Shedding

This is a direct sequel to my story Submissive Skin. The events in this one won't make sense without reading that one first. Both pieces were inspired by a series of vivid dreams I had and the apparently random perspective shifts are meant to emulate the awkward transitions between one dream and the next.

*****

It's 4 am and I can't sleep. Memories, fantasies, obsessions, and a burning itch conspire to keep me awake. At least, I think I'm awake. Honestly, it's too hard to tell, nowadays. Perhaps I'm dreaming thinking I'm awake. It wouldn't be the first time. I doubt it will be the last.

What does it mean to be awake, anyway? Doctors, psychologists, and philosophers all have different possible explanations. I'm neither. I just drive a taxi, try to live my life the best way possible, yet my life is one gigantic mess, and the wheels of Fate keep rolling in the same direction. I've been in a crash before. Another one is in store for me, I can feel it.

I suppose I should tell you I'm crazy. I've been told I'm crazy. I've been told that being crazy is the least of my problems. It's strange to think it, even stranger to type it, and even stranger to say it out loud. I said it once because I was forced to. My psychiatrist wants me to say it again.

Yes, I have a shrink. And I do feel my brain cells shrinking whenever we're together. There's a white chair in the center of an obscured room and a man's face peers at me from the darkness.

He calls himself Dr. Black. The irony makes me laugh considering he's albino. He sports a half-moon smile in a full-moon face and piercing almond eyes that see this world and the next. He sits behind a desk almost as big as the room though it's almost as if he's fused to the furniture itself. That's all I can see though for most of his features lay hidden behind a blanket of smoke. He can't go without three packs of cigarettes a day, or so he says. He says a lot of things and most of them aren't interesting at all. I genuinely dislike him and the only reason I didn't use the word "hate" is because I'm trying to keep my emotions in check. Still, the moment he opens his cracked, dry lips to speak once again, I know I will fail. I hope you like explosions.

"Hello again, Steven," he begins. "How are you feeling today? Have you been dreaming with the man on fire?"

Yes... and no. Some images still linger in my brain, fragments of fragments wrapped in even more fragments to make me question the veracity of it all. I know I was turned into a living cinder yet I also know it didn't happen. I'm not supposed to talk about things that didn't happen. She doesn't want me to. She...

"Not in a chatty mood today?"

That's right. I don't want to talk to you, Dr. I never do. I can't recall why I came to your office the first time, truth be told. The fact that I continue to show up three times a week is yet another strange realization in a series of strange realizations. Will they ever end or is the cycle destined to repeat itself forever?

"I'm waiting for the hour to go by..." I confess, turning my eyes to where I believe a window should be. There's only a slit on the wall, not big enough for a panoramic view yet the building's ghostly outlines linger there. The city outside is even darker than my state of mind. I scratch my left arm. The itch remains.

"Let's talk about that itch..."

"No, let's not," I dismiss him. I ask for a cigarette myself but the rules are different for the both of us.

"I think we should. It's obviously bothering you."

"Nothing bothers me more than you."

"That's flattering," he mocks me. "You're a good liar, Steven."

"I think you have the upper-hand there."

"When have I ever lied to you?"

"When have you not? You want me to admit something I can't admit. I won't do that. I'm not crazy. I know I'm not."

"What you think you know and what you know about something can be two very different things, Steven. No one wants you to say something you don't want to say yourself."

I laugh, I grin, I kick the chair away. There must be a door out of here yet it's blocked from sight. A puff of smoke hits my eyes. I scratch my arm again. This time, it's the right one.

"I will have to insist. Why do you keep doing that?" He asks.

"It's not mine. I want it gone!" I scream. From the corner of my eye, I glimpse lanky, humanoid figures standing all around us, observing the interactions taking place. I blink and when I do so again, they're gone.

"Your arm is not yours?"

"My skin is not mine. She gave it to me. She uses it to..."

"... control you, yes, of course," Dr. Black glances at his papers. "I have to say the idea of something called 'submissive skin' is fascinating. A delusion, naturally, but still fascinating."

"I'm not crazy!"

"I didn't say you were. That word came from you, Steven. There must be a reason for you to like that word a lot, don't you agree?"

