Private Property

Sonny doesn’t so much wake up as he notices he’s no longer unconscious. The second thing he notices, with some difficulty, is that his head feels kind of like somebody sawed open his skull and replaced his brain with a bowling ball. The harder he tries to recall getting here, in a cold, dark room, the more his head hurts. His nostrils burn with every inhale- maybe he breathed something in? Was he drugged? Sonny can’t even parse his own thoughts enough to wonder. The cold air of the basement leaves his bare skin chill to the touch, and when he tries to move, he realizes the heavy weights around his wrists are chains. A low, foreboding thud of footsteps pierces his ears and alerts him to somebody’s presence. Looking up, he sees only a silhouette descending from the stairs at the far side of the room. The figure is large, bulky. Decidedly male, but little else is apparent at first glance.

As the figure approaches him, Sonny shrinks back, but it’s not like he can hide. The figure kneels before him, grabs his chin and forces him to look up. The man’s hands are rough and calloused, fingertips brushing over a particularly raw and sensitive spot on his chin, and as Sonny’s eyes adjust to the dark a little more, he thinks he can make out a beard. 

The voice that escapes the stranger is deep and baritone, laced with a southern accent. It drips with disappointment. 

“It’s a shame I had to go and bust your pretty face, but I reckon it’ll heal up…” The man lets go of Sonny’s face and stands, stepping away. “Ain’t gonna stop me from leavin’ more marks though, promise.”

“What?” Sonny asks, even though he’s a little scared to. He watches the figure as he paces to the side and comes back with something- a bucket, maybe? “Where- Where am I?”

“You’re safe, baby. Ain’t gonna let nothin’ hurt ya but me,” the man says, running his hands over Sonny’s shoulders. He’s now wearing gloves of some sort- the texture suggests leather, and Sonny feels his heart rate pick up. What the fuck does he need those for?

Silently, the man pulls Sonny by the chains attached to his hands- he brings the boy to his feet, and then lifts the chains in the air, forcing Sonny’s arms upward- he hooks the chains to something, and Sonny’s left with his hands suspended above him as he pulls away. Sonny tries to get a hold on his breathing. He’s not sure why, but some irrational part of him thinks that if he tries not to look scared, maybe this man won’t hurt him.

A match lights in the darkness- when the man drops it in the bucket, a true fire roars to life and basks the both of them in a warm, foreboding glow. Sonny can make out more of the man’s face now- he was right about the beard, a dirty blond. His eyebrows are thick and angular and his hair somewhat unkempt, but not disastrous. Focusing on his face does very little to distract Sonny from the fire. His eyes keep darting between the man and the flames. Suddenly, the leather gloves make all too much sense, and now he’s looking for it, Sonny notices the metal rod poking out of the fire. 

“D-Don’t…” Sonny squirms helplessly, almost disheartened by the sound of chains rattling. “Please don’t…”

“Hush, now.” The man smiles- his teeth are so white it’s almost freakish- and takes the rod from the flame, twirling it around to the right orientation. The end is bent into a heart shape, and red hot with heat.  “The stiller you stay, the less this’ll hurt. And less chances I’ll have to do it over. So be a good boy for me.”

“No, no, no-” Sonny thrashes against the chains, his desperate struggle growing in intensity the closer the rod inches toward his stomach.

The moment the glowing-hot iron meets skin, Sonny freezes in place, half not wanting to make the injury worse and half in blind shock; he doesn’t even breathe. It hurts like nothing Sonny’s ever felt before, brings him to the point of tears, and still, he stays frozen, teeth clenching like a vice-grip. He sees smoke rise from his seared torso; the air fills with the pungent, acrid stench of burning flesh. Sonny tries not to breathe it in as his body begs him for oxygen.

It isn’t until the rod is pulled away that everything hits Sonny, all at once- the tension in his muscles gives way to shock, trembling even as his body collapses the farthest it can while still suspended by chains, gasping for breath. The way his skin folds over itself agitates the raw wound, but he can’t find it in himself to avoid the pain. He feels impossibly dizzy and lightheaded, and denied an opportunity to sit down, a churning sense of nausea begins to settle low in his throat. He hears a laugh and, for a moment, can’t tell where it’s coming from, until the stranger’s hands are back on his body, gripping his bare torso. He hates the very touch, wants to fight it, but he feels like if he moves his body with any modicum of spontaneity right now he might throw up. 

“That’s a good boy…” The man coos, hands running upward to Sonny’s chest, thumbs flicking over his nipples. Sonny blinks away tears, the wetness rolling down his cheek. Just what has he gotten himself into?