A/N: God, this was a total bitch to revise. Sorry, just ... whew. Took me like, three days. Yeah, yeah, you don't want to hear me complain, whatever.
This is a prequel of sorts to 24636, or, you could say, the first installment in my Breakout Kings trilogy that I have yet to come up with a name yet. Despite taking for fucking ever to revise, I think this is the one fic I actually think I didn't do too bad on. But - that's ultimately up for you guys to decide.
Warning: Mature content, mentions and slight snippets of rape. Do not read if you are susceptible to triggers from this content.
R&R, ma peeps!
"He pretends that he's okay / But you should see / Him in bed late at night, he's petrified … / Nothing kills a man faster than his own head / He used to see dreams at night / But now he's just watching the backs of his eyes … " -21 Pilots, Trapdoor
"Wake up, Doc," the voice was smooth and slick with just a hint of sing-song quality, penetrating the fog that had clouded his mind like a needle going through fabric. The analogous thread tied to the needle would, of course, then, be the following string of dread that immediately trailed after the first recognition of Damien's voice. "You can sleep when you're dead."
Lloyd swallowed, blinking owlishly and tightening his muscles in an automatic fear response to recognizing the man before him. Once realizing his surroundings, he shook visibly, reaching down to his ankle to grapple for the red pen in his sock as a weapon, but was hindered quite soon by the shackles on his wrists, and the duct-tape binding him to the chair he resided in. Lloyd panicked, trying not to verbally release the fast-paced mantra of ohshitohshitohshit that Damien would be able to hear. No, he reprimanded himself. Get out, I need to focus on getting out. And right now a gesture-of-friendship-pen is not going to help matters in substantial quantities.
Ignoring the burn in his chest at his mind's thoughtful reminder of his most recent rejection, Lloyd abandoned the venture for the pen and tried to get the cogs in his head to turn once more instead, attempting to shake the drug out of his system. He glanced around the room, trying to find any immediately identifiable marks or objects that could help Raymond find him, just in case Lloyd got a chance to communicate with him before he was killed; upon finding nothing of immediate use, Lloyd turned his mind back to the most important matter at hand - escaping. If the physical means to escape were obstructed, then it seemed the mental means were the next best bet; he had to persuade his captor to release him. He glanced up desperately at the video camera, then at the man behind it, squirming at the feeling of cold metal on his wrists. Restraints had always made him anxious, even before he had been arrested for manslaughter.
"The marshals know I'm missing, they're going to be here any minute," he tried to assure Damien, though his voice wavered slightly - and if that wasn't a big enough indicator to his lying status, the instinctual, subsequent sniff and slow exhale to calm himself surely screamed the notion.
And surely enough, "I think we both know that's not true." The killer spoke softly, as if to soothe Lloyd's screaming anxiety; or, perhaps, to put him more on edge, which, evidently, was what had been accomplished by Damien's sotto voce. Either way, the words were almost as soft as a whisper. "Cops will be here later to wheel you out, though."
A lowered voice indicated either a presence of something in the room that was potentially threatening, or that the holder of the voice held malicious intent towards their victim. Knowing Damien, both of those were equally possible, and probable to happen simultaneously.
However, Lloyd also knew that Damien needed an audience. That lead to the question of who exactly his audience was; sure, when Damien didn't have Lloyd in custody, the genius acted as Damien's audience, but there was also a wide realm of possibility that Damien had brought along a friend to be an audience instead, while Damien was free to toy with Lloyd.
Pushing the haunting prospect of being Damien's new toy out of his mind, Lloyd spared a glance upward at the now-present smirk on Damien's face, which then proved to be a mistake, as the genius felt a surge of anger flush through him, easily overtaking the drug and clearing his mind. He had some unfinished business to take care of with Damien, and if now wasn't the perfect time …
"You know, killing Charlie was a really, really bad idea," Lloyd bit out through clenched teeth as he tilted his head confrontationally, bouncing slightly in his seat to cloak his trembling body and his discomfort at being restrained. "Every law enforcement agency in the country has a price on your head."
Damien casually slides his hands into his pockets and gives an indifferent shrug, his expression almost a lazy sneer as he says, "You kill one middle-aged marshal and everybody gets their panties in a bunch." He begins to move, to walk closer, and Lloyd instinctively shrinks backward in his chair, breaking and subsequently avoiding eye contact so to not aggravate Damien further. Lloyd's boiling rage may just be enough to set the man off, and then where would they all be? So Lloyd just had to keep calm.
But there's that mocking smirk, present again on Damien's face, as he whispers gently, almost innocently, "Speaking of panties … "
He moves to the crate to the right Lloyd instead, and the genius can feel all hope of them being alone plummet in his stomach, without hitting any bottom and causing slight vertigo that Lloyd sways from. Preparing for whatever may come, Lloyd made another attempt to reach for the pen as a desperate last shot at leverage, but needless to say, he was definitely not expecting a co-ed girl tied up and curled up at an awkward angle to be inside the crate. Vertigo and pen forgotten, Lloyd dives forward, a growl tearing from his throat involuntarily.
