The Rose Diaries v02 Ch. 03

"Get up." Another woman spoke to him. Her voice was rough, brutish, and commanding. Whereas the first woman had a diplomatic flavor, this one was far more military than he would have preferred. Nevertheless, it still carried with it the unmistakable edge of authority. "Now."

He nodded to the dark, returning to his feet.

"Introduce yourself." The British woman commanded once again.

He couldn't ignore her this time. However, it was all he wanted to do at the moment.

"I," He licked his lips anxiously and shuffled back to the chair. "I don't know how."

The room snickered at him until someone loudly shushed them all back into silence.

He didn't hear a single deep voice amongst them, but he certainly heard quite a few women. Women, he guessed, that were all dressed like Miss K. and R.

"Bless your heart." Another voice called with a southern twang and overly sugary sentiment oozing from her words. "Seems you might've hit your head when you took that little tumble. Tell us about yourself, sweetheart."

"You can do it." This new woman's voice was soft, sweet, and quiet. She was not a diplomat or general. Instead, she spoke to him like a friend or even a lover. "I believe in you."

For the briefest of moments, he believed her too.

"Please." He pleaded with the dark. "I don't know what you want."

"Good choice." The British voice spoke with a certain amount of appreciation for his pleas. "Well done."

He couldn't help but look out with confusion.

What did they want?

"Where you coming from, Doll?" The country girl sang suddenly. His introduction seemed to have turned into an interview.

He hated those too.

"Pennsylvania."

"Oh yeah?" He heard the sound of someone moving in the dark

"Yeah."

"I was going to guess Florida."

"Florida? With this skin?" He couldn't help but let a small laugh escape at that joke.

"You got a low pain tolerance sweetie?" He balked at her question and instead strained his eyes once again to find the source of the voice.

"No."

This time he saw it. The little pink blur that smacked into his exposed thigh and sent a new surge of pain that made his knees nearly buckle. It was obvious that it was some sort of tiny paintball loaded with the same disgusting pigment that was splattered across his shoulder. He clenched his teeth in immediate response and gave a sharp hiss in response to the newly added ache to the menagerie of injuries he had been accumulating. A hiss was far better than the pathetic yelp that so desperately wanted to escape from between his shut lips.

Someone laughed loudly and cruelly at him from the shadows.

"Oh, I like you but don't you know it's wrong to lie?" This cunt was working on his last nerve but he swallowed his anger and slowly sat back down on the ground.

"I thought I did."

"Well, that's your first mistake. You shouldn't be thinking of anything."

"She's trouble." The British woman spoke with that same firm tone.

"I like trouble." The other woman said and the room laughed with howls of approval. "But you're not trouble are you, Doll?"

"I don't think so." He hadn't even glanced up at her now. He just kept his head down and continued to rub his leg in hopes that the stinging sensation would dissipate.

"What did I just tell you?" She laughed loudly. "Oh, you're going to be plenty trouble."

"How bout this? How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

There was silence and then he heard someone stand in the dark and begin to approach the stage.

Then his collar began to beep.

Peter had never felt the blood drain from his face so quickly at the mere prospect of being dumped back into that wretched helpless state that would surely follow. His heart raced and the pressure against his chest cavity grew at the idea that he would soon be choking for breath again.

"W-Wait!" He screamed out to the darkness. He braced himself for the second beep that would herald his despair but it didn't seem to come. He held his hands up in surrender and squeezed his eyes shut. Even that was not enough to escape the awful radiance of the spotlight.

But that beep never came.

"Yeah?"

"I'm eighteen." His words were as shaky as his body had now become. His body betrayed whatever strong façade he might've been able to establish.

"Final answer?"

"Y-Yes!" Both answers were technically correct. It was nearly halfway to his next birthday. What was the harm in rounding up?

"That's what I was looking for." The voice and the person it belonged departed further away. "Thank you."

"You knew?"

"Course I did." She scoffed. "I know everything about you."

"But then," He swallowed back bile again. "What's the point? Why even ask?"

"Oh, you sweet dumb little thing." The voice mocked him; each sound was sharp and gave birth to sparks of anger in him.

