Bloody Red Doll

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of rape and bullying that might be triggers for people.

Part 4

I spent most of the final days of the summer holiday in mother's room. Matthew had assigned one of the maids to look after her; a young woman who practically ran whenever she came within sight of me. I was sweet as could be with her, she would stutter and tremble if she had to say a word to me. What did Machiavelli say about being loved or feared? I personally found the former was harder to come by whilst the latter earned me a measure of respect; there was no dilemma here.

If I was to gain any enjoyment out of the end of that hellish summer it would be to spend what would probably be the last few days I could with my mother. The feeling grew stronger. To be proven wrong would have been a miraculous shock, though I didn't put too much stock into the concept of miracles. It was best to enjoy her presence when I could. We talked, sang, read, all the activities we loved before. In those last hours I believe I regained that appreciation I lost years ago. It felt good to make peace with something; the only peace I truly had. A peace I knew would leave me soon, the irony was hilarious.

At last the carriage was packed with my belongings. David knocked on mother's door to tell me it was time to depart. I looked at her helplessly, but I was ready for this moment. She ran a hand through my hair and smiled.

"Get out of this golden sinkhole and all the rats that crawl around here, go be with your friends," she said.

"What about you, mum," I asked.

"Don't worry about me, liebschoen, I can handle myself just fine."

"I don't doubt that. You go keep the bastards in line."

"Well ahead of you on that one."

She grabbed the sides of my head and kissed me on the cheek, I clutched her shoulders and returned the gesture.

"I love you so much, mum," I said.

"I love you too, Grelly, my dear one."

We separated from each other. I took one last look at her and blew her a kiss, she put her fingers to her lips and laughed. I then turned around and closed the door. Was I at peace now? I figured I was, I should have been.

After that I couldn't get into the carriage fast enough. Robert insisted on giving me his personal well wishes, which I accepted gratefully. Inside I was glad to be away from the little bastard. There was barely a word from anyone else and I preferred it that way. After three months of hell here I was finally returning to the sanctuary of my school.

The first sight of that grand building was like looking upon paradise. I exited the carriage and immediately met with some of my mates, the greetings and instant conversations were a miracle.

Word spread through the noble circles about Oskar's death. I received many sincere condolences from students, many from my friends and many from students I had only known in passing; possibly the only sincere expressions of remorse I had heard for Oskar's death from anyone besides mother. I thanked them for their words and was clear I did not wish to speak further on the matter.

For about a month I was blissfully happy. The conversations resumed, classes resumed, rehearsals, riding practice, the usual routine started up again and continued; day to day, hour to hour. The same polite conversations, the same hours spent sitting in a chair in front of a droning instructor, the same sheets of music with slightly different tunes, the same polite claps when doing a course in another record amount of time. But I was happy, but I was supposed to be happy. I was at school with my friends after all, I told this to myself a hundred times.

I told this to myself sitting on my bed for hours trying to talk myself into going to sleep, sitting in my classes trying to squeeze an ounce of interest. Told myself this whilst listening to who played who in cricket, who scored what major business deal, who had whatever meal with whatever member of the peerage who was higher ranked than they. Then I became angry at myself; what the hell is wrong with you, you can't appreciate this wonderful place and these fine friends? If you dislike this place, then what alternatives do you have?

I managed to coast along for another month; fulfill all my obligations, maintain my marks, not be too much of a burden on anyone. A month later I took to occasionally inserting crass comments in the midst of conversation, earning laughs at first and then uncomfortable chuckles. Oh how I savored the tight smiles and nervous shifting. In rehearsals, I would insert off notes so subtle that the conductor would become perturbed over finding what was wrong.

My classmates would sometimes lose a quill or a sheet of paper at random. A few weeks after this, younger students would receive pebbles thrown to their heads by some unknown assailant that often left red marks on visible areas. I started walking around with hairpins and held them in such a way to scratch the hands of students walking by. I loved hearing those sudden yelps, my peripheral vision catching someone pausing and looking around for the culprit that was meters past them.

Being a school for the wealthiest and most privileged, King's Crest had policies that catered to the sensibilities of the wealthiest and most privileged. For an extra few pounds a year, students with good marks and behavior were allowed to keep small, manageable pets; nothing larger and no more predatory than a housecat and all animals had to be cared for and kept in the respective students' rooms. The house staff would even feed them and clean after them within reason.

It wasn't hard to find out who had what animals, who was out of their rooms when, who left their doors unlocked, what times of day no one would be around or everyone would be around and no one would notice a door opening when it shouldn't. And thus the games began: a pet bunny would go missing and turn up in a latrine with its neck broken, a goldfish would find its way into someone's fine teacup just in time for tea.

