Doll

[† Emotional Outlet]

So, while the forum was down, I was off fighting crime in spandex and saving the world from bad yaoi anatomy.

Or not. This was my KamWri entry for the latest iteration, but with the forum being rolled back, this would be a good time to retool the thing. Anyway.

First-ish draft like usual. Read over a couple times for spelling and grammar, but otherwise raw. Questionable sections will be marked with [NSFW] and hidden in a spoiler. Proceed at your own discretion, haha.

Will be completed in the next few days hopefully. I have an ending in mind to work towards.

======

Paperwork

Standing in line, stealing glances at all the people around me as they rifled through thick stacks of paper, I got the feeling this might not have been the best of ideas. They're better-looking. They look stronger. They look more interesting, worthy of people's attention. How was I supposed to compete with that? They're a thousand times more confident than I am, and that's what they want, right? If I wasn't so desperate for money, I wouldn't be here right now. I stepped up to the table and picked up my own stack of papers and pen. What are half of these forms even about?

I dropped my pen, and as I bent down to pick it up, I caught his eye. I realise this was definitely not a good idea. In fact, without being dramatic in the slightest, it might have been the worst. I hadn't seen him in nearly a year, haven't heard a single word. He fell off the face of the earth and, as far as I was concerned, I was perfectly fine with that. There aren't enough chocolate-covered potato chips in the world to sate those kinds of funks. We locked eyes briefly and that was more than enough for me.

But not enough yet for him, apparently. He pushed his way through the crowd and headed straight towards me, who had nowhere to hide, no restrooms to duck into. Not that I very well could try to leave now—he'd know I was avoiding him on purpose and wouldn't that just be deliciously awkward? Perhaps he wouldn't care. He wouldn't try to call me up, would he?

"Ara!" he called out cheerfully, as though we were best of friends, staying up late every night talking. You know, like we used to. Right. Return the smile and hug. Try not to be so stiff and restrain the urge to cry.

"Hey, Todd. Didn't know you were into this kind of stuff."

"Ha! You know I always wanted to be on television—I figured this would be my big break, yeah?"

Of course I knew he wanted to be on television. He only talked about it every day. I'd go to his plays, his auditions and rehearsals. Don't get me wrong, he was good at it. He even had a decent—maybe great, if he would get a vocal coach or something—singing voice. Not to mention he was fantastic to look at.

None of those things changed the fact he was a rotten person.

"What are you doing here? Ara?" He started waving his hand in my face, still smiling that awful, perfect smile of his. I blinked. "You okay?"

"Sorry, I'm fine. I just wanted to try to win the money, haha. I doubt they'll even want me on the show."

"Don't be silly, doll. You're more than good enough. Plus you've got more personality in you on your off-days than most of these people will ever have in their entire lives."

Okay, maybe he wasn't entirely rotten. He may be a flatterer, but he was pretty good at it. Knew where my weak spots were. Look at how great that turned out.

We filled out our forms together—turns out he didn't understand much of it either. There were personality quizzes, but none like I'd ever seen. Granted, most of the ones I saw were online ones. I even took those silly "What drinking glass are you?" types of quizzes because the way people drew and forced connections between disparate, unrelated things fascinated me. Some of the forms were looked random. They involved matching shapes, trying to follow grammatical rules in made-up languages, finishing analogies that made no sense. Neither of us could figure out why they needed to know this stuff. I tried to make sense of it, but ended up fudging most of the forms, filling in and choosing what seemed right.

"Looks like that's the last of the forms," he said, letting out a breath. "Some of these were a trip, yeah? Felt like I was taking an exam or something! I sure didn't study for this."

I smiled. "Nope, I didn't study either. I'm sure you did great, though."

"Aww, I'm sure I did, doll. Wouldn't have done it without you, 'course. Hopefully you did good too."

Such words of encouragement. I fought to keep the smile on my face. "I'm going to turn my forms in and head out. Have a good day, Todd." Spending that half hour together, even if more than half the time was spent in silence, interrupted only by the scratching of our pens and the general chatter around us, was painfully awkward. At one point I accidentally brushed my hand against his and had flashbacks to how things used to be. I'm sure it meant nothing to him. Why would it? I didn't ask him how he was or what he had been doing since I last saw him. He returned the favour.

"You too, Ara. I'll see you around, okay?"

I prayed I would never see him again.

"Okay."

Edited September 22, 2012 by Emotional Outlet

[† Emotional Outlet]

Waiting

When I received notification I was to chosen as a contestant, I couldn't believe it. It was three in the afternoon. I was still in bed, staring at the ceiling, doing the usual. Beating myself up, wondering why I was allowed to live when all I do is fuck up. Wondering if the next time I take a drive, I would be lucky enough to get into a fatal accident. Maybe a freak accident would happen and I'd get struck by lightning or there'd be a sudden flood and I would be swept over the guardrail into the ocean. Pleasant stuff.

Like Todd and where it went wrong. How great it was before I messed up. It was likely my fault, you know, as always. I might have been too casual, or at least tried to appear casual. How could he have realised I wanted more if I didn't say anything? I did ask once if we were a couple and he just smiled and kissed me on the forehead, saying I was too much of a modern woman to be worrying about labels. Whatever that meant. I just played along, hating myself for letting this happen to me but too much of a coward to find something better. As though there were something "better" out there for me. It was probably better than I deserved, all things considered.