It made his skin crawl to be humiliated like this.

"You're thinking again." The British woman spoke. "I'd recommend against that."

"But-"

"Don't finish the thought." She said with a sigh. "It's against your best interest to do so."

"Why are you hiding still?" The southern bitch called out again. He raised an eyebrow before looking around.

"Hiding?" He answered with a puzzled look.

What the hell was she talking about?

"Move your hands."

"My hands?"

"Sweetie, I won't ask you twice." Her voice, while still remaining sweet, had somehow turned unmistakably sour.

He shot a glance down at his hands. One on the injured leg and the other...

No fucking way.

Peter raised his hand away from his crotch and back to his shoulder. He tried, he tried so hard, not to show them the absolute fury that he was repressing deep in his bowels at the action.

"You cold sweetheart?" She called and a few others laughed.

Oh, this absolute cunt.

Her insult did not go unnoticed and he swallowed more bile and hatred allowing himself only to slowly nod as if her question was sincere. He clenched his jaw shut to keep from screaming and steadied his own breath once again.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Miss K. reappeared next to him without a single word though she didn't even look at him. Instead, her emerald eyes were gazing out directly into the dark. Her face, usually stone cold and serious, was so much softer and she wore a small smile and true comfort that sparkled in her eyes. She clapped her hands together and he heard the other women quiet and shuffle in their seats in response to the sudden noise.

"Shall we wrap this meeting for tonight then?" Miss K.'s voice wasn't oozing authority as it always did. Instead, it was like she regarded Miss R. It was full of joy, comfort, and camaraderie. "Let's not get any more paint on the stage for poor Ivy's sake."

The room chuckled politely at that.

"All in favor?" Miss R.'s voice came from dangerously close by.

"Aye." The entire room called back.

"Penelope, Tara, and Maria." He took careful note of the names. Was that who he had been speaking to? "Your entries have been noted. Miss Roxanne and I will be assuming ownership for the rest of the evening while the votes are tallied. We will meet again tonight to discuss further."

He nearly jumped when Miss R. squatted down behind him and placed an arm around his shoulder.

"Let's go." She whispered in his ear.

He didn't fight her as she lifted him to his feet and draped the robe around him again before allowing her to escort him back towards the door.

The conversation from the dark picked back up and again before being swiftly silenced when the door slammed shut behind them both.

"All alone for the first time." She said dreamily leading him further into the room. "No one to call for help, no one to interrupt us, and no one to tell me no."

She sighed deeply before gently laying a kiss on his forehead.

"The fun we could have together Doll. But sadly, I made a promise to Kit-Kat, and I have to unfortunately keep it."

He searched inside his head of the locked vault where he had tossed all his frankly unpleasant memories of nearly three years of customer service. There were men with booming voices and a lack of manners, there were women with short haircuts and screeching voices who seemed to always be unhappy, and there were the demonic children who ran wild while their parents fucked off to go do literally anything else. There were know-it-alls, creeps, perverts, idiots, bullies, scammers, and even some people who seemed to get off on abusing him and the other employees.

Yet somebody like Miss R. was not amongst those people.

Those people, with all their faults, were bound loosely by social code. Some might have threatened to fight him, some might have actually done it, but none would do it so gleefully as Miss R. She wasn't angry, upset, or anything of the sort. But she took absolute pleasure in the concepts of pain and misery. The ideas of his failings gave her life and a twinkle in her eye.

She lived for it.

She savored it.

She embodied it.

Miss R. was a demon. Her voice, her words, and the way she moved did nothing but make his blood run

cold and his anxiety rise. With a pretty girl like this all he would've wanted was to get closer to her but now?

All he wanted to was to stay far away from her.

The door opened back up and Miss K. took a jubilant stride back into their presence. She was clearly elated and her emerald eyes twinkled like stars in the darkness of Miss R.'s ever-deepening shadow.

"Not bad." Miss K. spoke continuing to walk past them both with purpose echoing in each of her steps. "I was surprised with your performance."

"What should we do now?" Miss R.'s voice was totally different. There was such deep love, appreciation, and kindness whenever she regarded her. It was so pure, so genuine, so disgustingly honest that his head hurt with how fast she could switch her entire personality.