"No!" It's not a scream, and not nearly primal enough for a snarl, but it has to be the most forceful word Lloyd has ever felt himself say; his own chest struggles with the compression he's put on it, with the abundance of air he pushed out at one time. If the look Lloyd sent Damien earlier was desperate, this was beyond so, nearing frenzied and hitting the bullseye on hysterical as Damien begins to stroke her hair.
Lloyd isn't sure what's worse, the impending inevitability of himself being a live audience to crimes Damien has committed before, or the girl's odd resignation to the situation she had been placed in. She glances around with reddened eyes, and every other second she jolts a little to hold back a sob, but she doesn't pull away from Damien's touch, nor does she make any sort of opposing noise to stop him. She is resigned to her fate, and, in Damien's eyes, tamed.
By now, Lloyd is leaning too far off of his chair, until he thinks he's going to fall. He's stretching physically toward the girl, but he knows that what the girl needs right now is not physical; in fact, what she really doesn't need is anything physical, especially from Damien.
"I know you love games of chance," Damien intones in the same mellow tone that conveys calm and steady control over the situation, and Lloyd finds himself wanting to wipe the smirk off of Damien's face with his fist. Lloyd's breathing is incredibly heavy, arguably heavier than when the bullies back in grade school would push him around and leave him lying in the back alley behind the school. Each breath is an inhalation of poison that Lloyd knows will slowly tear him apart from the inside, starting with his mental state and slowly moving toward the physical.
Whatever Damien seems to have done in every encounter with Lloyd, he has changed something in Lloyd's brain, possibly speeding up the inevitable survivor's guilt soon to come; which implies that Lloyd is already resigned to the girl's … unravelling, and oh god, he has to keep himself from yelling at Damien to let him go, he's already got the girl, he doesn't need Lloyd -
But Damien does need him. He needs an audience. Because Brent Howson is dead, he needs someone to watch him. Self-preservation be damned, Lloyd swore when he was convicted for manslaughter all those years ago that from that moment on he would never be witness to anything he couldn't stop.
He can't have another girl's blood on his hands.
Damien seemed to have other ideas. "What do you say we raise the stakes a bit?" He smiled outright, showing off all of his stark-white teeth that looked more like shark's teeth to Lloyd than human ones. The predator in Lloyd rebelled at the comparison, but the predator was an infinitely smaller entity than the prey inside him, which screamed for release and gave sound to his self-preservation. Lloyd ignored both of his instincts, and watched with frantic desperation as Damien hauled the girl up and out of the box and pulled up a chair for her to sit in.
He could only look on, helpless as a rag doll, as Damien placed her down in the chair, walking behind her and holding her shoulders, pressing them together as he took a long whiff of her hair. He gave Lloyd a predacious, knowing look along with that same smirk, before he retreated to a bag resting by the video camera. He leant down and unzipped the front-most pocket, where one would usually keep their most valuable possessions on a trip; inside this pocket, Damien kept a simple bottle of what looked to be -
Lloyd swallowed the bile that rose in this throat, and steeled his muscles, refusing to let the involuntary, repulsed convulsion show. He faintly recalled Brent Howson's words back in the warehouse, with Charlie … "You wanna hear a secret? You know why Damien loves glitter lotion?"
The girl looked over at the bottle in Damien's hand, and her eyes widened; the calm, submissive persona seemed to vanish from her body, and she began kicking and screaming, writhing in her restraints in protest. Damien didn't seem to mind, and proceeded to pick up a needle on his way over, which caused Lloyd to make an uproar on his own, yelling and screaming hard and loud enough to give himself a stinging headache. He ignored it.
"Now, now, calm down, Dr. Lowery," Damien soothed while gliding the needle into the girl's neck; Lloyd had to partially read his lips to understand what he was saying, as his own voice was drowning out any other sound in the room. "I'm just giving her enough to sedate her."
Damien turned toward him and gave a faux innocent expression. The smirk remained, a rock in a sea of sand. "She had been a pleasant little pidgeon up until now, I can't possibly think what could have set her off." Lloyd made a lunge this time, aiming for the taunting smirk, but said smirk only grew into a satisfied smile as Damien pulled the needle out of the girl's neck and raised his hands in a placating gesture.
"Besides, whether or not she dies doesn't depend on me," Damien shrugged, then put the needle down and popped the cap of the bottle of the lotion. Lloyd flinched harshly, his mind unable to process Damien's statement, as he was too concerned about the killer's hands squeezing lotion from the bottle and running themselves over the girl's arms, moving in slow, silky strokes as they raked over bare skin and moved on to sneak under the girl's sleeves, back out, and then over to her neck, caressing her collarbone before moving lower into her blouse.
Lloyd wasn't completely aware that he was screaming, but he was absolutely sure of the pain that came from his feet and arms as he flailed and struggled with his restraints to keep Damien away from her. His attempts to break out were futile, however, as Damien's hands retreated from the girl's chest, only to move back to squeeze more lotion from the bottle and start from the girls ankles this time, then continue upward.
He paused at her thighs, seeming to finally get fed up with Lloyd's screaming, as he straightened up and folded his hands together, creating a squelch that had Lloyd wincing. Damien took a few steps closer to Lloyd, until he was near enough in his vicinity to be categorized as uncomfortably close. He then proceeded to take both of his hands and wipe the palms on Lloyd's shirt, leaving them there for a moment longer than necessary before leaving the genius' chest.