As I was attempting to silence the cacophony in my head, my phone started to vibrate on the nightstand. For a moment I thought Todd was calling, maybe after some thought and a beer or two, wanting to catch up to make up for lost time. Maybe apologise for never calling me back, but that might be too much.

I didn't recognise the number, but maybe he changed it—a year is a decent amount of time.

"Hello?"

An unfamiliar voice came through the phone's speaker. Guess not.

"Is this Araceli Michaels?"

"Yes?"

"You have been selected. The bus will pick you up tomorrow morning at ten. Bring only what you need."

And that was that. The phone went dead. I'm pretty sure that wasn't how it was supposed to go, that maybe there should have been more official correspondence or something. At least an email or a brick through my window or someone in a suit knocking at my door. Something besides a phone call—the least the person on the other side could have done was seem a little excited for me.

After setting my phone down, I looked back up at the ceiling. Did Todd get selected too? Maybe it was a prank? I figured I didn't have much to lose—if it wasn't real, the only thing I would have wasted was ten minutes packing a bag. No one would have to know I embarrassingly waited for a bus that wasn't going to come. It was pattern enough with me, waiting for people who never come around. And why would they? I'm the physical embodiment of a self-fulfilling prophecy, a bona fide misery junkie. I don't know what it is about me people like Todd seem to find so fascinating before setting me aside like I'm an apple and they've finally discovered the worm inside me.

I sat on the couch, a ratty old thing my mother gave to me when I first got the place, with my bag at my feet. She said the couch would hold me over until I got enough money to buy a new one so I'd have something presentable for guests to sit on. I'm not sure she realises I never have guests over—unless you count delivery people, but it's not like they care or stick around long. They've probably seen worse places—pizza is the ambrosia of potheads, isn't it? They can't have very nice places. It wasn't the most comfortable of couches, but I didn't spend much time there. When I did, it's usually the third day in a row I haven't showered or seen daylight, so it's not as though comfort is a major factor here when I can scrape off visible layers of grime from my skin.

A glance at my watch told me it was a quarter to ten. I wondered whether I should eat something before then and decided I couldn't be bothered putting anything together. The only thing I had in my kitchen was a box of instant rice and maybe an old can of little sausages. Grocery shopping hadn't been a priority in a while—not that I wasn't eating. The stacks of pizza boxes and Chinese delivery containers littering my living room were a testament to my regular intake of food. Even if most of those boxes and containers were still more than half-full because I can't eat more than a couple bites without falling apart. I'm not sure why General Tso's chicken makes me cry or why pepperoni pizza makes me want to curl up into a ball, but I kept ordering them anyway.

Five more minutes. Would they show up on time? Should I give them time to find the place? I didn't live in the best of neighbourhoods, and if the delivery people are to be believed, a lot of GPS devices don't even think the place exists. It would be unreasonable to expect them to show up right at ten, especially if they're picking up other people first. It would be unreasonable to rule out the possibility someone was running late and holding up the bus, right? They wouldn't just leave without their contestant, right? And what about traffic? That's always a factor. It was raining a little bit this morning, and since it was the first rain in a while, that meant the roads were slick. Maybe there were freak accidents meant for me happening on the road, slowing things down.

[† Emotional Outlet]

On the Bus

Before I could look at my watch again, I heard a vehicle pull into the driveway. I looked out the window and saw the bus—there were other contestants on it and, from the looks of it, I was their last stop. Figures.

I picked up my bag and headed out, locking the door behind me. Not that I had much to steal or anything worth stealing. I guess the couch kind of has sentimental value, but that's not something a thief would know. Maybe the people who break into my house would have pity on me and, taking a hint from the massive amounts of garbage on the floor and every other flat surface in the area, leave something for me, maybe even a nice note saying, "You need this more than I do. Also I did your laundry and changed your sheets." That would make my day.

As I stepped onto the bus, I offered a greeting to the driver. She grunted and kept her eyes trained on the rear-view mirror, obviously anxious to get moving. That was fair. They probably had a strict timetable to keep. I wasn't entirely sure what recording a reality show entailed, but I figured it was a stressful job to try to keep it interesting and come up with challenges sufficiently shocking and entertaining for the average viewer. I kept moving and tried to find a familiar face on the bus.

What a mistake.

Todd waved for me from the back, indicating he had an empty seat next to him. Lovely. Not wanting to seem rude, I headed straight for him and plopped down, putting my bag under my seat.

"I see you were selected," I offered, trying to make conversation.

"Yeah, they called me yesterday afternoon. Caught me just as I was leaving work for the day. Man, I'm glad you made it." He put an arm around me, grinning. I kept myself from shrugging off his arm. "This'll be fun! It'll be like old times. I was real surprised to see you the other day, you know. It was a while since we talked, but I figured you had better things going on so I kept on trucking. I mean, if you wanted to call me up that would have been cool, but I don't blame you for not calling, you know? I'm sure you had better things going on, keeping busy with your art, yeah? You still drawing?"

There was a lot I wanted to say, to interrupt him and tell him he was wrong, he was making things up and justifying his behaviour, but I held my tongue until he offered a pause, a chance for me to speak.