"I suppose we'll have to clean up after our little art project." She smiled and extended a hand a door nestled between two vanities that he did not spy before. "After you two."

He followed Miss R.'s escort through the new portal further into the home. The doorway revealed an empty hallway with a single door at the end lit by much brighter lights than the one outside but otherwise nearly indistinguishable from the previous room. It was, much like everything else, perfectly maintained and clean. There was one thing that immediately grabbed and held his attention over everything else.

There was a security camera that immediately moved to keep them in focus as they entered. Though he had little time to admire it as he was continually led forward to the other door and then through it.

It was not an exaggeration to say that the next room was jail cell. There was a metal bedframe with a white mattress stacked on top. There was not a single pillow, blanket, or even a single item of comfort. There was, thankfully, a metal toilet located just off to the right of the bed with a sink nearby. Miss R. escorted him as far as the bed before giving him a hard shove on to it.

Peter was thankful to have a soft surface to land on this time and it was soft. Despite its rough exterior it

was like a cloud plucked from heaven and lay beneath him. It cradled every aching inch of him and he allowed himself to sink deeper and deeper into its embrace. He didn't even stop himself from releasing a long blissful sigh.

"Comfortable?" Miss K. laughed from nearby. "I can't say that I blame you."

He didn't answer her. If he had learned anything today it was that there was nothing good from answering any of them.

"Turn over or I will have to turn you over." He sighed and acquiesced to her demand. She was standing over him with a wet washcloth.

"You stained the bed!" Miss R. huffed. "Bad Dolly!"

"That is alright." Miss K. spoke softly as she sat down next to him on the bed. "That transgression is easily forgivable."

"It is?" Miss R.'s composure completely shattered in that moment into a mixture of confusion and betrayal. She stepped away from the bed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Of course." Miss K.'s voice continued to be quiet as she gently lowered herself over him and began to dab at his shoulder with the washcloth. He winced and tensed as the familiar pain from his tender flesh lanced through him once more.

"Roxanne, I need another warm towel." Miss R. threw up her hands with a shake of her head and walked off towards the sink.

"You might not believe me but I really am proud of you." Her voice, once full of menace, was now completely eclipsed by sincerity. Her movements continued to be slight and each pass of the warm wet cloth over his wounds made the pain begin to fade back into the recesses of his mind.

"You did exactly what you were asked." She paused. "With a little bit of coercion needed but still."

"She could've just obeyed." Miss R. scoffed handing off a white towel to her friend who handed her a newly colored pink towel in exchange.

"We all learn differently." She cooed gently scrubbing his thigh. "It would be cruel to expect her to know everything expected of her on the very first day."

"Of course." Miss R. shook her head and walked away.

"Don't sound too disappointed." She laughed at her friend. "You'll have others."

"What if I want her?"

"Oh Roxy," She turned to face her as her lips curled into a soft gentle smile. "Patience."

"The worst virtue." Miss R. groaned loudly. "The absolute fucking worst."

"That's what makes it a virtue." Her friend giggled. "If it were easy then it'd be a vice."

"Kit, that's not really how it works."

"And that's not how you pronounce 'Kat', Rox." Miss K. laughed sticking her middle finger up at the woman behind her.

"Ew!" Miss R. shouted back with disgust at the name. "Don't you dare!"

"Alright," Miss K. tossed the rag to her friend over her shoulder with a shake of the head. "I think we're done here."

"Good!" Miss R. was clearly elated as he was for the two of them to leave. "Want to go grab dinner?"

"One moment." Miss K. cupped his face as she made uncomfortably intimate eye contact. "Doll, I want you to know that you are being trusted to be alone in this room. You will do nothing but sleep and attend to your bodily functions if they arise. You may call for me or Miss Roxanne if you need but remember that trickery is harshly punished here. You've remained admirably silent since we left the stage but I am ordering you to speak. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss K." Peter nodded quickly. "I understand."

He would've agreed to most anything if it meant for her and her dog to leave his sight immediately.

