13. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
M organ hadn’t lied to the receptionist. For once, he was being honest—he was going out of town, and he had been very excited about it all day.
The fishing cabin his father had practically forgotten about couldn’t have been more ideal for what Morgan needed. Off the beaten path, buried in the woods so deep that even his phone struggled for signal. Secluded, unused, and absolutely silent. It was perfect.
When the car stopped, and he opened the trunk, Lex didn’t move.
Morgan shouldered his bag, eyes fixed on Lex’s limp form, on the faint, uneven rise and fall of his chest—pretending to be asleep. Sad. Pathetic, really.
“Get up,” Morgan growled.
No response. Not even a twitch.
He reached inside the trunk, grabbed the half-frozen water bottle, and emptied it over Lex’s head.
The reaction was instant. Lex gasped, knees scrabbling against the bottom, trying to move away. The shiver rolled through his body, hard and fast, before it leveled out into a constant tremble.
“I don’t wanna die, man,” he mumbled, his teeth chattering so badly it was hard to make out the words. “I don’t. I really, really fucking don’t. Please. We can come to an agreement—”
“Get. Up,” Morgan repeated, enunciating each word. “If I have to carry you, I’ll break both your kneecaps.”
Watching Lex try to move was amusing in itself. It took far too long for him to untangle his legs, sliding the toe of his shoe along the edge of the trunk, then down to the bumper.
Leaning against the car, arms crossed, Morgan’s irritation had drained. Anticipation, so sharp and vivid he could taste it on the back of his tongue, replaced it.
“M-my name is Lex, y’know.”
Oh, this tired routine. Amateur hour. How many crime dramas had Lex binge-watched, thinking this tactic ever worked ?
“I’m twenty-two. I… I’m staying with my step-brother and his fiancée.”
Morgan rolled his eyes. Did people seriously do this? He’d heard stories, but all it ever did was give someone like him more ammunition. More targets.
“I have a dog back home. Uh… her name is Croissant. She’s with my best friend and his—”
Not the dog. He should’ve drowned the mutt years ago.
“You want me to go kill them instead of you?” Morgan interrupted, shoving Lex up the cabin’s three steps. Lex tripped then regained his balance, graceless as ever. “Is that your plan?”
“No! No, no, no. I wanted you to know I’m a person, just like you. What about you? What’s your name?”
“You’re nothing but a corpse to me.”
Half-past midnight.
Inside was perhaps colder than outside, at least according to the thermostat—Morgan couldn’t tell either way. The heater hadn’t been used in years, a fine layer of dust coating the plastic-covered furniture and wood floors.
If he didn’t have to worry about his extremities turning blue, he could’ve flipped on the air conditioning. It was still an option, but one to explore later after he’d gotten Lex settled and started .
Keeping his grip firm on the back of Lex’s shirt, he dug through his bag until he found the rope. Maneuvering it through the space between the zip tie and around the beam was easier than he’d thought it would be. He knotted it tightly, making sure there was just enough give. Not enough to let Lex wander, but enough to give him the idea of freedom.
This might actually be better than the woods.
There was something interesting about the closed walls, the smell of summers he used to spend, lingering in the air… or maybe it was just the novelty and the intense, fleeting surge of serotonin he’d learned not to trust.
Lex still hadn’t shut up, his voice a constant hum in the background. A gag would solve the problem—he had plenty of fabric to spare. But, unfortunately, he needed Lex’s mouth.
“People will notice I’m gone,” Lex mumbled, all the words rushed and shaky. “I have work I need to do, and—and my step-brother isn’t the nicest person.”
Morgan leaned his head out of the kitchen, one eyebrow raised.
“Little, uh, little fucking scary. But! But, but, but. If you let me go , I swear to god I won’t say shit. I promise . I’ll pretend this didn’t happen.”
Do you think I’m going to save you? In what world have I shown you white knight behavior?
The thought was utterly absurd. But the more Morgan considered it, the more temptation crept in.