"I shouldn't expect anymore screaming out of you, understand? Otherwise, I'll finish her up quick and spend more time on you. Are we clear?" Lloyd stared defiantly into Damien's eyes, and considered the notion of spitting in his face; but he knew that should he take that course of action, Damien would keep his word and not only would Lloyd lose any hope of saving the girl, but he would also be forced to endure the worst type of defamation known to man as well as the girl.
Damien then paused for a moment in his walk back to the girl, before spreading his arms and saying, "My, my, where are my manners? Please allow me to introduce you. This - " he gestured with a sweeping arm to the girl, " - is Nina Paulson. Nina Paulson, this is Lloyd Lowery. I won't bother too much with the formalities; you two won't know each other for too long, I should hope."
Attempting to rein in his guilt and anger, Lloyd held eye contact with Nina for a split second, before he swallowed the feeling of impending regret, and pleaded in a small voice to Damien, "Please, just let her go. You have me, you don't need her."
Damien simply gave a short snort and capped the bottle on the lotion, putting it back in his bag. He walked back up to the video camera and turned it on, fiddling with the screen for a simple moment before flashing another smile at Lloyd. He popped an eyebrow and sneered, "Admit it. It's exciting, isn't it?"
Lloyd blinked once, twice, staring into Damien's eyes as he realized. Regardless of whether or not Raymond or Erica or Shea came soon enough, Damien still had the element of surprise and time in his hands. He had the advantage, and he knew it. There were not many ways this could play out well for both Lloyd and Nina, so Lloyd was already resigning himself to a couple of the worst-case scenarios, the top being that Damien degrades and kills them both. Or perhaps it would be worse for him to degrade them, then leave only Lloyd alive. Then, the Nina's death and loss of dignity would be on his hands, not to mention Lloyd's own baggage he was to carry.
Damien didn't seem to notice Lloyd drifting off into his own little world while the killer moved over to sit in the chair across from Lloyd, and he clasped his hands together in front of him. He maintained an expression of pent-up excitement, of a level of anticipation that would have made Lloyd sick, if he hadn't already swallowed his bile once, now.
"Both of us, finally able to talk openly to one another," Damien released, donning his 'innocently sincere' expression once more as he gestured to both himself and Lloyd. "Convict to convict." Again, with that damned smile.
"Tell me, Lloyd, what did it feel like, selling drugs to support your gambling habit, knowing that student died at your hands?" Lloyd grimaced, looking over at the co-ed strapped into a chair with her mind working to process the information she was receiving, and the genius wished, not for the first time, that he had taken care of Damien when he first had the chance.
"Did you feel powerful?"
Yes.
When he looked up with a sharp snap of his neck, Damien was bending his head to catch a glimpse of Lloyd's face - whether to gauge his reaction or sincerity, there was no telling, but regardless, Lloyd had a glimpse of it, then. He had gotten a look-see into Damien's mind, his sociopathy and the degree of severity at which it ailed him. He saw how far deep it ran, and he would later claim he was just imagining things, but he could almost see the crazy glint in the man's eyes.
He was really hoping Damien's eyes weren't just reflecting what he saw in Lloyd at that moment.
Shoving that unwanted thought to the back of his mind, Lloyd almost slipped up and said the first thought that came to mind, but he quickly recovered from that impulse and steeled himself to respond as fast as possible, "It felt awful." Wrong answer.
"You're lying." The response was immediate, but not unexpected. "I know what it feels like." Lloyd tilted his head slightly, eager to be intrigued and think of something other than his and Nina's impending doom.
"There's a high that comes with having total control." Damien tilted his head to follow Lloyd's, the dark look in his eyes shining once as he continued. He was comparable to a snake, sliding in the shadows and only visible in the dark, invisible to those who reside in the light. He peered at Lloyd, then, as if Lloyd himself was making Damien's point for him. As if Lloyd was a prime example of what Damien was explaining. "Then come the lows."
Beginning to feel the desperation creep back, Lloyd's rage was fueled once more by the thought of Damien attempting to get inside Lloyd's head - the thought of Charlie's killer trying to infiltrate his mind - and he responded with vehement heat, "The highs and lows aren't real, Damien, they are tricks your mind plays on you." Then, just to assure Damien of the situation he was in, he summarized with a tonality that suggested the deepest level of hatred, "You are anything but in control."
Damien smiled back, but Lloyd noticed the slight stress in the motion, even if Damien didn't. The killer began to shake his head slowly, as if denying Lloyd's words the moment he said them. At Damien's next words, Lloyd realized they were head-shakes of scorn, of self-deprecation that Lloyd knew only too well; they held a certain, how could you be so ignorant? sort of wonder. "All this time, you pretended to be better than me, when in reality?"
The smile lost its stress, and the controlling, authoritative, and dominant characteristic came back into his expression.
"We're more alike than you realize."
The smile dropped, leaving only a faint outline as Damien continued with a serious, penetrating expression. "Both smart, both misunderstood.
"Both murderers."
Lloyd swallowed harshly as was unable to construct a mere figment of an argument against that statement, and he simply bit his lip while avoiding eye contact, not wanting to let Damien see him crack. He couldn't break, not in front of the enemy, and god-forbid he let Damien see him cry. He may be weak, but he wasn't at his bottom. Not yet.
