The Rose Diaries Ch. 13.5

Disclaimer and Notes: The Rose Diaries is an incredibly dark story focusing on forced (heavy emphasis on "forced") feminization of a completely non-compliant individual. There are elements of non-consent, violence, and dark subject matters. In addition, this story depicts dysphoria, dissociation, and general depression.

I hope you do enjoy this chapter if you decide to continue reading. If you do enjoy this chapter, please leave a comment/feedback and let me know!

Act 2 will have fleeting moments of intense physical violence. I will give more warning when it is present in the chapter. It is in general darker than Act 1.

WARNING THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MOMENTS OF INTENSE PHYSICAL VIOLENCE.

Thank you. *****

Before he was Doll. Before he had went on that fateful date. Before he met Ted, Danny, or Charles. Before all of it. He was the youngest child of a perfectly nuclear family. There was his mother, Nicole Baker, an always caring doting mother who made sure that no one felt uncomfortable in her house. She was a musician by trade and filled his house with beautiful melodies ever since he was a child. He remembered staring into her blue eyes as she sung lullabies to him and assured him there were no such thing as monsters.

How wrong she was now.

There was his father, Thomas Baker, a soft-spoken and gentle man who loved his family more than anything else. He provided for them and was there every evening to join them at the dinner table. His father was not one for violence nor discipline. At best, he was given a stern talking to. At worst, he'd be grounded for a period of time. Every Friday, he'd bring home pizza for the four of them to enjoy on the couch in the living room. He'd put on a movie that he had rented and tell awful terrible jokes on the couch during it. He had his faults but like his wife, Thomas made sure that all were welcome in the Baker household.

That was the man that Peter chose to remember. Not the man his father had become. A broken shell of a man who could gave unwanted praise, showered anyone with tributes for their affection, and lay down underneath anyone's heel.

Finally, there was Oscar Baker. Oscar had his grandfather's genes because he certainly did not come from the same stock that he did. He had soft blonde hair and his mother's eyes. People would constantly say how handsome he was and how he'd grow up to be such a man one day. Which, of course, he did. Peter never cracked six foot, but his brother did. His brother was an athlete, a scholar, and always popular. He was everything that Peter was not. He inherited his father's ingenuity, his mother's compassion and was molded by the love of nearly everyone who saw him. He excelled where Peter failed. He soared to greatness while Peter could barely hop.

It was not uncommon for those who did not know the Bakers to balk at the idea of them being brothers. True, they shared similar features and the same joyful energy, but they were like night and day physically. Oscar tried his hardest to shelter his little brother and to help him thrive. But Peter, for as long as he stayed in his home town, was always shrouded by his brother's imposing shadow.

It had taken him years to realize that this place was stagnating his growth. That his neighborhood had no place for someone like Peter Baker. So, when his father fell into a depression and his older brother was trying to become the new man of the house, he decided to run.

Yet, here he was. Back in the town he grew up in and back where it simply all began. He caught his breath as his voice died down to a mewl from an ear shattering scream. Mrs. Tyson's face was twisted into a scowl of displeasure as she removed her hands from her ears.

"Do that again," She spoke slowly through clenched teeth. "And I will seal your mouth shut." He nodded at her command as his eyes returned back to the scene unfolding in front of him. Oscar had grandiose dreams of helping the world and their mother's death had only spurred him along faster. By the age of eighteen, he had written an award-winning essay on the effects it had on their happy household. He was always a people person. Able to sway individuals, crowds, and seas of people into believing in him. Peter was always happy to be by himself. He lacked any natural charisma, but he could always make people laugh.

Oscar spoke with passion infused into his every word. His voice was the sort of diplomats and politicians. So, it did not surprise Peter in the slightest to see his brother undergoing another crusade for the good people of Crestwood. As they got closer, he could hear them chanting his name. He flashed a bright smile to the bright lights of cameras and the photographers themselves. Peter smiled as he read one of the signs proudly displayed in the town window.

Oscar Baker for Mayor. His brother had really hit the big time, hadn't he?

The limousine pulled away from the main road at once before pulling into a darkened spot behind the local pizzeria. Near the same alleyway that he would cross to get the public school not even five blocks away.