"Well… yes. I had to stop doing commissions for a while because my computer was acting up. When I got that fixed, my tablet broke and I lost the pen. And then this reality show thing came up so I postponed them even longer. Hopefully the money will make up for the break in work."

"Rough stuff, doll."

I smiled and looked around the bus. He didn't care about what I had to say and I was tired of entertaining small talk. Suddenly I didn't care about the money any more. I just wanted to get off the show as soon as possible.

There was usually a challenge on the first day, but it almost always was a joke challenge, meant to prepare people for the coming days. It wasn't the greatest of shows—I mean, they'd plant people in the bars and stuff who would talk to the contestants and try to seduce them. If they succeeded, depending on the day and the direction of the wind, that would mean the contestant either lost or won the challenge. I could never tell a pattern—sometimes people with spouses or boyfriends or girlfriends would sleep with someone on national television and they'd win the challenge, but another contestant who did the same and was single would lose. It was skeevy even by reality show standards—do they even have standards? Still, I figured I had nothing to lose. Much less so now.

"Do you know where they're taking us, Ara?" He squeezed my shoulder, pulling me closer to him. Not that it wasn't nice, but it certainly wasn't helpful. Where does he get off on being affectionate with me anyway? What gave him the right to even touch me?

"Not sure. The pamphlet said it would be on an island, but I don't know any islands nearby."

"Guess we'll find out. Driver said the bus ride would be long. Lucky there's a bathroom back there, yeah?"

"I suppose so."

"You didn't bring anything to eat, did you? I'm starving."

"No, I haven't anything. Sorry."

"Aww," he said, grinning. By the look on his face, I knew he what he was about to say next. "Well, at least you always got one thing I can eat, yeah?"

I rolled my eyes. "Todd, don't you think that's inappropriate? We haven't spoken in a year." He ran his thumb under my shirt sleeve, sending shivers down my spine. How I hated him. "Besides, don't you have a girl at home or something? You still have that girl back in your hometown who's still in love with you, don't you?" You know, the girl he talked to almost every night, regardless of whether I was there or not. The girl with the unusual name and even more unusual relationship with him. They had agreed they could do whatever they wanted because neither wanted a long distance relationship. I could tell she was in love with him, but I was never certain what his take on her was, much less his take on me. It felt like a game and I had no idea what the rules were. It would have been simpler if it was just about the sex.

"You're bristly today, Ara!" He laughed, pressing a kiss against my temple. "You know I don't date. October is still back home, yeah, but you know she does her own thing. She did visit last summer, but it was only for a week." I can only imagine what that week was comprised of. I didn't want to imagine what the week was comprised of. He told me anyway. "We slept together a few times, but it was mostly just me showing her around the area. She wanted to check out schools around here, but I think it was just an excuse to come see me. I had a girl over at the time she showed up at my doorstep. That was interesting." Please stop. Just stop. "Anyway, we went to the festival and I think I saw you there! Did you go to it?"

The arts festival, where indie bands and artists tried to break through to people. I collected a bunch of phone cards and art samples, all tucked away into a drawer because I couldn't stand to look at them. These people were so much more talented than I was and were struggling—where did that leave me? It was a train of thought I didn't want to board. I went all three days it was happening to try to sell my own art and left each day discouraged. The only people who had bought from me were just taking pity on me, more donations than actual purchases.

"Yes, I went. Funny, I didn't see you there."

"Yeah, you looked busy! Plus October wanted to keep walking through the displays, so we didn't stick around long." Of course, pin the blame on the girl. I'm sure that's exactly what happened. "I wanted to buy some of your art, or at least look at it. You always hid it away from me, even though you talked about it all the time. Whatever happened to that painting you said you were doing that was inspired by me?"

Hanging on the wall above my bed. The only good thing I've done, the only thing I've completed, in the past three years. But would I tell him that?

"Oh, it's… um, unfinished. I lost the paints I was using with it and it's not the same with different brands. You know…"

"Aww, that sucks, doll. I'm sure it was a cool idea. Hey," he said, leaning in towards my ear, slipping his hand down my arm. "I could inspire you for a new painting, yeah?"

"On the bus?"

"Yeah, why not? Come on, there are no cameras yet."

"I'm not certain we would both fit into the bathroom."

"I know you're flexible."

And so it began. I found myself in the same position I did before—knowing it was no good for me, knowing I deserved better, knowing he didn't care about me or take me seriously, and knowing I couldn't resist him. Like a true junkie, desperate for a fix after rehab tanked, I fell right back into the rhythm.

[† Emotional Outlet]

Tagged NSFW! Suggestive Themes! Nudity! Swear Words! Possibly Triggering!

EXCLAMATION MARKS!

Wake Up

The sound of lightning woke me up. I was in a bed, far better quality than the one I was used to sleeping in, with three other people taking up residence on it. Todd was next to me, facing away. I didn't recognise the other two, but I did recognise everyone was naked. That was the extent of my understanding of the situation. I had no idea where I was, what had happened, or if I was even really awake. It was unreal. The last thing I could remember was falling asleep on the bus after Todd tested the extent to which I was flexible. How could I have gotten here without someone waking me up? And for that matter, why were all these people in a bed with me?

I sat up, intending to leave. Todd rolled over and placed a hand around my waist.

