Not In This Lifetime Ch. 03-04

Trigger warnings & Author's notes

May contain: violence, extreme domination, degradation, sadism, non-consent/coercion, slavery.

Thank you all so much for the feedback and support! I'm so glad you're enjoying so far, despite the slow start. Things are finally starting to heat up in the following chapters (skip to the end of ch4 if that's all you're looking for, lol) and I'm really looking forward to releasing the next two (ch5 + ch6.) I hope the sex scene in ch4 doesn't feel too forced/rushed -- just know it's simply an appetizer, the main dish is coming up. ;)

Chapter Three: aftermath

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26 hours after the fall of the rebellion.

Mile's eyes fluttered open. He blinked, eyes darting around the room, trying to get his bearings. He was laying in a bed, staring at the ceiling. Where was this? This wasn't home. He hurt everywhere, and despite just having woken up, he felt as though he hadn't slept in weeks. The lights above him were entirely too bright. Why had he not turned the lights off before going to sleep?

He tried to recall how he'd gotten here -- and where was here, anyway? He slowly looked to the side to take in more of his surroundings. He noticed a computer screen on the wall and various medical devices he didn't really know the purposes of. He was in a hospital. He'd hit his head? His shoulder -- his shoulder hurt. Someone had hurt it. He frowned to himself, concerned that he couldn't recall what had happened.

Mile clenched his eyes closed, desperate to shut out the blazing lights. An image of Symond flashed through his mind. Was Symond there when this happened? Had Symond hurt him? He felt a lingering disdain for the man he didn't quite understand.

Mile tried to prop himself up on his left arm and reach up with his right to touch his aching head, and a couple of things happened abruptly. One, he found he couldn't lift his right arm very far on account of the handcuffs securing him to the side of the bed, and two, any movement or pressure put on his left arm hurt like absolute hell.

He gasped loudly and collapsed back into the sheets, becoming aware of the sling around his left arm, no doubt put there to remind him not to use it. So much for that.

A woman peered around a corner to look at him. "Oh, you're awake again," she observed. "I'll get the doctor."

"Again?" Mile thought as he watched her leave. Had he woken up before now?

A few minutes later, another woman walked into the room, accompanied by the woman from before who he now understood to be a nurse.

"Hey Mile, I'm doctor Wayn. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Mile answered honestly.

The doctor nodded. "Not surprised. You came in with a pretty severe concussion and a fractured shoulder and torn rotator cuff. You've been asleep for most of 24 hours."

"What happened?" Mile inquired. "How did I get here?"

The doctor looked at him before jotting down some notes. "Don't worry, it's normal to have some post-traumatic amnesia after a head injury. Your memory should come back in time."

Mile frowned at the non-answer to his questions.

"Can you please just ... tell me where I am?"

The doctor offered a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry, Mr. Domarc, I'm not at liberty to discuss anything with you except your health. Please let your nurse know if you need anything. And try not to move your injured arm just yet, we'll have you with a physical therapist in due time."

With that, she turned and left the room. The nurse lingered behind.

"I know you must be famished; lunch will be served in about a half an hour. Do you need anything in the meantime?" She was already filling a glass with water for him. "How are your pain levels?"

"Not good."

She nodded and grabbed a bottle from the nearby counter top, and dumped a couple of pills into a tiny cup before holding it up to his lips. He blinked in surprise but realized this was literally the only way, and so he opened his mouth to accept the pills and the water that followed.

"Need anything else?" The nurse inquired. Mile shook his head and she turned to leave.

"Wait," Mile called to her.

She stopped and looked at him.

"Will you please turn the light off?"

She nodded and flicked the switch on her way.

"Wait!" Mile called again. She peered back into the room, an eyebrow raised.

Mile looked at her apologetically. "Bathroom?" The nurse nodded.

"I'll call a guard to escort you right away."

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72 hours after the fall of the rebellion.

General Symond Welles was stretched thin. Damage control on the town of Lightley was proving to be quite the arduous task. As their final act, the rebels had managed to do a great deal of damage to the town that had served as their base. It would likely take months, if not years, to rebuild.