Lex clinging to him, starry-eyed, grateful beyond reason, was enticing in its own twisted way. It would make things easier—Lex would listen, obey, and do exactly as he was told .
But the drawback was obvious. Feeding into Lex’s fascination… it wouldn’t go well for either of them. Not in the end.
Not in the aftermath.
Opening up the cabinets, most of them were bare. The canned goods had probably expired in the last six months, or they were about to. Thankfully, food wasn’t necessary. Morgan couldn’t keep them here any longer than Sunday, and two days without food never hurt anyone, right?
He tuned out the rambling, focused on finding what he needed—there.
The topmost cabinet above the refrigerator held all of his father’s old alcohol stash. Rum, brandy, whiskey, vodka… there were bottles of every shape and size imaginable buried behind each other.
Grabbing one at random—whiskey, by the looks of it—he headed back over, listening to the sound of his footsteps.
Resisting the urge to bash Lex over the head with the bottle as soon as he could.
All of Lex’s words had become a string of disjointed nonsense, but that didn’t matter. He moved closer, running his fingertip slowly along Lex’s lower lip.
Just like magic, the noise stopped.
Lex pressed his lips together so tightly that faint, white lines formed at the corners. His chest heaved, his breath coming faster.
It was becoming almost impossible to maintain this particular role.
Morgan just wanted to relish in this as himself , not as some unknown assailant.
“Open your mouth. ”
Lex started to shake his head before going motionless as if he thought better of it.
“Open your mouth ,” Morgan repeated, sharper the second time, “or I’ll remove your goddamn teeth.”
Inch by inch, Lex’s lips parted, his shoulders tensing as the bottle’s neck pressed against his tongue.
Morgan didn’t give him time to reconsider, tilting it back with one fluid motion. Lex jerked his head to the side, and Morgan’s fingers dug into his jaw, keeping him in place.
He let the seconds stretch, a full minute passing, then two before he finally pulled the bottle away. Lex spluttered, and Morgan clamped his palm over Lex’s mouth, sealing it shut. He could feel Lex trembling, but finally— finally— Lex swallowed.
Morgan wiped his hand on the side of his pants, sticky with whiskey and sweat, and set the bottle on the ground.
“I…” Lex croaked before it dissolved into a violent coughing fit. “I’m gonna be sick.”
“Puke on the floor.”
“I really, really don’t feel well.”
Morgan's eyes flew up to the ceiling. There were three beams, different types of wood, cutting across. It must’ve been twenty, maybe thirty feet to the top. The air smelled like mildew and… the sound…
None of this was helping calm him down. Old tips—focus on the details, ground yourself—only worked when he hadn’t started out so high, so frenzied. His heart was beating too fast, the excitement pumping through his veins.
He wanted more .
Morgan shifted, his gaze flicking back to Lex. He didn’t want just the pleading, the stammering, or the useless apologies. He wanted the moment Lex unraveled—the precise second when his mind fractured and everything holding him together fell into nothingness.
He wanted to hurt Lex so deeply, so thoroughly , that nothing would ever touch him the same way again.
“I just wanna go home,” Lex mumbled, and it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
Morgan slammed his fist into Lex’s stomach without a second thought.
Three a.m.
Once Morgan started, it was difficult to stop. It wasn’t until he realized he couldn’t unclench his fist that reality set in.
Pain was a language he had spent his life learning but never speaking. It was the most enchanting part of human existence. He understood the academics—the clinical, depersonalized ins and outs of fibers and thresholds. Even if it had always existed outside of him. Inaccessible.
But the people with him? The broken, transformed ones, stripped of all pretense and posturing? On them, he could see it. It wasn’t enough, though. Seeing had turned into wanting to touch it, taste it, feel it .
And that lack of control, that terrible, keening sound in his ears and earth-shattering urge, was the only part of himself he disliked. Not the absence of pain, or the knowledge that he’d never experience it, but the want to fit himself inside those who did.