"A hand of cards was more important to you than that girl's life," Damien whispered, enunciating every word and syllable and dragging them out as long as possible, just to torture Lloyd, who found himself clenching his jaw and biting his tongue until he tasted blood, to keep himself from dropping a single tear. Damien, knowing he was pushing Lloyd up to the brink, raised his eyebrows and slowed his speak even further. "You're just as evil as me.
"Maybe even more."
Fuck. The first tear fell, and Lloyd was sure that there was more to come, soon. He leaned forward, figuring if Damien were to get some satisfaction, Lloyd may as well give it to him to distract him long enough. Lloyd hurriedly ignored the possibility that he needed to tell someone of what he was confessing or he would explode, or that he needed to make Damien understand, to let him know that Lloyd wasn't like him at all, even in one respect. Even if that was a blatant lie.
"It was a mistake that I made," he lunged forward and tapped the crate in front of him to accentuate his point, hoping to keep the rest of his emotions bottled back up until he could get out of here. He didn't want Damien Fontleroy to be his confidant, the one to whom he would confess his deepest secrets. He couldn't let that be Damien. "One that I will never make again."
Damien chuckled softly, as if Lloyd had played right into his trap. "Let's see about that," he said triumphantly, then reached down and put a stack of cards onto the crate in front of them, "I'll deal."
Lloyd leaned slowly backward into his chair, his eyes wide and incredulous with his eyebrows slowly rising. He wanted Lloyd to gamble with a girl's life? Lloyd had never directly killed a human being, but if he lost, and this girl was killed … it would be the closest he had gotten. Then again, he supposed that was rather Damien's point. That notion, coupled with the unnerving crinkle and slide of cards as Damien began to shuffle them … It was just enough to allow panic to set in once more. And this time, there wasn't an ounce of rage Lloyd had left to use as a cover.
"Don't do this," Lloyd begged, promptly deciding to screw his pride in favor of saving both Nina and himself. He recognized the chances were slim - under 10%, his mind helpfully calculated - but he would take every chance he got. "You could leave now and just disappear."
He tried not to let his hopes sink too far down when Damien simply rolled his eyes with an elongated, sing-song, "Boring."
After all, Lloyd had been expecting that, it being the 90% probability. Struggling now to grasp at straws, Lloyd's voice took on a scratchy, raw tone. "This isn't about her, okay? It's me that you want."
In fact, now that he put more thought into it, it was always him that Damien wanted, ever since their first interview. Lloyd had known he had recognized that look from somewhere, but he could never remember. The genius briefly wondered if he had always been Damien's backup plan, just in case Brent ever died or tried to leave, Lloyd would become Damien's unwilling accomplice and audience. That would explain why Damien wasn't too put off by the comment Lloyd had made about his lack of control; he may not always have control of the current situation, but Damien always - always - had had control over Lloyd, even if Lloyd himself didn't know it at the time.
And if that wasn't sickening, wasn't dizzying to the point of extreme mental strain …
Damien scoffed, his head high in a, perhaps unconscious, gesture of dominance; he truly believed Lloyd was below him, now. Perhaps, even, he held a small ounce of a possessive dominance over Lloyd. "And I thought I had a big ego."
That was a typical undermining of the submissive, and Lloyd swallowed in horror at the sudden rerun of encounters he had with Damien that fortified the notion of a sub-dom relationship. Thinking along those lines, Lloyd knew he shouldn't give him the satisfaction of talking any further; but he paused, considering Damien's words.
Lloyd's next words were slow yet forceful, and Damien must have noticed the change from desperate hostage persona to caring and intrigued psychiatrist. But nevertheless, whatever persona Lloyd adopted, the forceful tonality wouldn't change. Lloyd wanted an answer, and that was how he was going to receive one. "Then why all the postcards? Why all the attention?"
Damien seemed to be waiting for this question, as he stopped shuffling his cards and leaned forward over the crate to better strike an impact onto Lloyd with his words. "Because the mind forgets, Doctor," he spits with the acidity of a snake, as if Lloyd's superior mind continuing to, inevitably, make the simplest of human mistakes was sinful to the extreme.
"You needed constant reminders that there's a man walking this earth who was - " Damien corrects himself while tilting his head slightly, " - is - " Damien tilts his head even further, "and will continue to be superior to you in every way."
The head tilt was obviously another show of dominance, as well as the unnecessarily forceful exhale of breath on the last words of his sentence, not only establishing but also securing his superiority over Lloyd. But while all of this rushed through Lloyd's head, he only took a simple moment to respond, his words tumbling out of his mouth without knowing consent, just simply an instinctual reaction to engage in an argument that he knew was unreasonably biased, due to Damien's mental instability. He was getting more desperate by the second.
"Then be superior, and let her go." Damn, crossed the threshold. "Show me that you're in control."
It was the ultimate act of submission, with no take backs or refunds; Lloyd had fully and outright acknowledged and even supported Damien's dominance over him. And because he had done it so bluntly, and basically just did it in the first place, he immediately knew Damien was going to do what every dominant partner did - ridicule and undermine the submissive to fortify what their submissive partner said in stone. And that wasn't even taking into account Lloyd's actual challenge against Damien to do so, his challenge for Damien to show him; because Damien would show him. Just not in the way Lloyd would like. Any chance to put the submissive off balance during first interaction after long periods of absence were taken.