Then there was a pretty gray cat that wandered from its master's room. I believe the owner's name was Armand and he was the heir to some earldom in God knows where; Fanto-, Phantom-something. He was higher on the rung than I was, but he was an annoying little wretch regardless. I loved seeing him cry to his little friends about finding the head of his kitty on his bookshelf staring at him as he entered the room. He didn't tell them about the bow on its head, I was quite annoyed.

Careful planning went into these incidents, believe me. Silly boys for leaving their doors unlocked when in class or whatever they did, silly them for mentioning their class schedules to me. You'd think these children would be protecting their parents' investment more carefully.

Eventually a notice went around the school of these "deplorable acts of burglary and harassment." Stepped-up hallway patrols soon followed that made my little hobby a bit more difficult. The game paused and I found other ways to amuse myself in the meantime. I became a bit of a mentor to some of the younger children; they would ask me for advice, use me as a shoulder to cry on, confess their woes including any family troubles. Little Johnny walked in on his father, Earl so-and-so, with his mistress, Tom's father's business was nearly bankrupt yet his parents kept up rich appearances, Martin's father, Baron such-and-such, was hiring men to rough up his rivals. Of course I kept all confidences, until offered the right payment or favor.

I enlightened my friends on how animals are prepared for meat at my manor, I thought my narratives were rather detailed. The nervous gestures and constant watch-checking told me my stories were having some impact, though I was disappointed when they would hastily rise and excuse themselves. I had so much more to share. I did appreciate it when others would stick around, I would invariably reward them with an arm around the shoulder, maybe a few fingers over their faces. I wouldn't touch a nasty powdered wig, but those who displayed their real hair would be rewarded with my fingers through it. Unfortunately most didn't seem to appreciate the attention, most reactions were politely excusing themselves to lecturing me on my comportment. And they were such lovely boys too; so well groomed, such lovely skin.

I would dream about them too; dream that they would allow me to sit in their laps, run my hands through their luxurious long hair. I would kiss them, caress those taut bodies, and then I would wake in a mess; as if my body didn't feel disgusting enough already. Just a lewd dream, that's all it was. The act itself was a hell-worthy offense meaning no proper God-fearing man willingly do so; as for me, I figured Satan was livelier chap.

Some of my friends managed to humor me a little. "Oh Sutcliff, always the life of the party," they would say with a polite chuckle. Around my 16th birthday, these friends said they were going to drag me to a surprise celebration. Turning 16 meant open campus privileges to those who earned them, meaning a student was allowed to leave school grounds as long as he maintained his marks and proper behavior and was in by 11 o'clock sharp.

The morning of my 16th birthday, I was given my certificate; a little card that said I was authorized to be off campus and had received permission from the headmaster and my guardian. Matthew probably signed the permission form like any other paper that came across his desk and sent it to its proper destination. After classes, my mates took me to Aldeburgh, the nearest town reachable by 15-minute walk, for my "grand celebration;" they had tickets to a small, dinner theatre production of "As You Like It."

I came to this soiree with a hint of optimism but my nigh perpetual foul mood set in as soon as I walked in the building. The acting was mediocre, I could count so many missed cues and botched lines. The meal was barely better; my shoe was more tender than the beef and I swore I found soil in my potatoes.

Perhaps I was judging this whole experience a little too harshly, I wasn't exactly feeling festive midst the lacking show and lively discussion on the pretty noble ladies everyone wanted to drill but were saying so in the politest of terms. I actually stayed on my best behavior through this whole thing, a part of me wanted to show a hint of respect for this nice little gift; then there was the little voice in my brain wanting to wait for my moment to be really offensive.

It was only proper we capped off our evening in a nice pub, one mate bought me a pint like a gentleman. The pint was gone in a few minutes, another mate bought me another; in the spirit of the party and all that. Another empty glass hit the bar and I was digging my coins from my pocket for another. My custom was barely a quarter pint at lunch, maybe a glass of wine or cider at dinner, had been for about a year. This wasn't exactly an environment begging proper decorum, I was curious how many I could pound away before getting truly pissed. I had never been drunk before, I was curious as to what I was capable of. If father could chop up two people while drunk, what kinds of loathsome things could I do? It was a scientific experiment of sorts.

I took part in their conversation after the first few, after another two I was starting to feel giddy. I was a little more talkative, a little more comfortable with these boys. I don't recall exactly what I said, but I do recall giving less of a damn about it than usual. Perhaps I did get bit loud after another two, but I was getting some callbacks from the other end of the bar; boys I recognized as classmates just out on a night of their own.