Morgan took the bottle away from Lex’s mouth, and he wasn’t even fighting it anymore. He didn’t push or pull away. He didn’t do anything at all. Not until Morgan ran his hand down Lex’s face to his chest, pressing his fingertips into the edge of blooming purple, did Lex flinched away.
He pulled the bag over, his chest heaving, hands shaking too badly to find what he needed. Breathing only helped momentarily.
The room spun in flashes of color, too vivid, too bright, and every sound hit him like a hammer. Lex’s ragged panting. The thick, audible swallows. The small whimpers whenever he shifted against the beam.
Each movement tugged at the collar of Lex’s shirt, pulling it lower and revealing more of the bruising underneath. Faint and fleeting, caught in the dim light from the kitchen.
It was stunning. But it was hidden.
When he finally managed to locate his knife, he had almost calmed down. He slid the blade under Lex’s shirt, and Lex jolted back so quickly that Morgan heard the air leave his lungs.
“Please,” Lex mumbled, barely more than a slurred whisper. The tremors started in his arms and traveled down the rest of his body. “ Please . I don’t… I don’t wanna die. I—I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t kill me.”
Grabbing his ankle, Morgan yanked him back. He didn’t dare speak. Words were dangerous right now, too raw, too uncontrolled. Instead, he cut the fabric of Lex’s shirt away, buttons popping and rolling on the floor. Only when he reached the collar did he stop.
Morgan pushed it to the sides, eyes trailing over the bruises. Purples and blues, fading into the faintest yellow at the edges where the skin had started to give. A perfect, precise gradient. The ribs remained untouched. Morgan knew the limits, knew that a careless fracture could lead to a punctured lung, and that wasn’t part of the plan. He couldn’t count on himself to be as controlled as he was in the woods.
But the upper arms? The stomach?
The patterns there were his favorite—abstract shapes, made with meticulous care. Morgan could trace every smudge of color and remember exactly how he’d made them.
Lex was such a perfect canvas. His most treasured one yet.
His fingers skated over the exposed skin, the goosebumps jumping out to greet him. He started at the collarbone, working his way over the curve of Lex’s chest, down to his stomach. Lex shrank away, and Morgan had to keep one hand gripped on his leg to keep him steady.
“It suits you,” Morgan murmured, the words leaving before he thought better. “You wear it so well. If only you could see how beautiful you are to me like this.”
Just like that, Lex’s entire body language changed. His shivering lessened, and the tension in his thigh muscles softened.
“Can…” Lex’s voice cracked as he hiccuped. “Can you keep talking? If you have to do this… keep talking to me like that.”
Was that part of what made Lex’s eyes bloom in the woods ?
Morgan had assumed it was the fear—the heady rush of adrenaline—that turned his little brother into jelly. He could have stopped, but it was such a simple request.
“Only because you’re not fighting,” Morgan said after a minute. “It’s not easy, is it? How much does it hurt?”
Lex started to nod, his chin trembling before he rolled his lips together and shook his head. “I don’t know anymore. I-I’m numb.”
“You’ve lasted longer than most, though. You should be proud of yourself. I am.”
Morgan’s hand moved back up, watching the decorations shift under his palm. He smoothed his thumb over Lex’s bottom lip, and there was no resistance this time—no shrinking away, no defiant flinch. Just submission.
“I know it’s uncomfortable,” he continued, sliding the tip of his finger past the edge of Lex’s teeth, brushing against his tongue. “But that’s the point, isn’t it? To feel something real, something you’ll carry with you. A piece of me, molded into your flesh.”
He wiped his hand on his pants, watching the even rise and fall of Lex’s chest. If he had passed out, Morgan couldn’t fault him. There was only so much a human body could take before it shut down to save itself. He grasped the bottle, half-standing when he heard Lex’s voice, even softer.
“Part of me thinks I’m already dead. You sound a lot like him.”
Not yet.
This wasn’t the right time for the big, dramatic reveal.
There wasn’t any other choice. Without hesitation, Morgan swung the bottle, the heavy glass connecting with the side of Lex’s head with a crack .
And, thankfully, Lex stopped speaking.