"Where are you going?"

"Um, the bathroom."

"Okay, but put some clothes on first. Cameras are rolling, doll."

"What?"

"Yeah, it's been like three weeks. Come on, put a shirt on at least."

Three weeks? Something wasn't right.

"Have I… have I been awake all this time?"

"Ara, if you weren't awake, you're real good at faking it. I wasn't expecting you to rip out her hair yesterday, though." He indicated the sleeping woman at my side. "That was some real shit that went down. Lucky you two seemed to have made up."

As though on cue, she stretched, looking up at me with sleepy eyes. Her face was scratched and a little bruised—I did that to her?

"More than made up," she purred, resting her head on my stomach. "Hard to believe the same girl who was about to claw out my eyes would be so awesome in bed."

"I… I really have to go to the bathroom. Sorry, uh, guys." I slipped out from between them, awkwardly stepping over Todd to get off the bed. There were clothes all over the floor, none of which I could immediately recognise as being my own. Not wanting to spend much more time in that room, I picked up the nearest shirt and pair of shorts and slipped them on, promising to return quickly as I closed the door behind me. My head was aching with confusion and my bladder was screaming to be emptied.. Not exactly the best position for me to be in. Had I really been there for three weeks? Making it through challenges and even wreaking havoc on my own without remembering a single thing?

The hallway just outside the bedroom offered me no answers. It was empty, a little rundown as far as these things go, and dark. Occasional flashes from the storm outside would light up the area briefly, but that was it. There was a table against the wall with a lit candle on it, a mostly empty box of matches at its base. I picked up the candle, unable to locate a light switch, and started looking for the bathroom.

It was absurd the number of rooms there were in the hallway, like it was a hotel. Wasn't there only supposed to be a dozen of us? And if we were three weeks in, we would have lost at least one or two people by now. I walked up and down the hallway, trying to figure out where the bathroom would be. I was afraid to randomly open doors lest I find a scene comparable to the one I had awoken to. Or worse, be faced with more consequences with regards to my unusual behaviour the past three weeks. It only made me want to leave more and, now that I was awake, maybe I'd be able to get out without making things worse.

It came to the point my bladder was overriding my brain, so I started to open doors at random, gently knocking a few times before doing so. There were no responses, but all the doors were locked. Maybe they were for challenges? Strange as it was, it made finding the bathroom much easier, since it was the only unlocked room besides the one I woke up in. I locked the door behind me, hoping no one would try to come in for a brief liaison with me, and set the candle down on the shelf in front of the mirror.

The room was bare and dirty, pretty much what you would expect of a shared bathroom. The mirror was somewhat grimy, covered with water spots and little crusty bits I hoped were toothpaste splatters. I lifted the lid of the toilet to find the bowl's surface was coated in waste, the little spot of toilet cleaner stuck to the side ineffective against the barrage of multiple uses through the day. Thankfully, the actual seat seemed clean enough, so I just wiped it down with some toilet paper before sitting down.

As I washed my hands, I examined myself in the mirror. I looked beat to hell and back. Dark bags had formed beneath my eyes, though part of that, at least for my right eye, seemed to be the fault of a black eye. I touched the skin gently and winced—that was more than a little tender. It was probably from that fight I got into with that girl, though I can't imagine why I would have gotten into a fight with her. I can't even approach people to let them know they've hurt me in some way. My nose seemed to have developed a little crook in it, probably broken at some point, but otherwise didn't seem damaged. I had a little more colour than normal, so apparently I was outside quite a bit. What worried me most was the weight loss—I could see it in my face and was terrified to see what happened to my body.

I had always been a fairly small person, the kind people would turn their nose up at and call anorexic, the kind people jeer at and disdainfully tell to eat a sandwich. The shirt hung off my body, obviously several sizes too big. I lifted the shirt, looking down at myself. My ribs poked out, taunting me, my stomach concave, my hip bones prominent against the basin of my torso. Emotions raged through me—I felt sick and uneasy, wanting to know what was happening to me but too scared of finding out; I felt elated I was losing more weight, that I might actually have a reason to stop complaining about being fat; I felt miserable, knowing it only meant people would continue to look at me with more derision, if not more. I stared at my arms, the thin, wiry things holding up the fabric of the shirt. It seems in the time I had been living here, I acquired a few tattoos.

The markings held no meaning for me, just a jumble of symbols and—

Wait.

I have seen these. They were on the forms I filled out. I racked through my mind, trying to remember the answers I had put down, but couldn't conjure anything but the brief moment I had touched Todd. Shaking, I turned on the faucet and rinsed off my face, taking a moment to see if I could wipe the ink from my arms, hoping they were only drawn on with a pen. No luck. The ink was irrevocably a part of my skin. It wasn't as though I was going to be able to scrounge up the money to get it removed. I wasn't going to be paid that much for being on the show.

The show. How I dreaded watching it once I got out of here, dreaded seeing the footage of the weeks I was mentally absent.

Edited July 14, 2012 by Emotional Outlet

[† Emotional Outlet]

Tagged NSFW! Suggestive Themes! Nudity! Swear Words! Possibly Triggering!

EXCLAMATION MARKS!

Sleep

A knock came at the door.

"Ara? You doing okay, doll?"

