Disclaimer: I do not own The Boy (2016) or any of it's characters.
Write Blood on My Skin
It was a relief when Malcolm finally agreed to leave her alone.
It had been almost fourteen hours since... well. Since he happened. And in all that time, not once had Malcolm let her be. His concern was touching, really. But it had begun to grate on her nerves.
The two had stumbled, disbelieving and worn, into the lobby of the first place they could find; a small bed and breakfast not far from the edge of town. If the elderly woman at the reception desk noticed anything amiss, she certainly didn't say. There was no question as to whether or not they'd share a room. Neither of them wanted to be alone in the early hours, not after such an ordeal.
Nothing came of it of course. After making sure the door was securely latched and both the windows bolted, they'd fallen asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillows. The adrenaline had worn off, and in it's place weariness claimed them. She'd slept deeply, for what felt like an age. It had really only been a couple of hours. It wasn't enough.
Morning came, and with it, a sense of unbalance.
Greta felt stifled.
They took breakfast in their room, talking quietly of things that would need to be done, calls to be made. Someone needed to contact the authorities now that the initial shock had worn off. And all through their meal, Malcolm hovered. He didn't say anything, but he didn't really have to. It was written all over his face. Greta knew she hadn't contributed much since they'd awoken, merely mumbling out small responses and only truly speaking when addressed. He had every right to be concerned.
That didn't make her hate it any less.
She felt wrung out, hollowed. She wanted to forget, to curl up in a ball and just be. But Malcolm wouldn't allow it. Like suddenly emerging from a fog, he was on red alert. He had direction.
Her friend badgered her into eating, into finishing her meal even though it tasted like nothing. He wouldn't let her go back to bed. His voice began to irritate her more with every passing second.
When he suggested they go down to the station together, Greta finally managed to look him in the eye. She couldn't stand to face anyone else, not now. She needed time. It took some convincing, but in the end Malcolm agreed to leave her behind and head into town on his own. She could tell he wanted to poke around, see if word had gotten out yet before they made any official reports. They still needed to get their stories straight after all.
On his way out he suggested that he might stop at home and change, see if he could rustle her up some clothes. Greta simply nodded in acknowledgement, already retreating again. She couldn't find it in herself to care.
X X X
Peeling her grimy clothes off felt like removing a layer of skin, leaving her exposed in a way she couldn't quite describe.
But stepping into the heat of the shower, now that felt like coming alive.
Steam billowed through the tiny room as she turned the knob to just shy of scalding. Breathing freely for the first time since she'd woken up, Greta simply stood in the tub with her eyes shut, basking in the warmth.
It took a good half hour of mindless scrubbing before she started to feel even remotely clean again. Eyes firmly closed to reality, her movements slowly took on an intent of their own. She gently dragged her fingertips up and down her arms, slowly weaving them high up across her neck and then trailing them back down to her sides, just barely touching. With each pass they went a bit further, became a little bolder. She hadn't realized how utterly numb she'd been until now. Everything felt heightened, electrified.
With this new sense of awareness dawning over her, darker thoughts began to bleed in. Some memories are better left alone. But she couldn't help it. He was there.
She could still see him in her mind's eye with perfect clarity. Brahms, the real Brahms, seared into her being like a brand. A terrible revelation, thoughts of Brahms brought with them a burning truth she'd never admit. Not aloud at least.
Greta had never felt more alive than in the moment she'd truly laid eyes on him.
She'd felt him coming, that horrible pounding through the walls; his footfalls in perfect time with the beating in her chest. Each sound thundering against her, rattling her bones. Sick anticipation had grown with every passing second, welling up inside her until it had been almost hard to breathe... and then there he was. Like a monstrous parody of her shining white knight, porcelain mask gleaming in the lamp light.
He'd crept out of the mirror like a horror. Like a dream.
Greta caught her fingers sliding ever lower of their own accord as the memory unfolded. She hesitated. This was wrong.
Brahms was wrong. A liar and a murderer with something dark and twisted in his soul.
But even having witnessed that...
Greta hesitated for the briefest of moments before coming forward to lean over him. Screwdriver still clenched firmly in her hand, hidden away from view, she leaned down. Hovering just above the lips of his mask, she stared into his eyes. Blue, so very blue.
She was at a precipice. Teetering against the sudden drop she could feel looming ahead. Time to make a decision...
Memories of trying to stab Brahms, of wrestling with him hurt deep in her chest, but in her mind's eye...
The screwdriver clattered noisily to the floor. Greta stepped up to her cliff and took a flying leap off the edge.
Leaning in those last few inches, she pressed an open-mouthed kiss to porcelain lips. Her knees bracketed Brahms hips as she crawled over him, hands coming to rest on his chest. Brahms groaned deep in his throat, the sound not at all matching the childish lilt of mere moments ago. A man's voice called to her now, breathing her name hotly into her ear as his hands came up to clutch desperately at her hips. "Greta..."