Saturday.
Perhaps a gag would’ve sufficed. It would’ve spared Morgan the inconvenience he was dealing with now.
Crouched down, he hiked up the tear-streaked, sweat-soaked tie, prying one of Lex’s eyelids open. He shone the penlight into it, dilated pupils contracting sluggishly back. No signs of a concussion. Nothing serious enough that he’d have to address right away.
He needed to stop hitting Lex in the head. Any blow could be the wrong one, at the wrong time. The thought irritated him more than it should have.
Morgan slid the tie back down, tightening the knot, when Lex jerked. His mouth started to move, lips trembling as if forming words. Morgan frowned and yanked out one of noise-canceling earbuds, Lex’s frantic mumbling replacing the static hiss.
“—sound. All night. I can’t… I can’t take it anymore.”
Ah .
The track he had put on while he slept. Absolute silence, with screams peppered in at odd intervals.
Truthfully, Morgan had forgotten he’d done it. There had been too many other things on his mind when he crawled into bed.
Reaching over, he clicked the first button on the remote .
“I…” Lex faltered like he always did when he wanted to say something he knew he shouldn’t. Morgan had heard it enough. “Can I have water?”
There it was. Begging for something else. And yet, as always, no gratitude, no acknowledgment of what had already been done for him. A simple thank you would have gone a long way.
Morgan’s jaw twitched, but he looked back to the bag. Last night’s slip—allowing excitement to get the better of him—had been a mistake. One that wouldn’t be repeated. If he didn’t have to talk, he wouldn’t.
Instead, he unzipped the bag, nudging through the contents inside. Extra fabric scraps, more rope, bleach, and his favorite new toy he’d picked up in the last few years.
A soldering gun.
Sleek and simple. He’d never gotten tired of using it. There was something about the aftermath: an acrid, almost backyard barbecue smell. It satisfied something primal, something deeply ingrained.
Picking up the bottle of whiskey again, he didn’t even need to bring it fully to Lex’s lips before that pale head began violently shaking.
“No. I—I can’t. Please. Anything else .”
When, exactly, had Morgan ever given the impression that there was a choice?
Pinching Lex’s nose, he waited, calm and patient, until Lex’s body betrayed him. His mouth snapped open in an instinctive gasp for air.
Then the bottle went back in. That all too familiar spluttering and whining began.
Annoying. Irritating .
Morgan let the moment stretch just long enough to make his point before taking the bottle back.
Lex barely lasted a second. He turned his head, retching violently. Whiskey, bile, and thin strings of blood spilled out, splattering against the wood grain floor.
At least it hadn’t gotten on Morgan’s shoes. Small mercies.
Morgan bit back the sigh, reaching around the beam to plug in the soldering gun. He still hadn’t found the perfect place to mark his property yet.
Those designs, turning darker and changing colors—less than eight hours later—were too pretty to mar.
If he wanted an arm, there would be an issue with the restraints…
Lex’s leg would have to do. Actually, considering it a minute more, it might be the best option of them all. This way, if he ever planned on becoming distracted with some busty bimbo during work hours again, he’d have to see it when he looked down.
There was absolutely no hesitation when Morgan unbuckled Lex’s pants.
Lex, however, seemed to have other ideas. In all of his infinite stupidity, he twisted his entire body to the side, trying to wriggle away.
Annoyance and irritation were shifting very quickly toward anger.
Pressing his palm against Lex’s knee, he drove his weight into it until he heard a faint pop. Lex’s voice climbed higher, tripping over itself in a messy tumble of pleas.
“I—I’m sorry. I don’t—I’ve never—I’m… I’m not into— ”
“I’m not going to rape you, you fucking idiot,” Morgan snarled. He pushed down harder on Lex’s knee. “Stop moving, or this ,” he emphasized, applying more pressure, “goes.”
Lex froze, his body going still under Morgan’s grip.
The shoes and pants were gone in under a minute, discarded to the side.
All that effort, the thrashing and protesting, the wasted energy—it had only drained the rest of Morgan’s patience.