Nice of you to check up on me, Todd.

"I'm fine. I just needed to wash my face."

Okay. Open the door, try not to seem too distressed.

"You look fantastic. Don't worry about it."

Liar. And for the record, I am worried.

"Todd, do you—" My breath caught in my throat. His arms had similar tattoos, interwoven over his pale skin. He never could tan, but I never took him for much of a tattoo person. The only thing he had, the only thing he said he would ever get, was the one word on his chest. "PRIDE". That was it. I suppose I should be thankful he didn't have his own name there, or even October's.

"What's wrong, Ara? You gonna be sick?"

"No, no, I… Sorry, just a little… hungover?" I hazarded a guess—I was already acting weird according to him, so even if I was wrong, it wouldn't make much difference.

"You did drink a lot last night. I told you to slow down, haha. Never saw you drink so much before. Come on, get back to bed. Need to be rested up for the next challenge."

"What challenge?"

"Come on, don't play dumb with me, Ara. It'll be the same as last week, just in the dark."

"What do you mean, 'same as last week'?"

He lifted a brow at me. "Ara, are you sure you're okay?" Todd pressed a hand against my forehead, trying to feel for a temperature. "I didn't think that fight messed you up that bad."

"Stop," I snapped, pushing away his hand. "Just, please, tell me what the challenge is."

"Okay, okay. We have to find our way out of a maze. That's all. Doll, you've been acting real weird since you woke up. I think you need some medicine."

Gosh, I wonder why.

"I'm sorry, you know how hangovers can be. I… is there another room I can sleep in? I don't want to make you guys sick too."

"Don't worry about it, doll. Come on." He grabbed the candle and we walked back to the room together quietly.

When Todd opened the door for me, I could tell something was off. The room was different, though I was certain we went back to the right room. No one was in it, the furniture had changed, the layout wasn't the same, and even the windows had moved.

"Is this the right room? The one I woke up in?" I asked, turning around to face him.

"Of course it is. Go on, lie down." His voice was oddly flat, disconcerting.

Overwhelming panic seized me as I slowly walked to the bed. I sat down, trying to control my body's shaking. Something wasn't right. Did I eat something weird? Was I drugged? Maybe it was all a dream and I still haven't woken up? Maybe I dreamt everything, even the forms and talking to Todd. Maybe I shouldn't have tried that new dish at the Chinese place. Maybe I'm in a coma? I finally got my wish for a freak accident to take me out, but instead of killing me, it made me a vegetable and now I'm in a coma until my parents decide to pull the plug on me. Isn't that a delight, to be trapped in a dream. Like some kind of psychological thriller. It's all a metaphor!

"Ara, lie down." That weird tone was still in his voice. "Please." There's a word I've never heard him say before. It made me compliant.

I pushed aside the blankets and lay down, pulling the sheets up to my chin, watching wide-eyed as he crossed the room. He followed suit, slipping beneath the covers next to me and took me into his arms. Something wasn't right at all. I could feel his breath against my ear, hot and humid, as he whispered to me. His hand, atop the covers, traced a line from my stomach to my chest before resting atop my nonexistent breast.

"Excuse my hand," he muttered, his eyes closed. "Just pretend to be into it."

A thousand questions erupted in my mind, but I did as he asked, shutting my eyes and leaning my head against his, hoping the expression on my face said "pleasure" and not "terror" or "confusion". There was plenty of the latter, none of the former.

"You're really awake, aren't you, Ara?" I nodded my head, letting out a little moan as though he asked me something dirty. His hand slid down to my stomach and he massaged the top of my thigh. "Then please stay awake. Something happened to us on the bus. I don't know what it was, but they aren't letting anyone go home."

Now it was my turn. I rolled over top of him, letting my hair fall over our faces. He took the cue and place a hand around my waist, entangling the other into my hair.

"What the hell has been happening these past three weeks? I can't remember anything that's happened."

"Neither can I. I just know what the others have told me. Nobody else is awake, I don't think. Just us." Todd kissed my cheek. "We need to get out of here."

"How long have you been awake?"

"Not long. A couple days maybe. Ara, something fucked up is happening."

"What do you mean?"

He never got the chance to explain. The door swung open, silencing our whispers as we looked up. It was the girl from earlier, still very naked.

"I went looking for you guys," she said, running her tongue over her teeth. "Trying to hog her all to yourself, Todd?"

"Of course not. Come on and join us," he replied, pushing aside the blankets, opening a space for her. "You want a turn, yeah?"

She got onto the bed, crawling up towards me on all fours. "You bet I do," she growled, flipping me over and pushing my legs apart as she lay down atop me. "And from the looks of things, she wants it too."

"Be nice to her, October." Todd got up and knelt over her, placing a hand between her legs. I could feel the movements meant for her, the heat radiating from her body. "She's still a little hungover from last night."

October?

Something really was fucked up.

Edited July 14, 2012 by Emotional Outlet

[Asce]

I'm on the edge of my seat with your story. What the hell is going on here, lol? You have a good writing voice and I like you delivery. The first part can almost stand on its own as a short story about an uncomfortable situation.

[† Emotional Outlet]

Haha, it is somewhat indulgent to write a character like this. All my first person narratives tend to be about broken characters fumbling their way through life and their dodgy relationships.