That aside, the captive situation was turning out to be an entire shit show, with soldiers claiming prisoners of war as slaves without going through the proper protocol. There were just so many captives, it was impossible to keep track of everyone. Soldiers were turning it into a free-for-all.

When he brought the matter to the king, he was brushed off.

"It makes no difference to me, General Welles. May they suffer for their actions one way or another."

Symond realized it had been foolish of him to expect anything else from the young king. His contempt for the rebels was strong, and upon taking the crown, he had very quickly revealed himself to be a sadistic and vindictive ruler, deriving pleasure from the misfortune of others. While his father, Oppius, had turned a blind eye to the grievances in his kingdom, King Allius Domarc seemed to relish in causing them. If anyone had been hoping for social progress with their new ruler, they had certainly been in for an unpleasant shock to the system.

Symond sighed and looked at the clock on the wall. 11:00 PM. He'd been working all day. His mind wandered to his captive at the hospital. Dr. Wayn had called him a couple of days ago regarding Mile's condition after he'd woken up. She had mentioned amnesia as a result of the concussion, but Mile was on the mend and she expected his memory to return to him with time.

Symond found himself to be upset about the amnesia-- he wondered how the disgraced rebel leader would handle the reality when it came back to him. It seemed like a cruel joke of the universe that'd he'd have to experience the shock of his loss a second time around.

The general wasn't sure how to handle the situation, or when to approach the other. This was not going to be an easy transition. He thought it best to allow the younger man time to heal before adding on stress that could be avoided -- for a while at least.

In the end, Mile remained in the hospital for a couple of weeks before he got restless and began demanding answers from the hospital staff. At that point Symond decided it was time to move forward.

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"Domarc."

Mile's eyes shot open and he gazed upon the face of Kiran, one of the two soldiers who had been assigned as his guard. The younger man gave him a moment to shake off the sleep before speaking.

"General Welles has called for your relocation. I'm going to release you from the cuffs so you can prepare. Oron is right outside speaking to the nurse. Please don't give us trouble."

"I won't," Mile said honestly. He certainly wasn't in any condition to fight or flee. He didn't even know where he was.

Kiran approached the hospital bed, producing a key and unlocking the handcuffs. Mile propped himself up and tentatively pushed himself from the bed. He was still feeling a bit dizzy from the concussion, but it was nowhere near as bad as it had been the first week. He carefully walked to the far side of the room and into the bathroom to relieve himself, brush his teeth and wash his face.

"The general has provided some clean clothes for you," Kiran called to him after a few moments. Mile peered out of the doorway of the bathroom, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, to see where the guard was motioning to.

"Thank you."

He returned to the bathroom to spit in the sink and replace his toothbrush on the counter before washing his face. Then he walked over to retrieve the clothing, pausing to look at Kiran, who was now sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting patiently for him to finish.

"I need help," Mile said, blatantly displeased about it. The doctor had eventually replaced the sling on his left arm with a more heavy duty immobilizer, as Mile could not seem to remember to stop using his injured arm. The immobilizer consisted of a thick strap around his torso with an attached cuff to place around his bicep to secure it at his side, and another cuff for his wrist, to secure his forearm in front of him.

"Oh, right."

Kiran stood and reached forward to unvelcro the cuff around Mile's upper arm and then the one around his wrist. Then he undid the strap around his torso, freeing him from the arm immobilizer.

"Thank you."

Mile turned around so that the man could undo the strings of the drafty hospital gown, which he quickly shrugged off of himself, happy to be rid of it. He stood now in only his boxers and picked up the t-shirt provided to him, shaking it open with his right hand and then trying to get it over his head without the use of his left. He seemed to find this difficult as the fabric of the t-shirt clung to itself, and he unconsciously reached up with his left hand to assist.

"Jesus, stop --" Kiran grabbed his arm and held it down at his side. "I'll help you." He reached up to correctly align the t-shirt before grabbing both sides and pulling it down over his head. Mile shoved his right arm through the sleeve and Kiran carefully helped guide the other. Then he handed the pants to Mile, which, to Mile's relief, he found easier to put on by himself as they were just sweat pants.

