Chapter 27: Black Box 2
ÉTIENNE
There was nothing hesitant about it. No pause to check, no question in the way her fingers moved. She knew what she was reaching for, and she reached for it like it already belonged to her.
Something in me locked.
My hand caught her wrist before I even registered the decision. Too tight, too fast, my grip cutting through whatever moment she thought we were having.
The kiss broke.
We stayed like that, suspended in something that had shifted without warning, her hand trapped in mine, her breath still brushing my lips while her eyes searched my face. I could see the confusion first, then the flicker of understanding trying to form around something she couldn’t quite name.
"We shouldn’t."
My voice didn’t sound like mine. It came out rough, dragged up from somewhere that already felt too tight.
"Right," she said, quick, adjusting, trying to smooth over the fracture. "No sex."
She said it like that was all it was. It was in a way. After all, that was the line I was drawing.
And maybe she believed that was all it was.
She leaned back in, closing the space again, her lips finding mine with that same practiced ease, like she could reset us if she just kept going. Like whatever had just happened was a small misstep instead of something breaking open.
I let her.
I shouldn’t have, but I did. I let my hands settle, let my mouth move with hers, let myself pretend for a second that my body hadn’t already started pulling away from her.
Then her hand moved again.
Not down this time.
Up.
Her palm slid across my bare chest, light, almost absent, the kind of touch that shouldn’t have meant anything.
It was the wrong kind of light.
My breath hitched before I could stop it.
For a moment, it was still her. Still this room, this bed, the faint scent of her skin and the familiar weight of her leaning over me.
Then something shifted.
It didn’t happen all at once. It crept in, subtle enough that I almost missed it, until my back felt the surface beneath me change, the softness of the mattress hardening into something unyielding, something that pressed into me instead of holding me.
My arms wouldn’t move.
I tried to lift them, to push myself up, to create even an inch of space, and nothing happened. It was like my body had stopped answering me.
Hands.
Not hers.
More than one. I could feel them before I could make sense of them, firm where they held me down, deliberate in the way they kept me there. Not violent in the way people expect violence to be, but controlled, practiced, like this was something they had done before.
My chest tightened under the touch, that same light pressure now wrong in a way I couldn’t explain, like it wasn’t just contact, like it was a claim.
Like I didn’t get to decide what happened next.
My throat burned as I tried to speak. Tried to say anything. A word, a protest, her name, anything that would break whatever this was.
Nothing came out.
The silence pressed in harder than the hands did, swallowing every attempt before it could form.
So when I got a slight bit of control back, I shoved her back.
The motion was violent and instinctive. She fell against the pillows with a small sound of surprise. We both froze. Shock registered on her face. Horror registered on mine.
I thought that would be the end of it but it started again. Those strong hands gripped my legs... Like dainty fingers wrapped around my wrists. They held me down while I struggled. While I screamed without making sound.
Séverine looked at me, partly shocked and mostly scared.
"Theo, Is it your trauma?"
Séverine’s voice cut through the hallucination. I blinked. The hands disappeared again and the room came back into focus.
"No," I lied.
"Are you sure..."
"I... I need to use the bathroom."
I stood before she could respond. My legs felt unsteady. The floor tilted beneath my feet.
"I didn’t mean to—"
"I know." The words came out clipped and harsh. "I just need a moment."
I crossed to the bathroom without looking at her. The door closed behind me. My hands fumbled with the lock. It clicked into place.
Water. I needed water.
I turned the faucet. Cold water poured out. I cupped my hands beneath the stream and brought them to my face. The shock of it helped. I splashed more water. Let it drip down my neck.
It was supposed to help. But...
It hit me all at once again. Hands grabbed my chest. Male hands, rough and demanding. Calloused fingers dug into my ribs hard enough to bruise. They pinned me flat while I thrashed against them. I begged them to stop. My voice came out wrong as I tried to beg but what came out of my mouth sounded young. A thing to be preyed on and it only dragged me further those sick memories. Where I had been broken in ways I’d tried to forget.
Female hands joined in. Smaller but just as forceful. Nails raked across my stomach, leaving trails of fire. They traced patterns that made bile rise in my throat. Touched places that weren’t theirs. Places I couldn’t protect no matter how hard I fought.
More hands came. I lost count. They grabbed my legs and forced them apart. Held me down while pain ripped through me. I screamed until my voice died. They laughed. Told me to be grateful. Said I should enjoy this. That boys like me were made for it.
The cage walls pressed close around me. Metal bit into my back. Sweat and something fouler filled my lungs until I couldn’t breathe.
I closed my eyes and shut it out. The mantra came without thinking. I’d said these words so many times they lived in my bones now.
I am no longer in that cage.
I am free.
I am free.
I am free.
...
I repeated it ten times. Each iteration pushed back against the memories trying to drag me under. By the tenth repetition, my breathing had steadied. The phantom hands had released their grip.
I opened my eyes.
The bathroom was empty. It was now just me and my reflection in the mirror. That and the sound of running water and my ragged breathing.
I straightened and turned off the faucet. Water dripped from my face onto the counter. I grabbed the towel hanging beside the sink and pressed it against my skin until the cold stopped biting.
When I came out, Séverine was sitting exactly where I’d left her. Worry had settled into the lines around her eyes.
"Are you okay?"
I nodded. The mask sat on her dresser. I picked it up but couldn’t bring myself to put it back on. My fingers traced the smooth surface while I walked to the far side of the bed.
"It’s late. We should rest."
The sheets were cool when I slid under them. I pulled the covers up to my shoulders and turned away from her. My eyes closed against the dim light still filtering through the curtains.
"I’m so sorry."
Her voice barely reached me. Soft and apologetic. Hurt in a way that made my chest tighten.
I didn’t answer. Just kept my breathing steady. If I stayed still enough, maybe sleep would eventually come.
The mattress dipped as she settled beside me. She kept her distance. She didn’t reach out or try to make me talk.
The bond hummed beneath everything else. Faint but persistent. It carried fragments of what Margaux was feeling down the hall. Fear that tasted metallic. Shame that sat heavy. Grief that mirrored something I recognized too well.
I shoved it away and focused on the darkness behind my eyelids instead. On Séverine’s breathing as it gradually evened out into sleep.
I knew I wouldn’t rest tonight. The memories would circle back eventually. They always did. But I could lie here and wait for morning. For whatever came next in the plan I’d set in motion.
There was no undoing what I’d started.