Crestwood was more so a village than a town. It belonged to primarily affluent families though there were a few who lived in the middle and lower class. Nothing as opulent as Blackstone but still comfortable. As a child, he remembered it being so big. There was Main Street where all the restaurants, banks, city hall, and the movie theatre lied. Then was a scattering of convenience stores and the one supermarket. Finally, the houses that everyone lived in.

Now, he saw it for what it truly was. A miniscule spec in the vast landscape of his home state.

"Get out." Mrs. Tyson barked once more. He flinched at the sound of her voice before nodding to confirm he heard her before she could order him around once more. He reached out for the door handle beside him slowly but found when it came time to leave, he couldn't do it. His body froze in place unwilling, unable, and rebelling against the very notion taking one step out. He couldn't fathom it. He couldn't be willing to face his brother like, like...

Well, like this. In a pastel pink and white dress, stripper high-heels, and made up to look like a fucking whore. Not to mention the collar fastened tightly around his neck and the mannerisms and appearance that he was forced to uphold when Mrs. Tyson was near. They may have been in public but if he knew anything about Blackstone. They didn't care about that. One slip up and they would bring his brother into all this.

"Get. Out." She stressed her hand curling around her door handle. She narrowed her eyes at him watching his every move.

"I can't." He sighed. "I can't do it." She didn't move an inch from her spot. Just continued to glare deep into his soul.

"Are you disobeying me, Doll?"

"No, Mrs. Tyson." He shook his head as his legs trembled. "I just can't-"

"Is there door broken? Is the handle stuck? Do you need me to repeat myself once more? You will vacate this vehicle at once, little girl, are we understood?" He nodded again. "Then why are you sitting here still?" He took a deep breath and tapped his fingertips against the handle once more.

"I can't." He repeated quietly. She scowled as she opened her door and stepped out into the warm summer air.

"Take a moment to compose yourself then exit the vehicle, Doll." She said before closing the door behind her. He watched her walk towards the front of the car then vanish from his view. He inhaled the stale semi-perfumed air of the limousine's interior and then exhaled deeply. As hard as he tried, he couldn't seem to get his body to obey. He couldn't get any muscle to move an inch from his seat. Oscar was just a few moments away. The brother he knew since he was born. The brother who helped him with his math homework since he was seven years old. The same brother who picked him up out of the dirt when the neighborhood bullies pushed him down.

He took another deep breath and steadied his own shaking bodies. With dread and fear on his lips, he pulled the door handle and pushed the door open. Crestwood was usually fairly warm in the summer and on this day, it was no exception. A bit drafty though he could place the blame sorely on the short skirt of the dammed dress.

"What a quaint little place." Mrs. Tyson chuckled from next to him. He shot a glance at her to see her slowly placing the collar's remote back into her pocket. "I like it."

"You seem like the type. I take it you don't live in Blackstone?" He shut the door behind him being careful not to get a heel stuck in the cracks in the pavement. It was already hard enough to walk in these but now it seemed that even the ground would betray him and form an obstacle course beneath his feet.

"I used to." He swore he saw her smile at his question. "Long time ago. But I settled down somewhere else." He could hear the noise from the down the street.

"What did you do there?" He asked her as he leaned against the car.

"Do?" She chuckled. "Oh, I didn't do anything."

"But you lived there?" He raised an eyebrow at her reaction.

"Yes."

"So, you weren't a Miss?" She laughed out loud loudly at that.

"Me? No, no. I would never be associated with training you filthy whores. I lived there. No strings attached."

"Why would you choose to live in Blackstone?"

"Blackstone is opulent, secluded, and massive. Back before your generation, it was quite nice. Are you done stalling?"

"Stalling?" He scoffed. "I just was curious."

"You were curious about me?" She leaned against the car and crossed her arms.

"Yeah? Is that so hard to believe?"

"Don't you take that tone with me." Her smile faded as any sort of connection faded from her eyes.

"Tone?" She stood back up and dusted her suit off before motioning him to follow.

"You know damn well," She muttered before walking down the street and away from him. "Now walk!" She barked as he struggled to follow.

"I didn't have a tone." He spoke as he caught up to her heels.

"Yes, you did. You always have a tone, Doll. It's one of insolence and disrespect. I suggest you fix that issue before you try to mention sincerity."

