12. Fae
FAE
‘What did that man do to you for Roman to torture him all night long?’ Riggs’ question plays on repeat as I try to focus on the seminar but panic settles in anyway.
Would Roman really be reckless enough to torture one of the founders?
Father? The only other person I implicated was Dr Fisher.
Whilst I would love nothing more than to see that evil monster burn, the idea of Roman making careless decisions petrifies me.
I cannot be the reason he gets eliminated. I should have kept my mouth shut.
Dr Fisher is too protected right now, that is why I need the evidence from the other girls. If I can bring it to the council, then maybe I will not get executed when I murder him.
Well, that was the plan.
Now I don’t know what it is with Roman being a loose cannon.
The council are separate from the founders within The Company.
Founders are in place through blood ties and birthright.
We have ‘Superior DNA’ simply because our ancestors created this group.
For a thousand years, the founders ruled with an iron fist. During history classes, we learnt that two founders went to war with one another three hundred years ago.
It caused in-house fighting to break out, sides were chosen, and we came close to The Company ceasing to exist.
It wasn’t until 1762, when the Longstaff line proposed a council, something closer to a parliament, that things began to level out.
Sir Anthony Longstaff changed the structure of The Company.
Founders could no longer just dictate. They had to answer.
And, whilst the bleeding ceremonies are common knowledge to the council, I don’t believe the trafficking and abuse of virgins is.
It is with that hope, that I can end this practice, but there is always that what if, you know?
Do the council know that when Dr Fisher was alone with me, he would ‘measure’ my tightness and the length of my vaginal wall with his fingers? Do they know I had to deep throat his cock just so I could be rewarded with more IV fluids or food?
The memory of his ejaculations still clings to my skin.
I used to think that was the worst part.
But over time I realised the pain that Dr Fisher exposed my body to was really the worst thing he could have done.
I was too young to understand exactly what my body was doing but I still became addicted to it like it was the most potent drug available.
As I got older, Dr Fisher’s abuse got more extreme.
I was forced to hold weights inside my vagina and anus to make sure I had ‘good grip’.
He would drink my ‘medicine’ from the source and then blame me when Father questioned why I had not bled much that month.
He raped me at seventeen, anally for the first time.
The pain I felt was like nothing I had experienced before.
Apparently, this was all just special training only for me because I was special to him.
My hands grip the table as I try to take a sharp breath, but all I can smell is onions.
A hand touches my leg and I just know it is him.
I can feel his heat against my skin, telling me I need to be good for him.
The air turns thin as my body remembers what my mind is trying to forget.
My pulse races as my hands begin to shake with the echo of his voice, his weight, his certainty that I was small and breakable.
Right now, it doesn’t feel like the past. It feels like the present pressing its full weight against my ribs. There are urgent voices that are trying to reach for me, but they feel so far away, like a stretching hand that I can’t quite reach.
“Fairy”
Fairy? Who’s fairy? I’d like to be a fairy, I think, but right now it feels like I’m drowning. Why can’t I breathe?
Faces blur in front of me, pinched with concern.
Their mouths move but I can’t make out the words.
The feeling of being submerged takes over, my ears ringing as pressure builds in my head until everything fades.
My chest burns as I hold my breath, trying to stop the water getting in.
I want to surface, to tell them to help, but they keep slipping away and I just keep sinking.
It’s like I’m watching the world through a wavering pane I can’t reach.
“FAE!” a female voice screams, shaking me and dragging me back to the surface. Faces start to come into focus. “Breathe, girl.”
“Fairy, copy my breathing. Can you do that?” Someone grabs my face and turns me towards them. They lift my hand onto their chest and nod. “Feel that? Good girl. Come back to us, Fae.” He takes a slow breath. “Keep copying me. You’re doing so well.”
I drag in lungfuls of air, mimicking Riggs as I come back around. My head pounds and my body feels heavy, but the panic starts to dull into the background.
“W… what happened?” I croak.
“You had a panic attack.” I turn towards the voice and see Delilah watching me, her expression tight with worry.
