Lost Boy by Tara Brown Page B

grins and nods, "Don't hold back either. I want the full, fiery temper."
    I snort, "You're still such a sick bastard."
    He licks his lips and winks. I climb out and walk up to the building. The elevator makes me shudder, but I know she has cameras. She likes to watch me be afraid or hesitate. She likes it when I'm uncomfortable. She wants to be the one I turn to in my needs. She wants me.
    In a sick way, I like that. I like to watch her squirm in return. If I didn’t fucking hate every ounce of her, we would be quite the pair, taking turns being on top…being the one getting fucked.
    She makes me cold and confident.
    I step into the elevator, clenching my hands, imagining the feel of my girl's hands in my grip. I fold my hands behind my back, poking a finger into the corner to remind myself the corner means it isn’t the hole in the ground.
    She beams at me as I step off, trying to avoid her gaze as my heartbeat is pounding from the small space.
    "Still angry with me?"
    I don’t satisfy her with a response.
    She smiles wider, "You know I provoke you to help you in this role you're going to play. It won't be easy."
    "Nothing ever is with you, Jane."
    She points, "You asked for my help with this one."
    I nod, "I don’t regret asking you, I just wish there was another way. I thought the treatments she was having would help her remember some of it. It's been years, Jane, and she hasn’t budged."
    She shakes her head, "She won't go into the dirty house. She won't open her eyes and take a look, even in hypnosis. She is blocking it. We need to put her back there on purpose. She needs the filth and disturbing torment and instability of it all, to remember it." She crosses the room, holding herself rigidly, with her chest out.
    I almost roll my eyes but I don’t. I know she expects me to look at her trim figure. She doesn’t realize I don’t care what she looks like. I don’t care that she is stunning and fit and crazy in bed. If I didn’t have to bleed or fuck it out of me, then I wouldn’t have sex. She doesn’t understand I don’t have sex or fight or cut for pleasure and joy. The joy is the silencing of the white noise. Somehow the trickle of blood or semen carries my crazy with it. It's best if I can do both, bleed and cum.
    It's sick. I'm sick. I sigh and look out the window. I'll never be good enough for my girl.
    I'm fucking sick. I need to remember that.
    Jane passes me a pill, "Take this when we get into the truck to meet Stuart. It'll give you a good burst of asshole, combined with a nasty dose of energy."
    I look at the blue pill in my hand. I don’t need it, but maybe it'll help me forget the fact I'll have to rough her up. She's going to see me hurt Stuart. She's going to see the monster I am.
    I look at my watch, "Leave here in twenty?"
    She nods, "I know she's like a sister to you but she needs this. She needs to be freed. The glass box she lives in is killing her. The helplessness is killing her."
    I shake my head, "I don’t see her as a sister." I wish I did.

Chapter Ten
    December 20th

    The blue pill never took my memories of it all and it's not making this easier. I punch Stuart again. He screams out. He's screaming for show. He rarely makes a sound when hit. We're in the room next to hers. She has to be awake by now and listening.
    I push away the fear she feels, or the fact that the minute she was in trouble, she messaged me. I hit him again. He winces with that one and I know I hit too hard, but I don’t apologize. I hit again. He cries out and it's genuine. I'm hurting him but I don’t stop, I hit again. He laughs almost, when he cries out loud again. The guys holding him up give me death stares. They think I'm taking it too far. They don’t know Stuart.
    Jane shakes her head, "He's had enough. If you hurt him anymore than that, he's going to fight back. He'll hate himself if the rage takes him and he hurts you."
    I step back, trying to push the anger down. I'm breathing heavily. Stuart