Chapter 3 #2
I would not. I had nothing to be ashamed of. I’d done nothing wrong. It was all lies. Lies they’d used to steal my life. That was one thing I’d never forget.
Massimo was silent.
Pavol continued. “Now, we are trying a technique where we simply use a stimulus to provoke an instinctive reaction, and then use a punishment to train the brain to associate those two things. Katarina, dear, go and change behind the partition.”
My fingers shook again as I rose and made my way behind the partition at the side of the room.
As soon as I stepped behind it, the memory flooded back.
The TV and the sound of grunting. The lash of pain at the same time.
Oh, God. He was going to perform his degrading, painful therapy on me, and this time, I had no cushion of pain pills to fall back on.
Well, if you ever want to get out of here, you need to get your head clear, the voice in my head said reasonably.
It made sense, but it was much easier said than done.
Father Vargas was in a predicament with me.
He couldn’t get rid of me because, as he constantly reminded me, I was special, though he’d never deigned to explain why.
He couldn’t let me go, because I’d talk and bring the police up to Hallow Hall as soon as I could.
So, he was stuck with me here . . . In order to torture me, or maybe just to please his partners in crime, he’d made me their plaything.
All the weird experiments and therapies they longed to try on their patients they tested on me first. The only saving grace was that my being “special” held them back from full-on assaulting me.
I changed from my thin white T-shirt and long, loose pants into a hospital gown, tying it as securely as I could in the back, painfully conscious of how easily it came open.
“Katarina, hurry up behind there, I have other patients to see today.”
I stepped out from behind the partition and met Father Massimo’s eyes first. His dark stare was curious, and something else . . . angry, perhaps.
I turned from him and walked to the leather therapy chair in the middle of the room. Pavol had wheeled over a TV on a stand, and now he gestured for me to sit and tied me into the leather straps.
“It’s best to restrain the patients, as they can be resistant to treatment for their addictions. Lust is one of the hardest to curb. Poor Katarina is one of the worst cases I’ve ever seen.”
He fiddled with the TV, and a movie played.
A porno. In it, the couple was undressing on a bed.
A city skyline filled the window behind them.
I focused on it. My face burned. Pavol had tied my ankles and wrists to the chair, and now he fitted a gag and glasses that blacked out everything except the TV sitting right in front of me.
“Now we wait until the arousal starts—her sinner’s instinct coming to the surface—and then we apply the therapy.”
“What’s the therapy?” Father Lucciano’s voice was dispassionate.
“The whip is effective; electroshock we have only tried once. She had a bad reaction to it.”
He forced me to stare at the TV for a good ten minutes, pausing it when the couple was fucking enthusiastically on the bed, and took a strap to my thighs, lashing my skin twenty times before he unpaused the TV.
I didn’t cry. I was too numb. I was the branch of the cherry blossom, swaying in the wind.
“How do you know she’s . . . feeling aroused?” Father Lucciano asked in a tight voice halfway through the session.
Pavol sighed. “I admit there is room for error in that aspect. Of course, checking for bodily fluids would be the most surefire way to tell; however, in application, we found that it was impossible to perform such a physical check without sullying our own consciences. As men of God, we must always be aware not to put ourselves into the path of temptation or dirty ourselves with a sinner’s touch. ”
“You. Checked.” Father Lucciano’s voice sent goosebumps across my skin.
Pavol sounded surprised by his deadly tone. “Well, yes, in the interest of science, but alas, the benefit didn’t justify the cost.”
He eyed me. Even without touching me, Pavol always sweat during the session. His flaccid face went pink, and his eyes glassy, and he ambled around in a bumbling way.
“Now, I will just step out to attend to another matter quickly. You may end the session and let Katarina gather herself, Father Lucciano.”
He disappeared into the bathroom beside his office, just visible beyond the TV, leaving us with only the grunting sounds coming from the screen in front of me.
After a long moment, Lucciano walked behind the TV and surprised me by taking a small, sharp blade from his pocket. Instead of switching the TV off by unplugging it, he cut cleanly through the wires.
Silence fell. I guessed the rest of this week’s exposure therapy was canceled.
He crouched before me, still holding the knife in his long-fingered hand. My cheeks burned as he looked me over and then raised the knife toward my mouth. I didn’t flinch when he slid the blade beneath the gag and sawed it back and forth. The gag fell away, my face uncut beneath.
He folded his little knife and tucked it away somewhere in his cassock.
Then his hands moved to my feet. He untied the restraints.
I sighed with relief at the sudden absence of pain.
Pavol had tied them so damn tight. Strong, calloused fingers touched my ankles, and I jerked my feet forward.
They bounced off Father Lucciano’s steel-like chest. He gripped them tighter, and fear laced through me for a moment, until I followed his gaze down to the ugly red marks on my skin.
He tutted deeply. He muttered something that sounded awfully like, “Such an amateur,” but I couldn’t be sure.
The blood rushed back into my feet as he rubbed, waking up my circulation.
Next, he focused on my hands, still kneeling before me, his black robes pooling on the floor.
This close, fiery specks of amber were visible in his dark eyes.
Embers of hellfire. He was beautiful, like fallen-angel beautiful.
The very tips of a black tattoo licked up the underside of his jaw, mostly hidden by his starched white collar.
My hands had already stopped shaking by the time he untied them, so when he went to massage my red wrists, I pulled back from him.
I couldn’t take his suffocating presence this close.
I kept forgetting to breathe. He smelled .
. . too good. He smelled like the trees outside, and the snow.
Wild, unbound things, the real world. A place I’d nearly forgotten.
I wanted to lean into him and breathe deeply.
Give him my soul to free me from this place.
But another part of me wanted to hide away from him and keep my soul for myself; I wasn’t for sale to any devil.
“What’s your name, micetta?”
Micetta. Little cat. Little stray.
“You already know,” I murmured.
“I want you to tell me.” His mouth curved around his words.
I couldn’t look away. That was a mouth made to sin. It was carnal. Tempting in a way I had no experience with. How could this man be a priest?
“Father Lucciano? Any questions?” Pavol’s voice jerked us both from the reverie that we’d fallen into.
“Hmm, none at present.” Father Lucciano stood before me and stepped aside.
Pavol jerked his head toward the partition. “Change into your clothes and return to your room to recover from your therapy.”
I stood, and my thighs burned. Had he broken the skin? It sure felt like it.
I walked stiffly to the partition and hid behind it.
But instead of getting changed, I peered through a small hole in the carved wood and watched Father Lucciano as he spoke to Pavol.
So, the devil really was the most beautiful angel of them all. Who’d have thought?
As if Lucciano could see me, he looked up at the partition, right at me, and I ducked down, my heart beating hard.