She leans over and squeezes my hand. I look down at where our fingers meet, at the contrast between her mahogany skin and my ghostly white.
Her nails are perfectly manicured, soft French tips, and her brown eyes tilt slightly, almost fox-like.
I’ve always been jealous of her. Not just because she’s beautiful, but because she’s untouched by all of this; there’s a warmth to her that people gravitate towards without thinking.
Sometimes, just to torture myself, I wonder how she and Roman would look together and I tell myself that if he were to have anyone, it should be someone like her.
Someone kind. Someone who understands him.
He is a complicated man, his intentions might be good, but they don’t always come across that way.
“Do you have them a lot?” she asks. I am not sure if I am still out of it or if it is just her aura, but I find myself wanting to answer. I shake my head and look back at Riggs’ stressed expression.
“No,” I squeak. “It’s been years.” I keep my eyes on him, searching for any sign he is putting things together, but he keeps a perfect poker face. I guess that is what makes him such a good spy.
“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me, Fairy.” Riggs leans down and presses a longer-than-necessary kiss to my forehead, then flops back into his chair and pulls me onto his lap.
“I’m not sure what scared me more, the thought of you not breathing or what Roman would do if he found out you died on my watch. ”
I giggle, still slightly confused by what Riggs means.
I don’t know why the guys are making such a big deal out of it.
It’s like as soon as Roman and I came down together that morning, it was end game.
Riggs especially. It’s not the first comment he’s made about it.
What I would do to be a fly on their walls.
“Are we over the dramatics?” a voice booms from the front of the classroom, and I tense as the reality of where I am settles back in. I slide off Riggs’ lap and sit back in my chair. Giving a nod to Professor Wilson, I pick up my pen and pretend to refocus on the work.
“Hey,” I whisper, lightly kicking Delilah’s chair. She turns and gives me a soft smile. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” she says, leaning over to gently squeeze my hand before dropping it and turning back to the front.
“Okay, in pairs, I want you to put into practice what we have discussed today. You have thirty minutes to find out what your partner knows. Mr Clarke will be coming around to hand out your task.” Professor Wilson claps and the low hum of students talking begins to build.
“Where’s Mr Archer?” I ask Riggs as I realise we do not have our usual assistant today. He shrugs and pulls a how the fuck do I know face.
“Partners then?” He grins.
“Duh.”
“Good, because you’re going to need to do a quick rundown on what the fuck he taught. I have no idea.”
“Fae,” Riggs leans forward. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I feel better now.”
“Look, if I triggered you ear—”
“Riggs,” I snap, then force a breath, counting to ten before I look at him. “I’m fine. You’re fine. We are all fine and,” I motion to the room, “I’ll be fine.”
Riggs seems to accept that. He knows better than anyone that anything we say is monitored and tracked. Even if I were not fine, I could not exactly tell him here.
“Okay, fine it is… you didn’t miss much. This class is just about trying to read the opposition. Looking for body language clues that could indicate they’re lying. Honestly, Fae, you could do this in your sleep.”
“Well, not with you as a partner, I can’t. You’re like a closed book.”
“You can talk,” Riggs scoffs. “I’ve never seen someone with as much composure as you.”
“Augh,” I groan. “Rock, paper, scissors on who’s guessing?”
“Let’s do it.”
After a very competitive game of rock, paper, scissors that took nine rounds and far too much of our allotted time, I won and got to choose. Knowing I don’t have the brain capacity to figure Riggs out today, I ask him to read me.
You are a 37-year-old male who has just been caught with 60 metric tons of cocaine.
You are the captain of a ship that went off course.
Your destination was America, but you were caught in Russian waters, heading west towards England.
Your role is to come across as a victim.
However, you are guilty, and at the last minute, a group of businessmen told you to change course to England.
“Ready?” I ask, raising my eyebrows and crossing my arms.
“Born ready, baby.” Riggs cheers, loud enough that a few girls nearby turn and giggle.
“Let’s go.”