I have a little bit written up after that point, but not much more. Hopefully will have something later today before I head off to bed.

[Asce]

Awesome. I've done one first person narrative and it too is about a broken person; must be theme with first person narratives, lol. But, I really liked this story and look forward to reading more.

[† Emotional Outlet]

Tagged NSFW! Suggestive Themes! Nudity! Swear Words! Possibly Triggering!

EXCLAMATION MARKS!

Enter

Morning arrived unceremoniously. I woke up in bed with October, her legs curled around mine, head resting on my chest. As I went to rub my eyes, I noticed the bite marks all over my body, the bruises around my wrists. There was something especially horrifying about pretending to enjoy having sex with her, wondering if Todd really was awake when his behaviour was so bizarre and unexpected. I stretched, wincing, trying not to cry out from the pain.

"Mmmmf…" October rolled over, curling into herself. I don't think I could have spent a moment longer with her that close to me.

Carefully, I stepped out of bed, pulling on my clothes. My head pounded and at that moment I could sympathise fully with people who thought headaches could be cured by adding holes in your skull. It felt like my brain was pushing against its cage, trying to break free wherever it could. At the rate I was wasting away, I wouldn't have been surprised if my eyes popped right out of their sockets.

I stepped out into the hallway with the intention to head to the kitchen and grab a glass of water to parch my thirst. Imagine my surprise when the hallway had apparently been completely remodelled overnight in silence. All of the doors were missing and its length was cut by at least half. There was only a single door across from the one I had just left, a small sign stuck on the wall over it. "Restroom", it read. I was sure that wasn't there before—otherwise I wouldn't have been so close to wetting myself last night.

To my left was a wall, little more there than a small table and a glass vase upon it, a flower stuck inside. I had the feeling it wasn't a real flower in there, but I didn't care enough to check. To the right were stairs, so I climbed down, gritting my teeth every time the steps squeaked. I tried to look as natural as possible, but things didn't seem to be working out in my favour. The steps led me to the living room, where the rest of the contestants were waiting.

As anticipated, we were two short. Everyone looked somewhat familiar—my memory of the bus ride wasn't exactly the clearest and was overwhelmed by a certain person's presence, but I felt confident they were the same people, even if they were… asleep? Brainwashed? Drugged? I still wasn't sure. It didn't seem like I would be getting any answers.

Two men sat together on the couch, tending to each other's wounds in a more than tender manner. Another was in the armchair, his feet up on the coffee table, reading a book and drinking from a mug. I went into the kitchen without a word, where I saw Todd tangled up with another woman on the kitchen table, where the three others sat eating their cereal, talking animatedly over the couple. There was a brief pang of jealousy, of anger, but I quelled it and began to open cabinets in search of glasses. It might have been puerile, but letting the doors slam shut was satisfying. I never would have let myself do something like that before, but I figured I already hadn't had control of myself the past three weeks, so why not continue the trend?

I filled the glass three times at the sink, drinking deeply and gratefully each time. Before I could contemplate having a fourth, a series of notes followed by a voice—I'm pretty sure it was the same one that told me I was chosen for this show, but that felt like it was years away—filled the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have ten minutes to report outside for the A-Maze-ing Challenge."

The slight and blatantly artificial lilt in the voice as it said the name of the challenge made me chuckle. I ran a hand through my hair and followed the others through the front door, ignoring Todd—wouldn't want to get between him and his lady friend. I already had more than enough of that last night. It was, perhaps, an experience I may have enjoyed with literally any other two people in the universe.

We gathered outside as requested, staring at the wall before us, broken only by a huge doorway into the maze. The wall seemed to encircle the entire building, but without actually walking the perimeter, it was just a guess. Who builds a maze right in front of a house like this anyway? Or maybe this was one of our first challenges, to get through the maze to get to the house? I suppose it was meant to be a deterrent to keep people like me from running in the middle of the night—people who are awake, that is. The others seemed content to continue their hazy existence in the confines of the house.

If I don't make it through the maze, I get to leave the show, right? Should be simple. I already have a terrible sense of direction—I once drove in circles in a neighbourhood for about ten minutes because I couldn't remember which street I was supposed to turn on or which streets I already tried turning on and failed to reach my destination. Of course, the fact it was dark at the time didn't help, so I couldn't exactly rely on landmarks to keep me oriented. All houses in that area look the same at night.

The same series of notes and voice came over the intercom once again, directing people to enter the maze as their names were called. We were given no directions, no rules, no objectives, no limitations. That certainly made losing on purpose more difficult—the things I do in an attempt to lose may very well lead me on a path to success. I could try to win, if trying to win is what actually makes me lose, but I had no proof of that. I went in mental circles until I realised I was the last one left. How fitting.

"Araceli Michaels. You may enter."

Right. Guess we'll find out. I stepped into the maze, leaping against the wall when the doors to the maze closed, locking us all in. I pressed my back against the wall, trying to steady my heart and adjust to the darkness. I could see faintly, if I focussed hard enough, the gaps in the walls, the numerous entrances to paths laid out before me, but little else. And even then, I wasn't sure if I wasn't just imagining it and seeing what I wanted to see.

I let out a breath and started to walk, keeping a hand against the wall.