"How long has it been?" I ask.

"Five minutes. We're only getting started today."

"Make the clock go faster. I need to get out of here."

"I can't do that any more than I can corroborate your conspiracy theories. These sessions are for your own good, Steven."

"I've heard that before but I don't believe you. You're working for her, aren't you? Be honest with me once in your life: are you working for Olya? Better yet, are you Olya by any chance?"

"I see you're projecting once again... fascinating," he scribbles something on a little red notebook. Every time I'm in this room with him, I keep trying to take a glance at his notes but everything goes blank when I do. This isn't normal. It's not just my skin that isn't mine. My thoughts are in complete disarray, a fireworks show gone wrong. The itch intensifies.

"I'm not..."

"I know what you're about to say but please don't. Denial only makes your recovery take longer. Is that what you want? To spend even more time with me, here?"

"I already said I want this to be over!" I shout, uncontained fury about ready to do something stupid or worse. I bang my head against his desk but I feel no pain. I'm growing numb save for the desire to scratch my arms off until they're but a pile of blood and goo.

"So you have and yet your actions don't match your words. You're not helping yourself so how am I supposed to help you? Olya isn't real, Steven. She never was. When the human mind goes through a traumatic experience just like yours has, flights of fancy become frequent and, sometimes, degenerate into paranoia. You know this is true."

"If she's not real, then how come she talked to me yesterday, huh?"

His interest is piqued. The surrounding figures appear once more, alien shadows as impossible as everything else. I hate them, too. I hate myself for being trapped with them.

"Did she? Please tell me more. When did you see her? What happened yesterday?"

"I..."

... was driving around aimlessly, waiting for my next customer, eyes focused on everything but the road ahead. Restless horns and roving vehicles passed me by, a blur of people lost in their dull routines. I stopped near an intersection - can't remember which one - the itch stronger than ever, smoke coming out of my fingers. I didn't notice the back door opening, the woman getting inside. I just heard her voice, and the buzz coming out of the tablet she uses to control me.

"Hello, slave."

"Slave?" Dr. Black repeats the word back at me. If he's trying to make me even angrier, he's succeeding.

"It's what I am to her, I told you that already."

"Of course, how silly of me," the pen scratches the notebook adding more fuel to the madness fire. "Please continue. What happened next?"

I froze, that's what happened. I froze because her words are a trigger I can't get away from and because my skin is programmed that way. I tried to look back, but I was a statue once again, rigid veins popping out, cock hard and submissive the way she wanted.

"What are you doing here?" I muttered. It's too hard to talk straight, an acute pain searing my neck and vocal chords.

"I came to check up on you, of course. You're my greatest success. You did well coming to pick me up just like I told you."

"I don't remem..."

"I know." She chuckles. "You were not supposed to, but now you do."

"What do you want, Olya?"

"Basic respect, for starters. Is that any way to address your creator, Subject 410? Let's try this again."

As she adjusts the settings of my programming on the fly, I discover deferential words coming out of my lips. God, how I loathe them so much! "How may I serve you, Mistress?"

"That's more like it. Tell me what you've been up to."

"I've been having dreams. I remember everything you did."

"Everything?"

"For the most part, yes. What you did to me, this..."

"... gift?"

"Aberration."

"You're being disrespectful again," she growls.

Have you ever masturbated in public, your hands moving independently from the rest of your body? I did, the humiliating rush as obnoxious as irresistible. Strong strokes. Vigorous strokes. Alternating hands and thoughts as defiance grew soft. "Fuck!"

"This is so much fun. It's unfortunate you're remembering things you shouldn't but you'll be happy to know there are more of you out in the world now."

"What?"

"It's true. Mass production is real, new slaves are being created every day. I wouldn't be surprised if you already met one or two during your trips."

It's the worst thing I could hear, the nightmare blown out of proportion. If I could stop jacking off, I would have killed her on the spot but instead...

"I think that's enough," Dr. Black concludes, his pen talking louder than my memories.

"But I haven't even got to the worst..."