The relief in his voice was palpable, easily rivaling the need she could feel in his grip...
The heat of her back contrasted sharply with the cold of the tiles as Greta leaned heavily against the shower wall, hand moving frantically now. Her other hand came down of it's own accord, fingers fervently tweaking her clit. She groaned at the new sensation. So good...
Squeezing her eyes shut even tighter, she threw her head back with a gasp as Brahms bit viciously into her shoulder, hard enough to draw blood. There would be bruises, marks left behind. She didn't care. His hands lifted with her as she grinded against him, guiding her movements. Caging but not controlling. He was allowing her the illusion of control, some semblance of stability, and she reveled in it. Wildly undulating her hips in time with his, Greta lunged forward and attacked the base of his throat, kissing and biting the hollow there. He released a low moan and she followed it with her mouth, chasing his pleasure. Enhancing it. His noises grew deeper the higher she climbed until her lips brushed against the rim of his mask.
This time she didn't hesitate.
Nosing the cool porcelain aside, she squeezed her eyes shut and kissed frantically across his cheek. She didn't want to look. Couldn't. No matter how much curiosity burned her now. If she looked, it wouldn't be real. She hadn't gotten the chance to see his true face before they'd escaped. She didn't want to try and imagine it now. It would be an abomination.
Quickly shoving that thought back into the recesses of her mind, Greta gasped into his mouth as he ripped her shirt, jarring her. "Brahms…" she barely got his name out before he was moving. Rearing up he shoved her back off his lap, utterly disorienting her for a moment in his frenzy to climb on top of her. Head now hanging partially off the bed, Greta peered back peculiarly at her flipped surroundings. Trying to catch her breath, her mouth dropped open into a moan as he yanked her bra down, taking a nipple between his teeth. Keeping her eyes firmly away, Greta slid her fingers into his dark curls as he nipped and sucked, palming the other warmly in his hand…
Reaching up, Greta bit her lip as she grabbed the sprayer, pulling the nozzle down to her most sensitive place, searing a trail down her body along the way. Fuck it was getting hot in here. She felt so good. So alive.
Fantasy shifting suddenly, Greta found herself exposed on her knees, with Brahms' hot form pressing in against her from behind. He yanked her head back by her hair, displaying her throat as he captured her mouth in a brutal kiss. She bit his lip at the force. He retaliated by tightening his grip and kissing even deeper, battling her tongue with his own. He pulled away desperately, and she panted as he kissed a line down to her collarbone She felt so vulnerable in this position. Loved it. Sucking a bruise hard into her shoulder, he teased her with his teeth. "Say it. Say you're mine."
She could barely think let alone speak with his mouth working her skin and his free hand traveling south. "Greta please..."
Everything had suddenly slowed to a leisurely crawl as he slid his fingers through her folds breathtakingly slow. Fuck, he was so close. More, she needed more. "I... I..." She what? What did he want?
"Come now Greta," Oh sweet Jesus that voice, "Say it." His finger dipped in ever so slowly...
"I... I don't know..." Fuck, why was she hesitating again? She knew what he wanted. What she had to give.
It's not real she whispered to herself. His lips drew a line back up the column of her throat to press heatedly against her ear. Pressing her free hand hard against her mouth, she pleaded into her fingers. It's not real. It's not real. "Yes you do..." Her pleasure spiked and she gasped aloud.
It felt real.
"Yes?" her voice shook. She could barely breathe. She needed... she needed...
In that moment she needed him inside her with every fiber of her being.
"Oh God, please! " She babbled, almost sobbing. "I'm yours, I've always been yours." Releasing her hair, his hands guided her swiftly forward until she was resting her weight on her forearms. Leaning along her back, he pressed his lips to the base of her neck, nosing along her spine. An arm came around and under her, crossing her chest to grab her shoulder, holding her securely in his grip. She couldn't have pulled away if she'd wanted. His strength was like iron.
"Oh Greta..." His voice was gruff. The head of his cock slid slick against her entrance. So close...
She sobbed out loud.
"All mine." He thrust in without warning, painfully sharp, and she choked back a scream.
X X X
Malcolm tried to ignore the fact that he was hurrying as he made his way up the cramped stairway and down the short hall to their shared room. The whole trip out to his flat, he had worried about Greta. Was she doing okay? Would she be alright in the room by herself? What if something happened to her while he was gone? Concern consumed him, feeling like a pit in his chest. He didn't like not being with her. Not after all that had happened last night. He needed her where he could see her, hear her breathing, right in front of him. He had completely skipped roaming around town, going straight home to grab some clothes so he could get back to her as quickly as possible.