In terms of this situation, Damien would not stop with the taunts, nor with the gambling game on the girl's life. Lloyd wanted to punch something in his frustration; he should have known not to act so impulsively, to say something that he knew would work against him, no matter how much satisfaction it would bring to know that he finally said something he wanted to to his enemy.
But Lloyd knew that Damien had wormed his way into Lloyd's head, and had been there since Lloyd had met the man in their first interviews, since Lloyd had been up on the stand in court at only age twenty-four. And he should have realized that he needs to think before he acts, before he says anything to this man. His thoughts were never straight when it came to Damien, as emotion soon clouded his vision; therefore, the only suitable method to take would be to cut off all emotion and simply listen to the psychiatrist he had in his head.
He tried desperately to keep his earlier words out of his head, but they penetrated his thoughts anyway, to Lloyd's incredible frustration. "Studies show that the neurological makeup of successful CEO's is often nearly an exact match to those of serial killers. Both are calculating, methodical, capable of separating themselves from emotion."
Dammit, if there was one thing Lloyd had to do to keep his head on straight, it was stop himself from comparing himself to Damien. Submissives often looked up to their dominant partners not only for advice, but also for ways of life, in very severe cases.
And Lloyd was definitely not Damien's submissive partner. He may have to use a characteristic of sociopaths, which Damien was, but that does not make Lloyd one. Yet, a voice in his mind whispered, one that he promptly trashed before returning to the present.
"Whether she lives or dies is not up to me," Damien noted, dealing the cards out with his eyes never leaving Lloyd's. He glances down once at the cards, then back up to Lloyd as he finalizes, "It's up to you."
Damien's head stays immaculately still as he mutters his next challenge of, "I believe poker's your game?" initiating an even more dangerous method for Lloyd to bypass.
Stability and calm are two things that the submissive will rely heavily on in their dominant partner, as those qualities present in their dominant partner keeps them stable and calm; if Lloyd allows himself to relax and rely on Damien's stability and calm, his guard will be let down and not only will he be unable to keep a poker face against Damien, but also he will have given Damien yet another assurance that he was willing to be his submissive partner - that he was and is his submissive partner.
Lloyd refused to react, keeping his cuffed hands on the crate in front of him, and steeling his expression into one of inquiry; it'd be best that Damien underestimate Lloyd and assume that Lloyd hasn't already figured out what the cards were for. He could unintentionally give something away while explaining the 'rules' of the 'game'. So Lloyd maintained steady eye contact with one eyebrow raised.
"You win, she lives." Lloyd didn't move a muscle. "You lose?" He placed a small medication bottle - presumably full - and syringe in the middle of the crate, installing Lloyd into the game with eyes center and mind focused, getting the adrenaline pumping with a physical threat now completely in sight.
"She dies."
Lloyd gave a lengthy pause, chewing on the top of his lip, as he glanced at the syringe, then at Damien, over at the girl - who looked back at him with full amounts of fear and just a touch of incredulity, not to mention resignation, in her eyes - and lastly back to Damien, who smiled slightly, mockingly.
Lloyd nodded stiffly, then, and reached for his cards, peeking at them and shuffling them into order with surprising efficiency, taking into account the handcuffs impeding his movement. The game had begun, the stakes were set incredibly high, and every so often, Lloyd would sneak a glance over at the girl, sending her different expressions of faux assurance or guilt or worry to throw Damien off of his trail. The game did not last long, but it felt as if it had been a war lasting at the very least an elongated decade.
"I can see why you love this game," Damien input, as he knew they were nearing the end. Lloyd got the distinct impression, then, that Damien was puffing his feathers in order to look more impressive than he actually was like a pompous peacock; and, being a human behaviorist, Lloyd tended to trust his instincts on subject matters such as the aforementioned.
"Sometimes it's skill, other times it's straight luck." And damn, if that didn't actually put Lloyd on edge. With the amount of stress piled onto his shoulders, Lloyd wouldn't have been surprised if, had he been born with a malfunctioning brain, he suffered a mental breakdown in this moment. In fact, Lloyd still wouldn't be surprised if he had a mental breakdown anyway in this moment.
Damien had scooted onto the edge of his seat sometime during the game - something Lloyd hadn't noticed and immediately berated himself on missing - and now the killer lay his cards down flat onto the crate with his chin resting closer to his chest as he peered at Lloyd from the top of his vision.
A silent challenge promising harsh rebukes should it not be accepted - closer and closer Lloyd was getting to arriving just under Damien's skin. He promptly ignored the sneaking, goose-bump-inducing sensation of the thought that Damien already under his.
"All I have is ten high," Damien announced, clasping, unclasping, then reclasping his hands together just to put Lloyd off. But this time, he wasn't even bothered in the slightest - he knew he had the advantage, and allowed a small smile of victory to grace his lips as he set his cards down.
"Queen high," he announced, slinking his hands back into his lap with a small sniff that represented all of his worries finally leaving him. "I win. Now please, let her go." He glanced at the girl, who looked at him with pure relief in her eyes, until she glanced at Damien and cut off the sigh of relief she had just been about to release. "I won."