It became a regular cycle of lads leaving and joining, I stopped keeping track of who went or who stayed. I do recall it was Reginald Kirkney, a student about a year older than me, who came over with a bottle of rum. The glasses were out, I forgot how many toasts there were. At some point I saw all new faces in the circle, some lovely singing voices there were; everyone was close, no fake politeness, but then everyone was drunk.

At some point I remember being outside, not really walking but more being dragged out. Soon I saw the buildings of King's Crest and was told to stand as tall as I could walking past the nightly watch. I must have passed muster since I was in my room without argument soon after. I crashed on my bed and was then dead to the world.

Waking up was a nightmare. Every muscle and bone just ached, my head felt like someone ran over it with two carriages. Moving was horrendous, but necessary to avoid making a mess over myself. Fortunately I had a brass vase filled with pretty purple flowers next to the bed, the flowers and water scattered across the floor and the leftovers of last night's horrible dinner were in the vase. Oh it was disgusting.

Somehow I managed to register the clock on the wall and see I was due for my first class at 8. I don't know how it happened, but I was sitting sharp in my seat for Greek Philosophy at 8 o'clock. The cockeyed look from my instructor and a few passing whispers from my classmates reminded me I didn't exactly look presentable. My hair was down, shirt untucked, waistcoat practically thrown on, I believe my coat was unbuttoned too.

I barely concentrated through class, but my notes were sufficient and I answered questions when asked; groggily but they were answered. I was relieved when the clock sounded marking the end of class. I packed my things and tried to get the hell out of there as fast as I could. The instructor told us our next assignment, adding in, "And hopefully Mr. Sutcliff will prepare himself a bit more for class."

I did go back to my room and get myself a bit more together. I was still ill but the morning after was wearing off a bit. I passed Reg Kirkney around noon and he invited me to lunch with him and his mates, even with my head ready to explode I knew this in itself was a big thing. Reg was the second born son of a Marquis with close ties to the King, some rumors said his family shared a drop of blood or two with His Majesty. I realized my hypocrisy in moaning about all the namedropping and fuss about title done by my friends, but this held a bit of weight. Our encounter the night before was more in passing, this was different.

I met him in a corner of the dining room, approaching a table at which about six other students sat. All of them were peerage, mostly upper echelon; other children of marquises and earls, though a couple came from viscounties or baronies as I was. I recognized many of them from the pub the night before. They rose and pointed out my seat, I bowed and took a place among them.

Conversations started up almost immediately, mostly commencing with questions about how I felt that morning. I managed a few witty analogies to explain my situation, getting a few laughs. I soon found out this was not the typical arse-lapping of the usual noble assembly; it was a rant session, unabashed commentary on families, instructors, servants all done without directly giving away any family secrets or betraying any weaknesses. The language in itself was clean though this group was fond of some bawdy subtext and ribbing. They didn't talk about wooing women, they talked about bedding them and sending them home. The sheer contrariness was brilliant, I felt right at home with this lot.

We met for supper that evening, then met for lunch again the next day and it continued through the week. A few different faces popped in and out, Reg was almost always present for every little meeting. Last classes for the week were on Friday, that night we were back in Aldeburgh at another tavern. I wasn't frittering with the lager this time, I started with some nice port, the rum poured freely soon enough.

The last thing I wanted to do was wake up as sick as I did last time, so I paced myself. After an hour, pacing went out the bloody window; the brandy was out and it got worse from there. The only thing I remember was sitting in a bunch of laps, feeling hair through my fingers, and having no one push me off. There was a lot of singing, a lot of laughing, the world just seemed a happier place when behind a haze. I thought differently when waking up the next day; head screaming, gagging onto my floor, and swearing to God I would never do that to myself again.

I dragged myself to breakfast to find most of the lads were also sleeping it off. I walked in the room to applause.

"Oh Sutcliff, you crazy little ginger," one said to me, Thad Harlowe I believe it was. "You're a riot when you're soused."

"Why?" I asked whilst buttering my bread.

"Oh where shall I begin, rubbing up against the barstool had to have been the best part, I believe you pledged your undying love for it, then kicked it over and called it a 'filthy whore.'" He had to pause, he was laughing so hard. "Then there was that thing you did with the glass, balancing act or something. I think the barmaid wasn't happy to clean up all that glass. You got a round of laughs for that one."

For a moment I was a bit embarrassed, only because it was in front of newer friends who I'd actually taken a liking to. The last thing I wanted was to be cast off, but after last night that was unlikely.

"No, I said it because it was true," I said. "Barstools touch so many underparts. Bottles are more romantic, they touch more lips."