He'd just have to convince her to come with him next time. He wouldn't leave her again. Couldn't. Not after the way she'd acted upon waking. She was like a shell.
Malcolm didn't fully know what had happened to Greta inside the Heelshire house. But just because he didn't have a complete picture didn't mean he couldn't put the pieces together.
Traumatized had been the first word to come to mind upon meeting her eyes at the breakfast table this morning. Shell shocked and unfeeling were both good runner ups. It was like she had completely unplugged from reality. Malcolm was no expert, but he knew Greta was going to need some serious help coming to terms with what had happened to them... to her.
She had mentioned having a close friend back in the states, what was her name? Sarah, Sasha... Sandy! Sandy. Perhaps he should give her a call...
Pushing the door open hastily, he called out. "Greta? I know I'm back early, but I..." he paused at the clear lack of brunette gracing the little room in front of him. Had she stepped out? Panicking, Malcolm felt a fist quickly grip and than release his heart in the same second as his eyes landed on the thin line of yellow light peeking out from under the bathroom door. Ah good, she was just freshening up. Definitely a good sign.
Shutting the door softly, he strolled over and deposited his bag on the bed, flopping tiredly beside it. Folding his hands over his stomach, he found himself staring contemplatively up toward the ceiling. He wasn't quite sure how to convince her to come out of the room with him, but hopefully the fact that she was taking a bit more of an interest in herself meant she was feeling ready for more interaction. Maybe if he suggested going back to his flat... bit more lowkey. No police just yet, should help her relax. But where to go from there...
Humming to himself, Malcolm peered at his watch.
Minutes had passed... and still no Greta. Perhaps she had only just gotten in? He could understand the need to veg out in the shower a little. The hot water could be so therapeutic at the worst of times. But still.
Maybe he should check on her. Just to be sure...
No, she's an adult and he should respect her space. She had obviously wanted some this morning. He'd never seen anyone flinch so hard when he'd tried to place a hand on her shoulder as he'd passed behind her. So much for being a comforting presence, he sighed. This whole event had clearly put a dent in their growing relationship. But she was obviously feeling a bit better now, so hopefully things would go differently.
He just had to be patient.
Several more minutes went by as Malcolm stared holes into ceiling, trying to decide what exactly he was going to say when she finally emerged. She didn't.
A hard thud from the bathroom startled him out of his reverie and he sat up. "Greta?" Hopping up he padded quietly over to the bathroom door and rapt gently against the wood. "Hey Greta, is everything alright? I thought I heard something."
A little louder this time, "Greta? You good?"
Still nothing but the sound of running water. She'd probably just dropped something, shampoo bottle maybe...
A low, broken moan sang softly out from under the door. She sounded like she was in pain. "Greta, maybe you should come out no-" A sharp cry cut him off and Malcolm immediately reached for the door handle, jiggling it. "Hey, what's wrong? Unlock the door for me." Silence. Would it be an invasion of her privacy if he were to pick the lock? He had seen a paperclip by the nightstand somewhere... the choice was made for him a second later.
Greta cried out like a woman possessed, like she was being eaten alive and Malcolm decided right then and there that privacy be damned, he was going inside.
"Hold on Greta, I'm coming! Stand clear!" He took a step back and braced...
X X X
Sniffling, Greta slowly peeled her eyes open to peer down at her hands. They stung.
Small rivulets of blood dripped down from where she'd dug her nails in. She'd carved right into her skin. Greta starred in silent fascination as the watery drops bled red down her fingers.
She was startled out of her daze as the door broke open. Had someone been knocking?
"Oh Greta, sweetheart no..." Malcolm hurried over to the stall and dropped to his knees next to her, ignoring the way the wet of the shower stall soaked into his clothes. Taking her hands in his, he began to dry them with his t-shirt. "Come on now, let's get you all dried up shall we?" She nodded mutely, allowing him to pull her up through the glass door. Wrapping her securely in a towel, Malcolm started rubbing his hands vigorously up and down her arms. Was she cold? He was frowning. What was going on? Greta was startled to find she was shaking.
"m-Malcolm, I'm fine." She mumbled. God she felt strange. Not back to normal, no, but certainly not numb anymore. She felt different. There wasn't a word for the kind of different she felt, and that scared her. Greta kept trying to look at him, to convey this, but he wouldn't meet her eyes.
"No, Greta, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you alone. We went through a serious ordeal last night and I should have realized how badly it was affecting you." Brow furrowed, he turned and started rummaging through the medicine cabinet. "There's got to be some bandages here somewhere, hang on."
"No really, I'm okay. I just needed..." That got his attention. He turned back around. "You needed what?"
"I needed..." He raised an eyebrow, waiting. "I... God Malcolm, I don't know, I- there's something wrong with me. I need him. "
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