"Good." She smiled and finally broke her dangerously long eye contact. "See you in the morning."

"Bye Dolly! Don't do anything too naughty!" Miss R. cried out jerking off the air in front of her with her hands. He shot her a short look of disgust then turned away from them both while her laughter nearly deafened him.

After a brief moment he waited.

He waited for more sound, more torment, more chaos. He waited for another misery to be inflicted upon him. He waited for the silence to surround him, envelop him, and finally shroud him.

Then Peter rolled over on to his face so that the only thing that he could possibly see was the mattress and then he began to scream.

His throat immediately burned with the effort but he pressed through any ounce of pain until it nearly tore him apart. His agony, his rage, his pure emotion blanketed the mattress in crashing waves of withheld despair. He screamed for as long as he could until all the breath in his lungs turned into a disgusting choked wail that created sound until even that failed him.

He cried.

He cried in all meanings of the word. He cried for his situation, he cried for the cruelty, he cried to God, and he cried for himself. He cried until those same cries turned into screams. Then it became an unending cycle of dampened noise and frustration in a pathetic exercise in futility.

There was something to be said for it all. Something about the stillness, the quiet, and the safety that it provided him. There was something to be said but Peter did not know how to say it. He knew only that it existed.

He lived in an old apartment building next door to a busy street. On good nights he would fall asleep to police and ambulance sirens and on the bad he would fall asleep to gunshots, unending loud music, and screaming. His walls were thin and existed only to keep the cold out. He had a roof but that existed only to be over his head. His walls were made of cracking plaster, his floors made of scratched cheap wood that creaked in places, and his lights often blinked out randomly in the worst of moments. But it was his. The run-down dump of an apartment that he had rented since he was seventeen was his.

It was not paradise, it was not a palace, a mansion, or even a house but it was his home. He owned so little, carried so little, but what little he had was what he had made for himself. All those years of work and now it was all gone. He would never see his home again.

His friends! His co-workers! His landlord!

The spark was lit in his mind and quieted the screams that had yet to escape. He had people! People who cared for him and who would certainly notice that he would've gone missing! They would contact the police, the FBI, and the media. They would search for him and soon they would find him! They would find him and burn this place to the fucking ground. Of course! How could he have been so blind? So stupid? Of course help would come! He could continue to hold out against these cunts! If he held out and bid his time then sooner or later the cavalry would come for him!

Peter lifted his head slowly from the mattress and glimpsed his future in the tear-stained mess he had left. He would run media circuits, talk-shows, livestreams, and even press conferences. He'd raise awareness, preach safety, and tell his story to anyone who would listen. He would get donations of course and he'd be stupid to turn them away. Perhaps he could write a book of his crucible here. He could get rich, famous, and he could even become a hero.

It was funny how quickly that spark of hope turned into a flame of revenge.

He would personally see to it that these people would pay for what they did to him. What they dared to inflict on him. They wouldn't find it nearly as funny on the receiving end. He could channel the public's wrath into his own and by the time all of it was through...

He'd own this fucking mansion.

But he would need to survive until that day came. A thought that while promising seemed equally as impossible. He felt the peace wash over him completely.

Peter actually enjoyed the silence and the thoughts that it allowed him to think. He shoved off the bed and to his feet in a quick blur of motion. He could feel the dull pain in his thigh and the aches that had yet to completely fade into his bones but he just grit his teeth and marched over to the sink. He yanked the lever down as hard as he could and watched as the beautiful crystal water began to pour forth into the basin.

He drank deep. He drank mouthfuls of water until the raging inferno in his throat began to cool and he could feel his head beginning to settle. Until the world was more than just rage, fury, and despair. He slowly moved back to his bed and sat down gently on the side. The world was cold, barren, and quiet. If he were to survive then he could not lose himself. He could not lose the one thing that they tried to take away from him.

"My name," He licked his lips as he took a slow and deep breath into his lungs and spoke the words without sound for the first time. "is Peter Baker."

He breathed in once more and released it all back out until his heart began to slow and his mind became crystal clear. He found himself steadied by a single yet undeniable sentence as he lay slowly down on the bed and closed his eyes.