Kiran held the immobilizer up and Mile frowned, but allowed the other to put it back on him.

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The two guards escorted Mile out of the hospital to a sleek black car that was parked in front of the building. Mile couldn't remember the last time he'd been in or had even seen a vehicle. He stopped to admire it, but the guards urged him forward, tugging at the chain around his waist that his right wrist was secured to in front of him.

When they had begun putting it on him in the hospital room, he had inquired if it was really necessary, what with him having a broken shoulder and all. Plus, He couldn't move his left arm if he'd wanted to with this stupid immobilizer on.

Oron, the older guard, had replied instantly to his inquiry.

"Absolutely necessary."

Mile allowed himself to be ushered to the car, Kiran taking the seat beside him, and Oron getting behind the wheel. They began moving and Mile turned to Kiran.

"Where are we going?"

"You know I can't answer that, Mile."

Oron shot Kiran a look of disdain in the rear view mirror. He had recently spoken to the younger soldier about professionalism and not getting too familiar with the captive, after he'd noticed the man had began referring to him by his first name.

"When will I have answers?"

Kiran frowned and didn't look at him. "I seriously don't know."

"Shut up, Domarc," Oron called sternly from the front seat.

Mile scowled, his distaste for the soldier evident, but said nothing else.

After a few minutes and multiple turns, Mile felt like his brain was spinning in his skull, the motion sickness was intense. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on taking deep breaths, willing his stomach to calm.

The car came to a stop about fifteen minutes later. Mile sat up and looked out the window. They were at some kind of villa style house.

Oron and Kiran both exited the car as a guard at the door approached to greet them. Mile observed for a few minutes before sighing and slumping back into the seat. He was tired of this weird purgatory he seemed to be trapped in. He just wanted answers.

Eventually his two guards returned to the car and opened his door. Oron grabbed his good arm and pulled him out, causing Mile to stumble a bit as he tried to find his footing. They walked to the set of double doors and the guard who had been stationed there pulled one open and motioned for them to enter.

The villa was stunning, Mile couldn't stop himself from admiring the architecture as he was led through the building. In this main room, there were lots of windows and the house was radiant with natural light. Eventually they made it down a hall and the villa guard stopped at a door and pushed it open, allowing them to go inside. It was a large room, mostly empty save for a modestly sized bed and a sofa. The guard followed them in and spoke.

"This is where you will be staying. You'll find the bath area at the end of this hallway we came down, you are free to walk around this area. I trust you will not try to escape as it will not end well for you."

Mile looked up, surprised by this new information along with the ominous warning.

"I will not be restrained?"

The guard shook his head.

"No, but be warned that security is extremely tight here. If you attempt to escape you will be executed. You will find most of the doors are locked save for the ones you are allowed access."

Mile nodded in understanding and turned to Kiran.

"Please remove my restraints. Please," he emphasized.

Kiran looked nervously to Oron, seemingly for permission. Oron grabbed Mile's right elbow and turned him around to face him before releasing his wrist from the handcuffs. He then unlocked the padlock securing the chain around his waist.

"I still think this is a mistake," Oron said to no one in particular. He turned to leave the room, carrying the chain and handcuffs out with him.

Mile let out a small sigh of relief, pleased to have his restraints gone -- and Oron as well. The villa guard followed Oron out, leaving Mile and Kiran.

Kiran spoke before exiting himself. "We'll be outside, Mile." He paused, frowning at himself and quickly adding, "Domarc."

Mile laughed softly at the other and watched him leave. He was alone again.

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A couple of weeks had gone by since the relocation, and Mile found himself in a rut. He had just begun physical therapy for his shoulder, but the days felt long and boring. There was a nurse that came on a daily basis and a doctor once a week, but otherwise he didn't get much human interaction. The villa was fully staffed with guards, housekeepers and cooks, but they all seemed to be under orders to limit their interactions with him.