"I don't have a tone!" He groaned. "God, all you Blackstone women are the fucking same."

"Language." She hissed from in front of him. He groaned again angrily.

"You know women curse now, Mrs. Tyson."

"Oh, I know." She laughed. "But you aren't a woman, Doll. You're a thing." He clenched his fists once again as he followed her on to Main Street. He watched her walk. She was confident and aggressive in her stride. Her black pumps easily maneuvering over the cracked city pavement. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and stopped shortly at the corner. He stood beside her quietly towering over her by a few inches in his ridiculous stilettoes. His legs trembled slightly as he clenched the hem of his dress and pulled it lower to cover more of his legs. He couldn't help it. Every moment he stood in this ridiculous outfit in plain view of his home town and old neighbors, he just wanted to curl up into a ball and die.

"Why are we waiting?" He growled watching the empty streets with a bewildered look. It was primarily closed off. No cars came or went past the pizzeria and yet, Mrs. Tyson stood erect and still just staring out into the distance.

"I'm just taking a moment to enjoy watching you stand bewildered on a street corner." She smiled before moving on. Peter rolled his eyes as he quickly strut after her careful not to trip or stumble. He watched his brother from afar begin to descend the steps of the Town Hall. There were flashes of cameras and applause from the crowd. He waved to them with a blinding smile as a woman grabbed hold of his arm. She was beautiful with the same white smile and golden hair. She wore a crème white dress that hugged her hourglass frame as she waved with the practiced motion of a royal. The crowd parted to let them through fully while the shutters continued to barrage them from all angles. They walked perfectly in sync and even laughed at the same time. It was truly uncanny to watch. Oscar bent down to whisper something in her ear which caused her to laugh loudly. Mrs. Tyson picked up her pace slightly. He gazed into the crowd who shook Oscar's hand or waved. But what really caught his attention was the woman.

Cause she looked right past the entire crowd and directly at him. It was just a glance. Just a quick peek before addressing the eyes of the citizens of Crestwood but he noticed it all the same. She had looked deliberately at him. Not past him. Not over him. She looked directly at him.

Eventually, both he and Mrs. Tyson found their place towards the end of the line of those waiting to speak. He winced while his stomach engaged with an argument with his heart over which one wanted to hurt more. His stomach turned and flipped as the acidic seas raged within him both out of emptiness and fear. His body trembled with each step his brother took towards him. His chest grew tight and sore as his heart beat so far, he swore that was going to explode. He gasped quietly for breath as his fingers twitched. He had to be careful about what happened next. He had to isolate Oscar and tell him. He had to get help. Otherwise, Mrs. Tyson was sure to hurt Oscar and him. He didn't know how. But today was not quite the day for details.

"I trust I can count on your vote?" He heard Oscar's voice ring out from beside him. Oscar had their father's voice. It was not deep or imposing. But light and full of warmth and security. He was charming in the way that only a politician could be. Using eye contact and honeyed words with a warm tone to put anyone at ease.

Besides, Peter, of course who was more preoccupied with not throwing up bile all over his older brother's shoes. The man beside Mrs. Tyson shook his hand with vigor as he nodded.

"Of course, Oscar, I mean Mr. Baker."

"Please Mr. Lake," Oscar laughed. "You've known me since I was a boy. Mr. Baker is my father." Peter remembered Mr. Lake hazily. He was a rough mean old man who lived on the corner of Jefferson road. His house, a pristine two-story with a well-manicured lawn, was his most prized possession. He was the neighborhood grouch. The sort of man who would yell curses at the neighborhood kids for even looking in the direction of his lawn.

"Of course, of course." Mr. Lake laughed with him.

"Thank-"Oscar stopped as he gazed at the two of them. He looked a bit bewildered but then simply laughed it off and took Mrs. Tyson's extended hand.

"Mrs. Tyson! You surprised me!" His brother chuckled shaking his head. Peter felt his heart shatter in that very moment. Of course, this is what this was.

"Please, Mr. Baker, or should I say Mr. Mayor?" She laughed back.

"I haven't won yet! But with a generous donor such as yourself, how could I?" Peter felt his blood run cold. Every sentence made his situation make more and more sense.