Morgan picked up the soldering gun again, switching it on, the faint hum of electricity filling the silence. The tip began to glow a dull orange, then brighter, until it pulsed with heat. His eyes stayed on it for a moment, debating exactly what he should carve into the skin. Simple was best. Intricate details would be lost after it healed.
“What is…” Lex started, and Morgan heard him swallow the rest of the sentence.
Of all the places to have shaved, Lex’s legs weren’t one he would have expected. But it wasn’t as if Morgan was complaining; the scent of burning hair was one of the least appetizing things on the planet.
Lex was perfect for this, whether he knew it or not.
Holding the gun steady in his hand, he pressed the tip lightly against the top of Lex’s thigh, just enough to test.
The reaction was immediate. Lex jerked violently away, a sharp cry tearing from his throat. One socked foot tried to push back, but without traction, it slipped instead, hitting Morgan’s knee.
Even with the barest of connection, the mark was precise. The skin was already blistering, pink, and angry around the edges .
Lex whimpered, his breaths coming in short, shallow bursts. “Wait. Please. It hurts . Hit me again if you want, just—just not that.”
Morgan shifted, placing a knee on each of Lex’s legs, keeping him pinned as he repositioned himself closer. He pressed the soldering gun down again, this time with intention. One long line, and then another.
The raw, guttural sound of Lex’s scream echoed off the wooden beams and rafters. His whole body bucked, the rope taut under the force of his struggle. Burnt meat filled the air, closer to brisket or pork belly than human flesh, and Morgan’s mouth watered.
He didn’t remove it straight away, letting the second line sear deeper before lifting it to inspect his work. The warped, bubbling mess underneath was, remarkably, even. Beautiful.
Sobbing, Lex’s voice was hoarse—broken—as he tried to form words. “Please, please , no… no more, I—” It all dissolved into gasping cries, his chest and stomach heaving.
Morgan didn’t chance looking up. The tears were his favorites: salty and ruined, the last piece of a person’s resistance laid bare. He’d lose himself all over again, just like he had last night.
Two more lines.
By the time he finished that, the muscle in Lex’s thigh was quivering too hard, almost spasming. He knew better than to push his luck. Another mark might ruin the effect. Morgan wanted it to be presentable, after all. He needed it to reflect something more than a sloppy, crudely done job.
Pulling the sleeve of the hoodie up with his teeth, he pressed the tip of the soldering gun against his own wrist.
One small dot. The first in his collection .
One person who belonged to him, body and soul.
He moved the gun back, blowing on the faint line of smoke. His skin didn’t smell as rich, fatty, and delightful. It lacked the same depth Lex’s had.
How unbearably dull.
Sunday.
Seated on the couch, Morgan propped his chin up with his hand. He’d turned off the sleeping track a while ago. There was only so much white noise he could listen to before it started becoming one with his thoughts. Now it was just silence—well, almost. Lex filled the quiet on his own.
It was wildly entertaining. Less than two days. Closer to thirty-seven hours, if Morgan was being specific. That’s all it had taken for something in Lex’s head to snap, the cracks of his sanity spidering into full-blown oblivion.
“I don’t know what I did,” Lex slurred, thick and wavering. “Whatever it was, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
The apology wasn’t directed at anyone. Or maybe it was. Maybe it was aimed at some phantom Lex had created in his head. He still hadn’t sobered up enough to make much sense.
“I just want it to stop. The cold. The quiet. The— everything . It’s too much. I can’t—I can’t take it anymore. ”
“I’ll do whatever you want,” Lex continued, barely audible. “Just—don’t leave me like this. Please .”
He tried to tug his arms over his head, a sad attempt that accomplished nothing but worsened the cuts digging into his wrists. The rawness was bordering on dangerous. Infection would set in if Lex kept moving like that, and the last thing Morgan wanted to do was amputate.
Too much effort.
Morgan’s eyes roamed over Lex’s body—over the jagged edges of pain painted across his chest, pink and puckered on his leg, the sheen of sweat on his skin. There was beauty in this sort of desperation, curling around every movement.