[Asce]

Nice follow up. You have a way of leaving me hanging (in a good way), kind of like when a weekly episode ends on a cliff hanger and you’re forced to wait till next week. "It felt like my brain was pushing against its cage," this is a great line. I do have one question though; twice you used the wording, "a series of notes followed by a voice." It took me till the second time you used this phrase to realize the series of notes was a song and not actual words being projected or on a monitor. I know it’s a small detail, but sometimes the small details can make a difference in how a story reads, just a little constructive crit. that I though you would appreciate. I like it though, keep'em coming.

[† Emotional Outlet]

Haha, it's mostly for the benefit of breaking it up for forum posting. I don't think it's quite long enough to warrant having actual chapters (almost 7k right now).

And duly noted on clarifying the wording. I had something like what a clock plays before chiming the hours in mind.

[Asce]

I figured so much, I just got caught up on it the first time and it interrupted the flow. As far as chapters, the way it's written now, I wouldn't include them unless the story is going to be much longer and there are appropriate points that require the break. So far I've only written one story long enough to require chapters and that's a full blown novel in the works. All the rest of my writing is short stories. Though, I do have one that is kind of long, but it's long enough that if I ever do put it on here I'm going to have to break it up into parts. But, keep up the good work and I look forward to reading more.

[† Emotional Outlet]

Haha, thanks.

And yes, it was never meant to have chapters. I just break things into chunks for the forum and name them for fun. My longer works that do necessitate chapters are indeed heftier and I tend to break chapters off at 3k. Scrivener makes it easy to divvy things up into chapters and scenes for later rejoining, so I don't mind posting my works like this. I did originally post larger bits of text with Plate 39 and decided to break it up into smaller pieces when someone mentioned people don't like reading lengthy passages.

[Asce]

That's a good point, sometimes I forget that all people don't like to read the way I do, lol. When your major in college is English and you spend four year surrounded by people who are also English majors, you have a tendency to forget that (unfortunately) most people don't enjoy reading as much as they used to.

[† Anras Rune]

it isnt that people dont enjoy reading Asce, I mean they could absolutely love reading. But reading online is not the same as reading a book. Its easier to lose your place, get lost in text and can get quite confusing for some people. I had a similar problem as EO when I was doing some of my stories but I find that a balance is good, shorter length but more of them...

Anyhoo, I like it so far EO. Tis got an interesting premise indeed.Other than the few grammar errors that have been sorted out and the silly spoilers (I seriously don't think the content so far justifies a NSFW rating XP) then its good. Want to see where you go with this one, but the name makes me think of "interesting" things indeed!

[† Emotional Outlet]

Rating fiction isn't my strongest suit, haha. In keeping with a PG-13 environment, it's more to cover my own than to insinuate there is hot porn happening within those spoilers. Just in case people think saying that "people are naked" or "a woman is touching another woman" is offensive.

Edited July 17, 2012 by Emotional Outlet

[† Emotional Outlet]

Maze

I didn't see anyone for some time. Whether it was minutes or hours, I'm not sure I could really tell. At that point, I had a difficult time trusting my senses—even those weird ones beyond the five you learn in school, like sense of temperature and whatever your body's sense of itself is called, when you're able to locate parts of your body with your eyes closed. I thought I heard voices, maybe even a few screams, but it was possible that people were just fumbling in the dark with their imaginations running wild—as much as they could while not actually in control of their faculties, I guess. A couple times I even thought I was near other people, but when I approached, it either turned out to be a trick of the shadows or they fled from my approach.

Nothing really felt real, so I hadn't discarded the possibility of it all being a coma-induced dream just yet. If it was a dream, much as the longer I remain under distances me from the world of the living, this was not how I wanted my brain to spend its last moments of life. I didn't really want to admit it, but living would be better than this. Assuming, of course, it was all a dream. If it wasn't, then of course I'd much rather be in that coma right about now.

My slow shuffle along the wall paid off moderately when my foot came into contact with something—not enough to hurt me and definitely not enough to hurt whatever it was I had kicked. I knelt down, keeping a hand to the wall, and reached out in front of me with the other.

"Is someone there?" I whispered, jumping slightly when I felt what I presumed to be an arm. "Are you okay? Did you trip?"

There was no response. Or, at least, there was no verbal response. I suppose feeling hands around my neck, the way they caressed my skin before tightening, was response enough. They were okay. I was about to be far less so. I tried to grab my assailant's face in a vain attempt to identify them by touch, as though I had sense enough to do so. The last I remember was my fingers brushing against their chin—likely a man, but it wasn't as though it couldn't be something else entirely. Stranger things have happened, I suppose.

Edited July 29, 2012 by Emotional Outlet

[† Emotional Outlet]

Connections

When I came to, my head swimming and my neck in pain—even if I wanted to forget being choked, the bruises certainly won't let me forget—I found myself lying on a concrete floor. Sitting up, I touched the bruises, of course, to see if I could line my fingers up with them, recreate for some sick reason what happened to me. I was interrupted by footsteps, snapping me out of my—I don't know if you can't really call it a trance, but it's the closest I've got.

It seemed I was in some sort of warehouse or unfinished shell of a building, but I couldn't find a door—regular, mechanical, or otherwise. The brightness of the area, the way everything seemed to glow white, seemed unnatural. Was I dead and somehow made it to Heaven? The otherwise austere environment indicated otherwise—perhaps some sort of judgement room?

