Breaking Benjamin (NSFW, 18+)

He freezes again with another cracked whimper, still hyperventilating. No, no, no...

"What... what do you ... care?? Wh... why should I help you, you... you crazy bitch??"

It's true. She can do anything at all to him. He's going to die here, at the hands of some lunatic who sings showtunes in her fucking murderdungeon.

Why is this his life??

 

She stares him in the eye, eyes dark behind the paint, then releases his chin and flicks her fingers, summoning a set of wicked fishhooks. "Because I can be so, so much worse."

The hooks vanish with another flick of her fingers. "And you'll just have to wait and find out. Knowing why I've chosen you would be counterproductive to the point, I'm afraid."

 

"... people can't do that!" People absolutely can not summon fishhooks out of mid-air. That is not how physics work. That's not how anything works.

"Fuck. Fuck, I have to be dreaming, this isn't... this can't..."

He holds still anyway, frozen in place where she left him, imagining all the things that metal fishhooks could do, that close to his face.

"... fuck," he whispers.

 

"I'm not just anyone," she purrs, smiling, voice syrupy sweet. "Now don't fight, I'm going to switch your restraints to something a little more...comfortable. Can't have you injuring yourself, now, can we?"

 

He nods convulsively, not meeting her eyes. He... he knows he should run, should fight, but he's so scared and so exhausted, he can't bring himself to do it. Coward.

If she can grab fishhooks out of midair... what the hell can he really do to fight? What else can she do, in the yards between here and the door? The door that's probably locked and barred. And he has no idea how far underground he is, or how far from home.

There are helpless tears leaking from his eyes, and there's nothing he can do to wipe them, not while holding perfectly still. It blurs his vision, making her jolt sickeningly again as he tries to blink the moisture from his eyes.

 

She lets out a pleased little laugh, leaning over to press a light kiss to his forehead. "Oh, come on, I haven't even started. There's no reason to cry just yet. Save it for when it counts."

She leans back, biting her lip, and drops out of his line of sight, rummaging around with something underneath the rack.

"Hmm... silk seems wrong... i have to have some properly padded restraints... no. No. I'm telling you, the line will just cut right in. Losing any limbs would be counterproductive. Well, I should have listened to me, not you. Those are far too rough. We need a more... delicate touch. At least for this."

 

He jerks at her touch, stiffening in a way that makes it obvious her touch disturbs him, even when it's relatively innocent. It feels... It feels like a violation, when she touches him.

"What... what are you going to do?"

He can guess, when he's on a rack and she's talking about tying him up so he doesn't lose any limbs. But maybe if she says it out loud... Maybe he can brace for it. A little bit.

She's definitely talking to herself. He's trapped at the mercy of an insane kidnapper who sings showtunes and talks to the voices in her head about how she should torture him.

 

"Quiet, Mr. Halverson. This is a very important decision, and I need to ensure I have the right tools on hand." She snaps. "You do not get to know what I'm doing. You do not get to know why. You don't even get to know my proper name until the point at which I decide you are cleared for that information."

She straightens, holding a set of padded leather cuffs. "All you are allowed to know, is that everything that happens to you, from this moment on, is at my will. My decision. Your existence from this second onwards comes down to what I want it to be."

 

"C--" His mouth clamps shut, and he cringes, biting back his words.

Cleared for that information? She sounds like someone in a bad spy thriller, the kind with Men in Black running around everywhere, and hostage negotiations. That's not how the world works. This is all insane.

He lowers his gaze and nods, trying to placate her, as his hands clench nervously into fists. Fuck. Please stop. Please.

 

She stands stiffly, staring at him as though waiting for any more signs of challenge or disrespect.

When it fails to come, her smile returns, and she brushes away a few of his tears with her fingertips, licks the salt from her fingers. "...very good. Now. Behave."

She sets the cuffs down and unties one of his wrists, inspecting the damage he's done to himself.

 

He's not a damn pet! He's not... not property!

He cringes, holding perfectly still even with his wrist free, although his arms are aching from being held in the air for so long.

The skin of his wrist is rubbed raw and bloody, but the injuries are ultimately superficial. They would heal in a few days, if he can get away. As it is... he doesn't think he's going to have that time.

It's been years since he's been so close to someone for long, and the intimacy of it makes him nauseous, even when she's not touching him. He's so completely helpless. He barely goes out every few weeks, these days, timed carefully to avoid crowds and watchful eyes. He hasn't dated since college. This is almost sensory overload, having her so close, being trapped in an environment he can't control. He would be having an anxiety attack again, if he had the energy.

 

She smooths her fingers gently over his skin, lips pursed. This is going to be a setback. Maybe she should off long enough? Ugh, but that project at work might get in the way...

She clicks her tongue in annoyance then sets to work, carefully cleaning away the blood and disinfecting the area with an annoyed shake of her head.

 

Benjamin flinches at the sting of disinfectant, jerking his hand away automatically, before he has time to think about it consciously. He winces, moving his hand back into place, and braces himself to hold very, very still.

His eyes are wide, muscles tense, as he waits to see if she's going to punish him.

 

She opens her mouth to snap out a sharp reprimand, but he's already settling his hand back down. She watches him owlishly for a moment, then smiles, gently stroking the skin of his palm with one thumb. "Very good."

She begins to slowly, gently bandage his wrist, smile one of abject pleasure.

 

It's such a relief, he catches himself almost feeling grateful. He flushes red from scalp to collar, looking away.

This gentleness is almost as frightening as the overt threats. He doesn't like pain, but this... it makes him feel like she's going to keep him. He's not a pet.

 

She smooths the bandage down and tightens the cuffs, slipping a finger in and checking the tightness, before leaning over and pressing another gentle kiss to his cheek. "Very good, Benjamin..."

 

Maybe... maybe she's not planning to torture him. Kill him. Maybe this is some insane kinky sex thing.

Does that even happen?

Maybe if he does what she wants, she'll leave him alone, let him go. Even if he'll never really feel safe in his house again... At least he won't be dead, right?

He tries not to flinch away when she kisses his cheek, though the sense of violation is no less than before. Just... just let him go. Let him go.

 

She circles to his other side, repeating the same careful process with his other arm, starting to quietly hum under her breath.

 

As long as she's being gentle, and not threatening him with fishhooks... he can take this, he can do this. He just has to sit still and tolerate the unbearable caress of her touch, until she... gets bored.

He wants to live through this so badly.

He can do this. He has to.

 

She tightens the cuff, singing under her breath and loosening his feet.

"Death doesn’t discriminate
Between the sinners
And the saints
It takes and it takes and it takes
And we keep living anyway
We rise and we fall
And we break
And we make our mistakes
And if there’s a reason I’m still alive
When everyone who loves me has died
I’m willing to wait for it
I’m willing to wait for it~"

Her touch is far too gentle, each touch a caress, a love song played with fingertips, but it shouldn't be. Her touch is too much, a phantom sensation ghosting under his skin, caressing the muscles and tendons just under her fingertips.