Oscar Baker was running on campaign funds from Blackstone and Blackstone was going to use his brother against him.

"Of course! Can I introduce you to my daughter, Sarina?" Mrs. Tyson gave him a gentle pat on the back. "She's a bit shy but-"

"Hey Oscar." Peter spat out quickly. He couldn't give up without trying, could he?

"Hey Sarina." He chuckled awkwardly extending a hand. "Your mom is a good woman. Be nice to her, okay?"

"Oh, I doubt she will." Mrs. Tyson laughed. "Sarina's a bit of a rebel."

"That right?" He rubbed his chin. "Well, I'm shocked to see you here at one of my smaller rallies. Would you two be interested in joining my partner and I for a drink?"

"Oh, we'd be delighted." She smiled.

"Excellent! I'd also be delighted to show you around the old Baker house. Again, thank you so much for your contribution. None of this would be a reality without your family and I would love to show you mine. Um, come to twenty-nine maple street in an hour." He smiled. Peter gazed at his brother in bewilderment.

"Do you not recognize me?" He asked quietly but Oscar just continued to smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." The woman offered the two of them before she glanced around.

"The feeling is beyond mutual." Mrs. Tyson smiled before turning on her heels. "We'll see you in an hour." She took hold of Peter's hand as she turned and began to walk away.

"Cute boy." She laughed. "Amazing what money will buy you these days."

"You financed Oscar?" He nearly whispered in bewilderment.

"I gave that boy mere pennies." She was clearly amused by his question. "So, finance is a bit of a stretch. He has other donors. Like most politicians, and you Doll, he's in bed with many suitors. If I remember correctly most of his election fund comes from the populace. Mayor Donovan isn't as popular as he'd like you to believe. Ah," She exclaimed with a laugh as they walked back down the side-street and to the limousine once more. "Look at me talking about small town politics with a whore. What a life!"

It might have been the first time he heard her genuinely laugh. Not a chuckle. Not a small sarcastic laugh accompanied by a smirk. Nor a lie. But a full-blown explosion of sheer amusement at her own words. He could only stand there and watch as this raven-haired woman with soft features and a face that may have suggested beauty once upon a time howl with laughter.

There was nothing that possibly could have terrified him more than seeing Mrs. Tyson delighted at absolute nonsense. Bartholomew was standing outside the door and ready to receive the both of them back into the vehicle. He graciously opened the backdoor for the two of them as they approached and bowed his head slightly.

"Thank you, Bartholomew." Mrs. Tyson smiled as she hopped back into the vehicle.

Peter stopped walking as he saw her vanish into the car.

"How much is she paying you that you can look the other way?" He addressed him for the first time. Almost immediately, Bartholomew's eyes were focused and narrowed in on him.

"Enough." He answered in a low sort of growl as he continued to hold open the door.

"Enough to forget about all the misery and pain that she causes? Enough to participate in this demented game?"

"We all got bills to pay." He nodded towards the interior of the car. "Best not to keep her waiting." Peter clenched his teeth together before giving Bartholomew a small nod in agreement. He entered the vehicle to see Mrs. Tyson taking the seat on the center. He shuffled in further before taking her old seat.

"You'd be amazed," She smiled flicking open a compact mirror and examining her reflection with a smile. "At what people will do for money."

Peter threw up his hands before lying down across the seats.

"I think I'm all out of amazement, Mrs. Tyson." He sighed.

"Bartholomew, please drive us to twenty-nine maple street." She called as the car started up once more. He rolled his eyes as they pulled away from the alleyway and returned past main street.

He closed his eyes and followed the car along its path in his imagination. He knew the route by heart. He knew every turn, stop, and signal. This was his home and he was damned if he'd let her torment him here. Their destination was not long, and in a few moments, they turned on to Oak Lane and he knew that they were just a step away from his house. He felt the car turn once more and inhaled deeply. They were here.

The house that was built on twenty-ninth maple street was not the smallest or the biggest of the town. It was modest. As modest as Crestwood was at least. Growing up, he thought this house was small. But seeing the white two-storey house where he was raised still in the flesh once again, he reconsidered. A small part of him still thought it small even though all evidence both physical and mental argued otherwise. He pressed his face against the glass of the window as he poured over every little change.