He had looked upset, for a split moment, still clasping and unclasping his hands, before he tilted his head to the side, and that damned smirk came upon his face again. He finally clasped his hands together for the last time, extending his pointer finger that accentuated his silent laughter. "Ooh, you were so close."
Lloyd stared with a blank face over at Damien, immediately feeling the bottom of his stomach sink out. He knew that expression, and he knew Damien would do this. Fuck, he should've known!
"I wasn't close, I won." He tried to keep his voice steady and clear, with as much confidence he could muster. But Damien had always been able to see right through him.
"Mm, but you forgot to take into account the most important variable," Damien pointed again, then placed his elbows on his knees and spread his palms outward and raised his eyebrows, closing his eyes with an incredibly laid back, indifferent, and overall lazy expression, and noted, "I'm insane."
In an instant, he had clasped his hands into a praying position, his eyebrows had sunk, and his eyes were open again, looking through the tops of his vision. The transformation was abrupt, startlingly so, and Lloyd was more surprised by that than by Damien's declaration of his mental instability. "Or have your already forgotten your own diagnosis of me?"
Ah, customary subject change away from failures of the dominant to the larger mistakes of the submissive, unconsciously equating large mistakes of the submissive to the small mistakes of the dominant, once more securing superiority and simultaneously degrading the submissive. 'Mustn't let it get to his head,' would be the best defense. So Lloyd decided to focus on the unreliability of Damien, therefore challenging the dominant's ability to be stable enough for the submissive to rely on.
"We had a deal," Lloyd leaned forward slightly, whispering softly with no indication that he had any knowledge of the underlying sub-dom relationship they were forming. Disbelief and a slight hint of betrayal coated Lloyd's tone, and Damien fixated on the weakness shown through that, instead of his own lack of reliability. Lloyd swallowed while Damien rolled his eyes carelessly.
"Winning hand, losing hand … none of it matters, Lloyd." Now Lloyd was steadily beginning to lose control, over himself and his emotions; he could feel his objective mindset being overridden by his guilt and anger, and he knew his objectivity had no sufficient counter for the force that his emotions wrought. "Because I have the upper hand."
Lloyd refused to let his hands shake visibly, so he stuffed them in his lap and glanced warily over at the girl, who stared fearfully back. Lloyd's gaze went right back to Damien, pulling a phone out of his front pocket, while he kept eye contact with the genius. He typed in a number, three digits, obviously 911, and had to wait only a couple of moments before his call was picked up.
"911, what's your emergency?" A woman. An innocent, bystanding woman who had no idea what this phone call would entail; all she was was another person roped into Damien's homicidal games. Lloyd's expression fell in a parallel slope alongside his spirits, and he grew outwardly more desperate as Damien's smirk grew larger and larger. "Hello, this is Damien Fontleroy. I wanted to let you know I'm about to add to my list."
Nina tensed, her arms taut as Lloyd swallowed and tried ineffectively to keep his expression from falling further into hysterical delirium. "Feel free to trace the call; I'll leave the line open." Damien wasn't smiling anymore, his face far from holding any sort of mirth, though Lloyd figured the killer probably did derive some sort of sick amusement from seeing the genius shaking visibly again, even if he didn't show it.
Lloyd writhed in his restraints as Damien slowly stood with the syringe in his hand, walking over and behind the girl, closer to Lloyd, who recoiled as far as possible from the man. Lloyd tensed impossibly tight as Damien came within a couple of inches of him, and brought his left hand around to caress his face with an incredibly gentle touch and hold his head still.
"No more games, Doc," Damien whispered, his hand calm and steady even as Lloyd attempted to pull away as far away from his touch as possible while he was restrained. Nevertheless, the needle sunk into his neck and Lloyd flinched slightly at the sting of the drug beginning to flow through his system. "Now, you get to be what you were always meant to be. My audience.
"But of course, we can't have you interrupting us, can we? Don't stress; I'm only giving you a small dose. This will simply paralyze your body and leave your mind - or, more importantly, your eyes - still completely functional. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. Alright?" He gave Lloyd a small smack on the cheek, as one would give a complimentary pat on a dog's head.
Lloyd tried to object, to make a move, a sound, anything, but all that came from his mouth was a slow, dying, keening wail of discontent that Damien seemed to find more amusing than anything; but Lloyd wasn't Damien's first priority anymore, and it was quite obvious by the attention he suddenly gave to the girl, who suddenly found her voice and her willpower and squirmed and writhed and did everything in her power to escape, to be released, to do something.
But by now, Damien was already ready, taking two handfuls of the hem of the girl's shirt and pulling it upward, revealing the girl's pumping stomach that Damien calmed with a pressing hand. Lloyd screamed, and resisted with all his might, despite knowing that his lack of feeling in all of his limbs gave him no power, no leverage, not even enough control to close his eyes against the horror to come as Damien continued to strip the girl, then himself.
Lloyd watched on with unadulterated horror and guilt, unable to close his eyes, until an eternity later, when Damien seemed to have satisfied himself enough, and began to redress himself; Nina was left, without her clothes or dignity, alone to heave what she had had for lunch in the nearest corner of the room. Her sobs were too acute, to sharp and loud to the ear, and Lloyd wished not for the first time that Damien had already just killed both of his hostages to end their suffering before any of this had happened; but then, what would be the whole point?