"Steven, if I allow you to continue, your delusion will keep on growing. Ever heard of the snowball effect? It's what's happening right now. Misery loves company and so does folly. The thought of you being the only one that believes in the existence of submissive skin is too much to handle so your psyche is fracturing itself to accommodate a deeper level of insanity. The worst part is that look on your face that tells me you will continue to fight the obvious. I understand that a mind control conspiracy is fun to consider but actually giving it credence? No, this must stop now."

"What are you saying?"

"You'll have to be committed to an institution, of course. I thought I was helping you but it's growing fairly obvious I'm not for if I was, you would have accepted how ridiculous your claims are instead of the opposite. I know it's cruel, but it has to be done."

"No, you can't..."

He can, he will, I'm sure. I'm punished for lying, punished for telling the truth. I didn't ask to be a guinea pig; I didn't ask to be turned into something other than a human. I need to break this sequence right now, I need to...

"Wake up!"

It's 4 am and I can't sleep. Memories, fantasies, obsessions, and a burning itch conspire to keep me awake. I blink in bed, the red numbers on the alarm clock perfectly still. I'm in my house, or a dream-like replica. I don't remember ever having yellow pillows and I wouldn't buy coriander candles even if they were the only thing left on sale in the world. At least, all of my Star Wars posters still embellish the walls. I should have got rid of them a long time ago but too strong is the fandom in me, I guess.

"Wake up!"

I don't know who said that although the woman straddling my chest is the most obvious choice. She has delicate Asian features and a cute little mole by her lower lip. The pink negligee she's wearing leaves little to the imagination and I already know my imagination can go places. Her breasts are small but just about right for a good groping. Instinctively, I go for them, and I'm slapped on the spot. A dream slap hurts as much as the real thing. I feel she's upset with me but why?

"You can't scream like that. You'll wake up everyone," she says, an admonishment that's meant to be comforting at the same time.

"When did I scream?"

"Just now. Were you dreaming with the man on fire again?"

"I don't thin... wait, who are you?"

"That wasn't funny the first time you pulled it off, and it's still not funny today, Steven."

Perhaps not but humor is something not even Gods comprehend and all the things I say and think stopped making sense a long time ago. I've done this before - jumping from dream to dream, not knowing when to stop. I'm doing it again. I'm a glutton for confusion and it wants to devour me whole.

"I'm serious. You look familiar and yet it's also the first time we're seeing one another. At least, that's what my guts are telling me."

"Your guts say the most idiotic things, sometimes. It's dumb, but it's also one of the reasons I love you."

Love. A beautiful word, a dangerous drug. It is a chemical construct, the most powerful of addictions. This enticing Asian deity loves me and I'm supposed to love her too, two junkies wrapped in each other's arms until Oblivion conquers all. It sounds about right, perfection embodied but I don't believe in perfect things. As much as I enjoy looking at her and the sensations she awakens underneath, I need to push her away.

"You were about to tell me your name."

"Fine, I'll play your silly game again. I'm..."

"Guan-yin."

"You're such a jerk," she grins as her white teeth draw closer for a bite. "Why did you ask if you were going to...?"

"I just remembered," I retort, her name flashing in my brain in round, neon letters. "Guan-yin, my beautiful angel, Goddess of Mer..."

"No, I won't show you any mercy if you keep this up. I'm worried about you, Steven."

"Worried about what?"

"Your fantasies keep getting worse," she notes before snuggling next to me. "Can you even tell what's real and what's not?"

No, I can't. Could you if your memories kept shifting, phasing? And this god-damned itch! No matter how much I scratch, bite, try to peel off all the visible and invisible layers, it's always there. It will always be there unless the man on fire leaves me alone.

"It must be the other way around."

"Huh?"

"The man on fire isn't real. Submissive skin isn't real. This is what you've always been."

"I didn't say a thing."

"You were going to," she shrugs. "I saved you the trouble. Still, I know a doctor you should see to help you with that."

"Let me guess, his name is Black."

"Yes, and you know what's funny? He's actually an..."

"... albino. Yes, we've already met."

"You have? When?"

"In another dream or perhaps another fantasy you created for me. Nice try, Olya."

She cocks her head and eyes me like a wounded animal. I'm still the prey though even when all the ruses become clear. Things are about to change one more time. In fact, they already did.

