so hard, I hyperventilate. He killed my mother, and he’s my father. But the thought of being strapped inside of this cage waiting for my next interaction with him is unbearable.
I scream for him until my voice grows hoarse. I don’t want him to leave.
But I’m alone again.