"Doll."

I looked up. Todd looked like he took a turn for the worst—his face was bruised, blood clinging to the stubble on his chin, arms covered in deep gouges and scratches, clothing tattered and filthy. What exactly happened in that maze?

"You made it out alive," he said, taking a knee beside me. I reached out to him and ran a finger along his chin. "What are you doing?"

"Was that you?" I placed my hands in my lap, looking at him curiously. It could have been anyone—it wasn't as though he was the only person of the group who hadn't shaved in a while—but I couldn't stop myself from wanting to accuse him.

"What do you mean, doll?"

"In the maze."

"Everyone was in the maze."

"No," I replied, shaking my head. "That's not what I meant and you know it. Were you the one I ran into? Did you…" I pointed to my neck, hoping there were indeed visible bruises there. "Did you do this to me?"

He was silent. Was that an admission of guilt or had I stunned him with an outrageous claim?

"He did as I asked of him." The sudden interruption caught me off-guard. I looked around for the source of the sound, but found nothing. It was, and what else would it be, the same voice I had been hearing throughout this whole ordeal, starting with that phone call. "You are the last, by his request."

"Everyone gets what they want, doll."

I stared at him. "What is that supposed to mean? What are you talking about?"

The ground beneath us began to shift, pulling apart from itself. Todd held onto me as we travelled with the floor, his grip painful on my arms. Revealed before us was a pit, the light from the room extending into it for some distance before the darkness took over.

"Is this not what you wanted, Araceli Michaels? To have an easy out, to have someone do the work for you in ending your life? Consider it a favour—October will not return to him unless he disposes of his past lovers. Especially those he is connected to."

Connected? There had to be some mistake. Before this whole thing happened, we hadn't talked in almost a year. Does that voice mean to tell me—did it mean to insinuate that Todd had been thinking about me all that time, that he actually felt something for me? What does it say about me that the disgust I felt for him swelled into a burning hatred? If it were true that he felt anything at all for me, how could he have just tossed me aside without a single word?

And yet, unsurprising if only to myself, none of that mattered or kept me from wanting Todd to take me back into his arms—not as a hostage, but once again as a lover. That my drug wanted me back was enough.

"Make no mistake about it, Araceli Michaels. This man had cared for you, but you always knew his affection for you paled in comparison to his love for a distant childhood friend. You had no hope of overcoming that."

Todd pushed me forward, releasing my arms. I stopped short of the edge, my breath caught in my throat as I stared down the pit. Trying to compose myself, I pushed myself up and stood, turning around to face him. I felt hot tears begin to slide down my cheeks and wiped them away angrily, knowing they weren't for Todd. They were for me, for my miserable inability to find reason to exist unless it was in relation to another. My inability to function or do anything unless someone else wanted me to. My inability to decide where my life should go, instead letting others dictate it for me. My inability to walk away from situations that don't benefit me.

I took a step backward towards the pit, taking deep, slow breaths. I hated that I didn't have anything to say, either to that voice or to Todd. I hated that it took me this long to make some sort of decision for myself and especially hated that this was the decision I was making.

Briefly, so briefly, I imagined walking towards Todd, expressing a desire for a hug or kiss to send me off. And just as he tried to fold me into his arms to appease my last wish, I would overpower him, surprising him as I send him into the pit myself. If nothing else, drag him down with me.

And brief it was. I couldn't do it. My body didn't want me to move anywhere but backward into the pit. I examined his face for a moment. The looks I once found so attractive—his slightly hooked nose, his thick lips, the angle of his jaw, the slight droop of the corners of his eyes—did nothing for me. It was as though I were seeing him again for the first time. That uncertainty whether I actually found him attractive as I slept by his side for the first time, the promise I made to myself I wouldn't return to him after one night because he wasn't good enough for me—looks or otherwise…

Not that those emotions or thoughts were misplaced, but I certainly could have used the resolve much earlier. Maybe would have kept myself from falling so deeply in the first place.

I took another step back, my heel no longer pressing against solid ground.

Briefly, so briefly, I hoped he would suddenly snap out of it—whatever "it" was—and rush towards me, pulling me away from the pit and tell me he was a fool for not realising it sooner. Perhaps that he only wanted to be with October because she was there first and it was comfortable, but now he knew that wasn't the way things should be, that it didn't make him happy.

His face was expressionless, if a little impatient.

Everyone's always waiting on me to finish. I took another step back, the sudden terror of losing the solid ground beneath me filling my body. My hands and feet tingled, my heart feeling as though it would explode in my chest, the rush of air--as I hurtled through it--left goosebumps upon my skin in its wake.

I heard the voice once more, growing fainter as I descended.

"He greatly appreciates your sacrifice, Araceli Michaels."

I doubted it.

======

Cry anyone's pardon for the ending. It's finished for now.

[reborn6303]

Thanks, I liked this a lot.

[† Anras Rune]

FINISHED?! FINISHED!!!!? Talk about cliffhanger EO, pardon the pun, but is it seriously finished? ACK!

But seriously, I liked it, wasn't expecting it to be finished so soon but twas very interesting. Hope tis not really the end, but til then good work!