I took a bite of my bread to the background music of laughter. From that day on I got a reputation as the group clown, "The Mad Ginger;" I was rather proud of that designation. I could say as many mental things as I wanted and get into personal spaces and everyone seemed amused by that. Whether they were laughing at or with me I really didn't care. The more time I spent with them the more I realized they weren't exactly proper gentlemen themselves.

Mealtimes became an auction house for gossip and scandalous information. Those other students who weren't good for favors or secrets were passing insects to us, best ignored or swatted and there was quite a bit of swatting. Passing words in the hallway, gentle kicks to the backside so subtle the little bastards didn't know who did it, bags would go missing, papers would go missing, nothing really blatant unless someone did something to truly piss us off which usually constituted any name-calling or insults back at us, sometimes kicking or hitting back. Soon anyone who was viewed as a threat to any of us was a target, but we expanded our sights to anyone who made good sport.

Usually Reg was the one to make the call if someone needed a good slap at best or a full-on beating. I volunteered to deliver a few messages; dropping a dead animal into their bed while they were sleeping was a specialty of mine but I was becoming better at firm neck holds and ear-flicking that would draw screams. I found a spot on the shoulders to push against a wall that would deliver the bones of the shoulder blades into the wood grain. There are so many points on fingers to bend, adding a little fingernail or a hairpin and they're flailing. I started keeping my nails a little longer for the cause, though I started enjoying the length, longer nails made my fingers look a little longer, a little more slender. I kept them well manicured of course, the blood would always be washed off before it could cake on.

We were at the pub at least once, sometimes twice, maybe three times a week if we felt like it. I wanted to see how far I could push myself and how much I could drink before getting tipsy. Always the good poison; rum was the favorite, whisky was a close runner up. I was surprised how many of the lads liked gin, such a low-class spirit but I suppose they would go after anything.

I enjoyed the feeling of inebriation; nothing existed, I was a floating spec of existence surrounded by singing and the occasional yell. I was in a nice plush cushion of oblivion where I had no concerns, nothing looming over me. A break from feeling weighed down all the time by my family, my pseudo-reputation, the constant feeling that I was a walking lump of flesh molded to look like a fit, fair-featured young man; the feeling I was a walking doll and that's all I would ever be. The next day I would wake with the new distraction of trying to move against the throbbing in my head and control where the mess from my stomach would go before dragging myself to class. By the end of the day the drunkenness was long gone, the morning after faded into afternoon, and all returned to the sad state it was before…that was until the next time I could escape with my new friends.

This lot wasn't the type to wear their hearts on their sleeves, but I had this feeling I was not the only one. All of them were drinking their silent cares away as much if not more than I was, the amount of ranting at every meal was testament enough. I was comfortable adding my own little criticisms; how much of a bastard Matthew was, how every member of my family had sticks up their arses.

Reg was beside me through most of this, he would look at me like he cared about what I was saying; probably in a mercenary way but let him have his fun. It was fun to guess what his motives were; his façade was a little more obvious. A handsome, young man from higher nobility. Bright, piercing gray eyes, curly brown hair that fell in ringlets; he wore a ponytail as proper, but he would pull the ribbon out more often than not and let that gorgeous hair cascade down. He was a star cricket player and a true master with a horse; his body was athletic, practically carved from wood. Every time we showed a chosen target his place, Reg was always the one to control any damage; he was a master of persuasion.

"Listen, this is nothing personal," he would say to the mewling little brat with snot and blood running from his nose. "You needed some tough love, that's all. This lesson was yours alone, I wouldn't advise telling anyone else about this. Think of the shame you would bring to your family."

It was evident all the other lads in our little gang clamored for personal attention from him, if he talked to you one-on-one it was like receiving attention from a prince as that was how he was generally seen. I fell into this mix too; heart a flutter with my share of the attention. I really didn't give a damn about his station, my interests were purely carnal. How often his face flew through my mind in moments before sleep or while bathing when it was just me and my hand. How I imagined his breath against my face, that chiseled body pressed against mine. I was sure I wasn't the only one; morals and reputation be damned, the others were likely thinking of him while tossing off too.

I was a bit surprised when Reg asked me something rather personal in the middle of a night out.

"You've banged before, right?"

I nearly spit out my whisky at that question but kept my composure. He was a little giddy by now, though I figured this was his version of "man talk." I really didn't know how to answer that.

"I'll take that as a no," he said with a chuckle. "What, you're not a religious man are you, or saving yourself for your intended?"

"Bloody hell no to all of that," I said.

"Not like that's stopping you, Reg," one of the boys commented from the side.