It would be over soon, unfortunately. That self-imposed timeline was drawing ever nearer.
On the bright side, Morgan didn’t need to wear the bandana or hoodie any longer.
Running his hand through his hair, he peeled the ponytail down. It was still coated in gel, but at least he was free. Clean air, thank god . The smell of his own breath made his stomach churn.
“Are you still there?” Lex called out, louder now, his voice trembling. “I just… I need you to…” he trailed off, and the sobbing started all over again.
Even if it was repetitive, Morgan could listen to that sound all day. He closed his eyes, each hiccup and gasp lulling him into a detached sort of calm.
“If you… can you give me water? Please? My throat hurts so bad.”
That, however, he was sick of hearing .
Morgan dragged himself off the couch, rolling his neck until it popped.
“Wait!” Lex’s voice rose even higher, the screech cutting straight through Morgan’s eardrums to his brain. “Don’t—don’t go! Please! Please, I’ll do anything. Just don’t leave me alone!”
He hadn’t even taken two steps.
This was getting out of hand.
Stopping in front of him, Morgan leaned over, running his hand down the side of Lex’s face. Blood from Friday had dried there, rust-colored and crusted over, flaking under his nails.
“Open your mouth,” Morgan said, the smirk starting, no matter how much he tried to hold back.
Lex’s cracked lips pressed into a thin line, pulling into his cheek. The hesitation was thicker than the smell of fear.
“You want something other than alcohol, right? If not, there’s still vodka or brandy.”
A full minute passed. Then two.
Finally, Lex did as he was told. Morgan let the saliva gather in his mouth for a moment before he dribbled it down onto Lex’s tongue.
If anything else could break inside of Lex, it must have. He didn’t move a muscle, didn’t even swallow. For a moment, Morgan wasn’t sure if he’d stopped breathing altogether. The spit trickled out the side of Lex’s mouth, clinging to his chin as though even it didn’t know what to do.
“Suit yourself,” Morgan chuckled.
“No, no. Wait,” Lex rasped, clearing his throat. “I’m—I’m sorry, it… it caught me off guard. Do it again. Please. ”
Morgan’s jaw ticked. Too much. From him—his brother —Lex would resist until he broke his neck. But from a stranger? He was willing to degrade himself. It was grating.
He pulled off the tie, Lex’s entire head swaying. Those blue eyes winced before they moved up, and Morgan watched the confusion settle in. The way Lex’s eyebrows knitted together, his mouth opening then closing.
Rather, he believed it was confusion, at first.
But this? This star-struck, far-off look—those dilated pupils that attached to him like Lex was seeing something divine? It wasn’t normal.
That mix of awe and yearning…
How was it so close to what he saw in the woods?
Maybe Morgan was the one confused.
There was something beyond sick inside of Lex. Worse than whatever rot was festering inside of himself.
“I… I figured it out yesterday,” Lex said quietly, the words coming out disjointed and fragmented. “I was just hoping to see you before…” he licked his lips, eyes bouncing all over Morgan’s face. “Before we went home. Together.”
“What is wrong with you?”
The question slipped out before he had the chance to rein it in, his tone sharper than it had been. It wasn’t the kind of thing he should’ve said—not now, not when Lex was staring at him like that.
“You can’t break someone this badly without caring, y’know?” Lex’s half-laugh sounded hoarse. “You don’t burn the first letter of your name into someone without feeling… something for them. ”
Morgan let the silence stretch, pulling apart Lex’s words piece by piece.
What, exactly, do you think I feel for you?
The logic was disgusting. Twisted, naive, and maddening. And yet, there was something in it—something Morgan didn’t want to examine too closely.
Lex didn’t look away, and Morgan’s gaze fixed on the bloodshot eyes, the uneven rise and fall of Lex’s chest. His face was devoid of most color, exhausted, and something Morgan could only describe as... excitement.
That was the worst part.
Lex looked like he was enjoying this.