He had also not yet regained his memories, and was extremely frustrated that he had no information about his fellow rebel soldiers. He often thought about his friends. Cerys. Ryfe. Were they okay? Had they been captured as well? The tight knit group of people at the core of the rebellion had become his family. Not knowing their fates made him increasingly anxious and angry, and he began to act out, refusing food and treatment and ignoring orders from his guards to cooperate. He reached the point where he was ready to fight if he needed to.

After four days of this noncompliance, it seemed he was finally about to get some answers.

He was sitting on the sofa in his room one afternoon after refusing lunch, staring at the ceiling. He heard the door open and someone approach him. He fully expected it to be Kiran, there to implore him to eat. Kiran seemed to care more than the others, and Mile actually felt guilty to be causing the younger man stress.

"I've been told you're no longer cooperating."

Mile looked over, surprised to hear the familiar voice.

Symond Welles stood before him, looking at him sternly. Mile sat up on the sofa to face the general. He ignored his comment.

"Where am I? Why am I here?"

He honestly didn't expect the man that had become his rival to answer him.

"You are in my home, Domarc. You are here because the rebellion has been conquered as of last month, and you are a prisoner of war."

Mile froze, images of fire flooding back to him abruptly. The chaos that had overtaken Lightley. People running around. The smell of houses burning. Facing the royal army. His broken shoulder. And ... no. Fuck no.

He was unable to hide his pained expression. After a moment he spoke.

"You killed Cerys."

"I did no such thing. I was informed that he went out fighting. He would not cooperate. He took out a few of my good men."

Mile said nothing for a moment, but then asked again, "why am I here?"

Symond paused, understanding the younger man wanted a deeper answer.

"You are here because I have claimed you as my slave. It was between that and death."

"Then I choose death," Mile said quickly.

"You choose nothing. It was never up to you."

"I will serve no one. I will die before I succumb to a life of slavery."

Symond turned abruptly and walked to the door. He called out to the two guards, beckoning them over. They entered the room, eyes on the general.

"I want one of you in here with him at all times. I'm placing him on suicide watch. Restrain him if he tries to harm himself. Inform me if he has not yet eaten by the end of this week and I will arrange for a feeding tube."

"Sir!" Both men said in unison.

Mile was aghast. He seethed and glared at the man who took one final look at him. As an afterthought he said, "you may all speak freely to him now and answer any further questions he might have." Then he left.

Mile hated everyone and everything.

From that point forward, he offered the minimal amount of cooperation he could get away with to avoid drastic measures being taken against him. He ate the smallest amount of food he could manage, and begrudgingly complied with his physical therapist. He found himself slipping into a deep depression and opted to sleep most of the day.

But he couldn't even find relief in that now, his brain seemed bent on torturing him, offering up images of fire and death and his murdered best friend as he slept. There seemed to be no escape from his torment.

This period of inactivity went on for about another month, when one morning he found himself woken abruptly by the general himself.

"Up, Domarc."

Mile was surprised to see him. The general rarely came to this part of the villa. Mile was beginning to wonder if he actually even lived here. He frowned and looked up at the older man.

Symond grabbed his arm and pulled him from where he lay.

"No more of this. I'm tired of the sulking around and self defeating behavior. Get up."

Mile stood before him, obviously aggravated.

"Get dressed."

The younger man frowned and stood firm, staring down the general.

"Now."

They stood in an intense battle of wills, eyes locked. Eventually Mile softened, understanding he really had no choice. He averted his gaze and turned to fetch his clothes.

Symond smiled to himself, pleased that the other had buckled so quickly under his gaze.

"Your arm is doing better?" he called to Mile. "How long have you been without the sling?"

"About three weeks."

Symond nodded in approval.

Once dressed, Symond led him out the back doors of the villa. Mile had never been out here before. It opened up into a lovely curated garden area with a shaded pavilion and hedges all around. They stopped in an open area on the grass.

Mile looked confused as the general turned to face him.

"Fight me."

"Wha -- what?"

"Your injury and inertia have made you waste away. Plus you have no outlet for your energy and anger. It is obviously taking a toll on you. So spar with me."

Mile frowned. The man wasn't wrong. His muscles had atrophied pretty significantly, he barely recognized himself in the mirror.