"Fuck no," he promptly replied.

I practically shot a glare over to him, but tried to soften my expression to one more of curiosity.

"Which one are you?" I asked

He rolled his eyes and took a drink.

"It's no secret, I'm in a business arrangement so to speak," he said. "A second cousin, her blasted family wants to marry up so I'm stuck with her."

I relaxed a bit.

"Rotten luck, mate," I said.

"You're telling me," Reg said, "she's got the face of a bloody horse."

The subject was lost as soon as it was brought about. The night progressed and the drunker I became. It was not just my usual smashed either, this was a bit different. I usually am a bit livelier, but here I was starting to get sleepy; blacking out more moments than usual. My stomach was already starting to churn when it would usually wait until the morning after.

I recall Reg putting my arm over his shoulder, saying something about "looks like it's bedtime for you, chap," Somehow I managed to walk back to campus leaning on Reg, a couple of the others helping me along. I think I heaved a few times on the path back but didn't remember; I only knew from the way my throat hurt and my gut felt raw.

I realized I was back inside the building, the usual rugs and doorways practically floating under my feet like waves drifting over the shoreline. The journey suddenly stopped and I collapsed against a soft surface, a mattress from the feel of it though I was unsure of many things at this point. I moved a bit, or rather someone moved me.

"Bloody hell, what did you drink tonight," I heard Reg's voice like a distant echo. I wondered that for a moment myself.

I turned my head slightly and felt a blanket against my face, my arms above me and tips of my boots digging into the fabric. There was a shifting on the bed and a weight pressed against the backs of my thighs.

"You need to watch out for yourself, friend," Reg said, his voice was now directly over me.

I managed a low groan. A set of hands was running over my back, untucking my shirt and running over the bare flesh. The conscious part of me was joyous, the rest of me was trying to stay awake. I was frozen, unable to move anything. Fingers dipped under the waist of my trousers, caressing my backside but slowly creeping up front. Bloody hell, why couldn't he do this when I was sober, I wanted to say as much but was too weak to speak.

Oh his hands felt so nice, soft like a gentleman but with nice calluses from holding reins that added that extra bit. I felt my trousers slide down, this was where I felt a little more curious.

"Oh you take good care of yourself," I heard him say. "So fit, so nicely chiseled."

I felt his bare flesh against mine but could barely keep my eyes open. Damn him! Is this how he was going to woo me? Get me numbed up and do what he pleased. I wanted to stretch up and participate too but I was frozen. Somehow I finally realized this was not just the drink; he probably slipped something into my glass. Laudanum likely, I had seen plenty of my mates after they added a little kiss to their own glasses.

His hands caressed my backside again, then I felt a sting; a finger somewhere that never had been explored. I went from turned on to near panicked, I wanted to flail but could not move at all. Then I felt like I was being ripped apart from the backside forward and again and again. I felt little pain from the drug, but it still hurt. Hands were now on my shoulder, a toned stomach covered in sweat rubbing against my back. And here I was frozen to the bed; my survival instincts kicking in and wanting to get out of there, but it was not happening. I realized I was completely powerless and it scared the hell out of me.

I felt like I was there for an eternity, the pain eventually faded. I started thinking to myself that I wanted to enjoy this, I wanted to be sober enough to enjoy every moment. At last I heard some grunting and a new sensation. Another sting and some relief, I think I completely blacked out after this.

A bright, yellow light woke me. I slowly opened my eyes to sunlight through the window. I flinched and moved my fingers, realizing I was at last able to move. I slowly stretched my arms and managed to roll to my side, my back was killing me; my backside still aching. Reg was sitting in a plush maroon chair in front in his nightshirt as well as the trousers he wore the previous night, those ringlets tumbling down his shoulders.

"Good you're awake," he said, sitting up in his chair. "I was getting worried."

I wanted to smack him but I didn't. Best to feign ignorance and hear his story.

"I feel like the bottom of a latrine," I said. "What the hell did I get into?"

He leaned forward.

"Some very, very bad things," he said.

I pretended like I didn't know what he was talking about.

"I don't even want to know myself," he said, faking a sigh. "We both lost it last night, chap."

He had this look on his face that said I knew bloody well what he was talking about. I looked at him like I just remembered.

"If anyone else found out, we could both hang for it," he said. "A moment of weakness, Grell, and only that; I've got you on this one. I just hope you will return the favor."

I simply nodded. Soon I was leaving his room barely able to walk, he was still sitting on that damn chair reading. I walked out, both of us saying something about meeting for lunch later. I closed his door and stumbled to my room, thinking of when I would even my score.