"Why do you keep doing this, Steven?" She asks, her fake Ukrainian accent grating my ears.

"Fighting your traps? Am I still in your fucking lab right now?"

"And if you are...?"

"Then at least I'm not crazy."

"You are what you believe to be. Open your eyes then."

I thought they were open and yet I was wrong once more. My eyelids flutter when a strong, white light hits them and my world becomes a nightmare of lab coats, needles, and masks. I'm naked, strapped to a revolving chair, a metal collar around my neck, stroboscopic helmet covering my shaved scalp and obscuring half my sight. The twenty-five inch pole between my legs is definitely my cock, erect beyond control. A plastic fac-simile of it rams the seat beneath me, tearing a new hole in my ass. Both are being pumped simultaneously, while monitors beep everywhere and spew charts of random information I'm not supposed to understand. There are new faces observing me, all women, most in their twenties. Trainees I'm guessing, the next generation of willingly deviant "experts" waiting for their chance to shine.

"My greatest achievement and also my greatest failure," Olya says. She's to my right, wearing a V-neck short-sleeved jumpsuit in shades of blue. Standing next to her is the woman they surely based my impressions of Guan-yin on. No albino doctor in sight though, a shame really.

"So sorry to disappoint you," I laugh.

"Why don't you accept the life we give you? Why do you keep remembering and coming back here?"

Rhetorical questions I'm sure but ones I'm tempted to answer. A) Because the world is littered with fake news and fake memories and I don't want to believe in any more lies; B) Because your creation isn't as good as you think. Changing my skin is one thing, changing my whole persona with no repercussions is another; C) because you're cocky, think you can cut corners with this experiment and you probably did at some point; D) Because...

"This is unacceptable!" She shouts to no one in particular even though all the other scientists in the room feel her wrath. "We can't keep going back to square one. I want him permanently brainwashed as soon as possible."

"And I want a million dollars..." I laugh, the collar pushing against my throat to punish my insolence. "What's the matter? Is control slipping away from you?"

"Shut up! Slaves aren't allowed to speak unless spoken to."

"But I'm not your slave, Olya. At least not right now. I'm resisting you. I'm shedding."

"Why are we wasting so much time with this... prototype?" the other woman asks. "We have other servants already in place. We should cut our losses and..."

"All other variations were created based on the integration of his DNA with the compound. If the submissive skin's integrity can't be maintained at one hundred percent in the original, the others will eventually revert as well. We can't let that happen! I've wasted too much time and money already to watch it all go down the drain."

"The investors need not know this. Let's suppose there was an accident..." the Asian smiles while others feign a short-lived shock.

"The man on fire all over again?"

"He came to us straight from a car crash. I say he should leave us the same way."

"You're brave, I have to admit."

"That's why you hired me, Dr."

"And what happens when the others fail?"

"By the time that happens - if it happens - we'll be long gone. And we can always start again somewhere else."

"That's actually a good point."

"I know."

"Up to you, Steven. Are you going to be a good boy and accept indoctrination or is it time for us to finally part ways?"

"Do your worst. Anything is better than being your puppet."

"In that case..."

I should be surprised, but I'm not. Money buys everything yet no one wants to buy failures and when sweeping them under the rug isn't enough... No amount of conditioning will ever change this simple fact of life. There's only one thing missing to put an end to this charade.

"Steven?"

Ah, there you are, Dr. Black. Even though you're not real and I don't believe anything you say, it was nice of you to show up again.

"I'm sorry it had to come down to this. If only you had behaved..."

Yes, of course it's all my fault now. I'm the one to blame for being kidnapped, probed, prodded, forced to comply with the designs of a technology that has no right to exist. I begged to be raped, used as a footstool, walk like a robot and bark like a dog. I begged for all of this, my darkest fantasies brought to life, is that what you will say next?

"It's nothing personal, and I enjoyed the time we had together. Remember that before the fall."

It's 4 am and I can't sleep. Memories, fantasies, obsessions, and a burning itch conspire to keep me awake. I'm glued to the wheel, taxi dangling over a gaping ravine, dead skin flakes all over the passenger's seat. The man on fire and I are about to have another talk. It will be our last.