After he had gotten his pants back on and zipped them up, Damien turned back to Lloyd, who suddenly found the willpower to move in his disgust of being in the mere presence of this man; he recoiled as violently as possible, teetering on his chair and almost falling down backwards. Damien approached slowly, steadily, and with each step, Lloyd's breathing increased, and he tried to scooch back farther and farther away from the man; but human legs were faster than chair legs, and he caught up to Lloyd without much hesitation, putting one hand on the back of the chair and the other on Lloyd's knee.
Instantly, Lloyd exploded into action, writhing and kicking and flailing as much as possible; but, as much as he had been able to move in order to scooch the chair backwards, he was still quite invalid, and his attempted hits came nowhere close to any of their marks. Steadily, Damien's hand crawled further up toward his thigh, while the other came to the bottom of his undershirt and slunk underneath, curving smoothly around his waist.
Self-preservation was a much stronger will for his body to move, but still all he could accomplish was a faint scream and a tensing of muscles that indicated a level of discomfort Lloyd never knew could be reached. Damien smirked for a moment, then sighed, halting his exploration and saying, "Unfortunately, as much as I'd like to take my time on you as well, Doctor, I'm afraid I've run out of time."
He pulled his hands back, the one by his waist giving a teasing tug at Lloyd's jeans' waistline before retreating as well. "Another time, I suppose, huh?"
Lloyd reeled backward once more, his breathing off the charts and the panic in his eyes uncomparable to anything other than a wild beast in fear of its life. Even as Damien gave a short chuckle and backed up to retrieve his shirt, Lloyd kept retreating from the man, the chair creating a painful contrast to the pregnant silence in the room while Damien reached over for the bottle and syringe.
Lloyd finally realized what exactly was happening as Damien stepped closer to the girl in the corner, and the genius released another keening noise in protest, lunging forward several times in warning. Damien raised his eyebrows high, glancing between Lloyd, the syringe, and the girl in the corner, with a widening smile. "Ah, you'd like to do the honors? Be my guest!"
He grabbed the girl from behind, not receiving any fight except against gravity, as the girl hung limp like a rag doll; he began to drag her closer and closer to Lloyd, and when he finally arrived, the genius was already shaking his head and making the closest mumble he could make to a mantra of, "No, no, no, no, no … "
"Oh, but you volunteered," Damien exclaimed, his expression growing serious as he took one of Lloyd's limp hands and placed the syringe inside, clasping the fingers around it and aiming for the girl's neck. The most control Lloyd had was to shake the hand slightly, but he still held no control over his fingers, and therefore could not release the syringe, leaving him unable to do anything but watch with tenfold dread as Damien pricked the girl's neck and pushed Lloyd's thumb down to push the liquid into her system.
The least Lloyd could do, he figured, was to at least apologize for what was in reality his fault, so as Nina gazed back at Lloyd's face in her last moments with a glassy look over her eyes, Lloyd hoped she could see him mouth two simple words over and over, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry … "
The girl didn't react physically, other than by giving her last exhale of life and lying impossibly more limp than previously as her eyes drifted closed. Damien looked down at her body with disgust, dropping it straight onto the concrete ground with a loud thump, then glanced up at Lloyd with a smile that held an emotion far too close to pride to allow any comfort.
He placed both of his palms on the sides of Lloyd's face, cupping the man's head in his hands as he said, "I'm so very proud of you, Lloyd." He took his palms off of Lloyd's face, straightening up and assuming a directly dominant posture before asking, "Do you feel it now? The rush, the exhilaration? The high?"
Lloyd didn't respond. He didn't move a singular muscle, didn't so much as twitch, his eyes entranced with the visual of the lifeless body of the girl in front of him. Damien scoffed softly, and assured him, "Ah, don't worry. You'll admit it soon enough."
He walked a few paces away, and began to dismantle the camera, and pack up the cards, putting everything in his bag. After that, he took out a rag and began to wipe down every surface he could find, including the syringe. As he cleaned the syringe, he looked over and Lloyd and gave a small wink, saying in a conspiratorial low voice, "Can't let your team know you've finally taken the big leap, right?"
Damien, once more, received no response. So he simply hefted his bag over his left shoulder and said, "Well, this is where I take my leave. I enjoyed our time together, Lloyd. Until next time."
… He was gone. With a simple goodbye wave and a closed door, he was gone. Nothing more. He had just … left. Lloyd didn't move an inch from his place, staring at the naked corpse of the girl he had sworn to save. His vow had been broken. He had watched Damien rape a girl firsthand and hadn't been able to do anything, not even as Damien threatened to do the same thing to him. He had been so fucking helpless …
He didn't notice when the police had entered the warehouse, had only reacted once when the door opened, as Lloyd had feared it was Damien returning to finish the job at last … he's not sure how long he stayed in that same position, or if he had even been gotten out of his restraints, but even as the girl's body was removed and placed in a body bag, Lloyd's eyes never left the spot where she had been, where she had lie in her last moments, after Lloyd himself had …
Lloyd gave a large shuddering gasp and let it out as slowly as possible, still unable to tear his eyes from the one spot where he knew he had broken his vow, where he had broken all of the moral standards he lived by, where Damien … oh god …
Next thing Lloyd knew, his head was being shoved between his knees, and he was being told to breathe normally, he was going into shock, and did they need to get a semen sample … ?
"No," Lloyd shivered, "No, no, he didn't touch me, not … he didn't … I … " He took a moment to compose his words, shut his eyes, and pushed out between clenched teeth, "He didn't touch me, only her. He left before I … I … I couldn't … "
The next moment, a bag was being held in his face, and he was retching his lungs out, coughing up everything he had eaten in the last three days. Before he even knew it, tears began to mix with the multitude of grief and guilt and everything, and his sobs were wracking his entire body, and he was shaking harder than he had ever before in his life. There were hands holding him still, until he was able to pull himself back together and tape the pieces of himself back together with flimsy, re-used scotch tape of empty platitudes and assurances that they'll catch the bastard that were offered to him. But he just … he just wanted …
He became silent, uncommunicative. He responded to no one and said nothing, only flinching every so often at random sudden movements. It was a while after that when he heard the familiar voice of Julianne filling his ears, calling in relief for him. He thought of her, of her face and her mental troubles, and of her essence, and suddenly found her substituted for the girl Damien had raped in his mind, his imagination taking the thought and running with it …
Lloyd offered a singular glance to Julianne, all that he was capable of giving at the moment, before turning back to the man putting a bandage on his arm. She … he couldn't … not now. He couldn't deal with her, right now, couldn't be anyone's psychiatrist, couldn't be anyone's lover, couldn't be anyone's rejection, couldn't be anyone's friend, couldn't be anything. Not now.
He was brought back to the warehouse by Julianne, who had tried in vain to make some sort of conversation on the way, but the attempt had only ended with Julianne unable to start the conversation in the first place, simply dissolving into tears and Lloyd instantly regretting the savage thought that came to mind that she has no right to cry, not when he just witnessed … not when he killed …
He had to take a small break when they entered the warehouse, escaping into the men's room and locking himself in a stall to keep himself breathing steadily and crying all of the tears out until he had none left. In the meantime, he began to change into his prison blues, shutting his eyes for as long as possible during the process. Ten minutes later, Julianne gave a hesitant knock, and Lloyd took a deep breath, steeling himself for the next few minutes. It was only this, only the confrontation, and then he was done, he could be done. Done, done, done, finished, finished, finished …
They rode up the elevator together with yet another awkward silence, but Lloyd couldn't have cared less, seeing as he was concentrating too hard on not breaking down right then and there. When he walked into the main area, he was met with several stares from Erica and Shea, whom he promptly ignored - or, at least, tried to. It was stark-obvious, the redness around his eyes, his demeanor in general … he made a straight bee-line for Raymond's office, and no one stood in his path. He sat in the guest chair until Raymond was ready to come inside, which turned out to be an eternal fifteen minutes later, after talking with a detective and with Julianne, no doubt about him.
When Raymond finally did arrive in the office at last, he shut the door behind him with a soft click that Lloyd flinched slightly at. He hoped futilely that Raymond hadn't noticed, but he knew it was too obvious and Raymond was too good for that. Raymond sighed and sat on the corner of his desk, leaving his hands in his lap as he looked at Lloyd. He took a few moments to endure the silence, attempting to catch Lloyd's gaze to look him in the eyes.
He had the gall, the audacity, to try to look him in the eyes, after … after that? And, to make matters worse, Raymond gave a soft and pity-doused, "No one should see what you saw today, Lloyd." Lloyd stared resolutely into the corner of the office, not daring to let any tears fall. He had already humiliated himself in front of Damien. Never again in front of anyone. Ever.
"If you need to talk to somebody, whatever you need, I'll get it." Damn, his lip was beginning to quiver, his resolve cracking with every passing second. He pulled the edge of his lips to the side, trying to keep them still, while he moved his gaze from the corner to the window pane looking out over to Julianne's desk, where she was organizing papers.
"I want off the team." His voice was raw, scratchy. But not desperate. Not anymore. He'd be damned if he fell apart in Raymond's office, so he kept his resolve and his voice steady and solid. They could both tell he wasn't solid on the inside, anymore, and Lloyd saw the realization in Raymond's eyes as he took a short glance up at his superior.
"Look, today was … traumatic - " Raymond started, but Lloyd's already shortened fuse had been blown.
"Don't tell me what today was, Ray." His voice was the same raw and scratchy, but goddamn, he had finally found his voice. Raymond didn't dare respond, for fear of aggravating Lloyd, and with his authoritative tone, Lloyd didn't feel much like being aggravated. "I'm done with all this.
"I quit."
"Everyone gather around for a show / Watch as this man disappears as we know / Do me a favor and try to ignore / As you watch him fall through a bleeding trapdoor … " -21 Pilots, Trapdoor
A/N: I don't own Breakout Kings, blah, blah, blah, you know the drill. Let me know what you think in the little box below, criticism is very much appreciated, as are general opinions. I'll be uploading a revised of the second installment and will be writing the third one soon, so look out for those. In the meantime, R&R, and I'll see you guys later. Peace!
~IsomorphicTARDIS