AN: We decided to put a warning here. This chapter will only mention (but not describe/write in detail) abuse. If you are sensitive to this topic, please feel free to skip to the next chapter. As we said in the last chapter, things will better considerably as from the next chapter, and this is the darkest chapter of the fic.

That being said, we leave you to the story.

We hope you enjoy it and we'd be glad to get your reviews!

HL


Chapter 8

Breaking Point

"A dream is a soft place to land..." C.C. sang softly, strumming her guitar – it was almost unbelievable that she had mastered the instrument in barely three months...

Well... maybe it wasn't.

In these past months music had become her escape, and whenever she wasn't cleaning or cooking, she devoted her time to playing her guitar and creating songs. Life in captivity had become a little more... bearable since then. Or maybe she had just gotten used to it...

She had gotten used to Thomas' changing moods, to the beatings, to sharing his bed those three days a week... and she had eventually formed a routine. Granted, it was horrid and more than a little disturbing, but it helped her go on.

Otherwise she wouldn't have been able to bear being a prisoner for almost six months now.

"You're surviving."

She'd even stopped groaning at the voice coming back. It was another comfort, as well as the music. And it was proving to be right a great deal of the time.

She ceased her strumming for a moment, "I am. It's all I can do."

"The music is making you feel better," the voice was closer to her again. "And so am I."

She rolled her eyes, "You're a stand-in for a servant who just happens to be elsewhere right now."

She could almost see Niles grinning away in front of her, "A servant we both know you're missing very much. We know that because you just tried to initiate a little bit of banter, like old times. And of course, there's the whole part about you hoping he'd like these songs that you're composing. Why don't you write them down? It'll give you something else to do, and you can show the real me how much work went into it. Someday."

C.C. made a noise which sounded like "hm", and she looked down at her guitar. It might not be a bad idea to write a little. Not necessarily the songs, but something.

"Maybe you could write letters," the voice suggested.

"Letters?" C.C. mused aloud, arching an eyebrow. "To whom?"

"To the real me," offered the voice. "You could write down positive thoughts and tell them to me. Kind of like the little talks we have, only that you'd be putting them on paper."

It truly wasn't a bad idea. Actually, it was more like it was a wonderful idea. Amid sorrow and fear, keeping a record of positive thoughts could prove useful. It would force her to take her mind away from her captivity, and that was always good.

"I don't usually say this, Hazel, but you did came up with a good idea for a change," the producer grinned as she carefully put her guitar to the side and got to her feet.

Thomas had given her a few notebooks, which she usually used to write down her chores or draw, so why not use it for her letters?

"I always have good ideas," the voice replied, sounding smug. "Now come on, get down to work!"

C.C. rolled her eyes and grabbed both a pen and one of her notebooks. But when she found herself being presented with a white, empty page, her mind went blank.

What on Earth could she write about? Due to everything that had happened, she wasn't exactly good at finding positive thoughts...

"You could start with-"

Clunk

The noise of the heavy trap door being opened interrupted her thoughts, and C.C. slammed the notebook shut and got to her feet.

Thomas had arrived with her lunch.

C.C.'s eyes widened.

And what a lunch!

It was the most copious meal she had seen in all her captivity! There was bread, a bottle of wine, mushroom risotto, smoked vegetables, chocolate cake...

God... what did he have in mind now?!

"Sit down, Claire, don't worry," her captor said in an unusually soft and sweet voice. That's when she noticed he was carrying a small bag in his other hand.

"Yes, sir."

The producer sat down and rested her hands on her lap while Thomas carefully laid the feast on her table. Once he was done, however, he didn't hand her the cutlery. Instead, he gave her the small bag.

"Sir...?"

"Open it," he commanded.

And she did.

C.C. had to make an effort not to sob when she saw the contents of the little bag.

"You are to wear that lingerie tonight," he spoke quickly. "I bought it for our wedding night."

She was glad she hadn't eaten anything already, because if she had, she would have thrown up then and there.

No wedding. Just a wedding night. That could only mean one thing.

He wasn't her husband. He would never be her husband. But he'd gotten it into his head that this was going to happen, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She had no way of fighting back, being so weak.

He probably wanted her to say something like "Yes sir", but she couldn't speak. And any accidental positive word could be mistaken for her consent. She didn't want that, she wasn't giving her consent.

Thomas grinned. He was probably ecstatic, but the look reminded her of a hideous crocodile, preparing to devour the captured and half-drowned prey.

"You're so excited, you're speechless!" he said, before turning for the door. "Excellent. I'll reward you for your happiness at becoming my wife by letting you eat by yourself today. I'll return for you later, and I expect you to be wearing my gift."

He made his way back up the trap door, slamming it shut behind him.

C.C. remained still for what felt like an eternity, her eyes unfocused as tears began to roll down her cheeks. The food that had once looked delicious now repulsed her, and she wanted to tear apart the silk, white garments that had been given to her.

She had gotten used to him being there when she took a bath or forcing kisses on her lips or on upper back whenever they slept in the same bed. But this...

This was her worst nightmare.

And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

"No..." the word came out of her lips like a whisper, and she fell to her knees. Her sobs became louder and louder, until the only thing she could do was hug her body as the tears fell like a waterfall.

She didn't want this! She didn't want to put those things on, she didn't to be there anymore, she didn't want to live anymore…

"Don't even think about it!" Niles' imaginary voice screamed. "You can't give up. Not now... please, not now."

But she couldn't respond. Fear was paralysing her body, and for the first time since she had been kidnapped, C.C. felt completely and totally defeated.

"That's what he wants," the voice insisted. "Don't let him win."

"He's already won, hasn't he?" she shook as she cried, terrified and desolate all at once. "He took me from my home and my family and my friends, I have no way of getting back to them, and now...now..."

She flicked at the hideous garment she was going to be forced to wear for, and probably parade around in front of, an absolute monster, before burying her head in her arms and continuing to cry.

"And now, you're going to need to be stronger than ever before," the voice felt like Niles was crouched by her head, murmuring into her ear. Now more than ever, she wished he was. "He hasn't won. He's not in your head. If he were, I wouldn't be here. You wouldn't think about the real me anymore, or any of the things you want to do to keep yourself going."

"Do I want to keep myself going anymore?" she whimpered weakly, resting the side of her head on one of her arms. "How much point can there be to living when everything you want's been taken away?"

The voice actually gave an audible sigh.

"What's been taken away can always be brought back," it reminded her. "You'll see your family, the Sheffields, the real me, again. But you must be strong enough to just keep on surviving. He can try his absolute hardest to get a reaction from you, to turn you into something you know you're not. But if you keep on surviving, and being you, even if that has to only be between you and me, he will never win."

The voice was right... wasn't it? Thomas could overpower her physically, but her victory was staying true to herself – her victory was not letting him break her spirit. He wouldn't change her or what she was; she wouldn't allow it.

Her body had endured so much cruelty already...

Now it was all a matter of taking a deep breath and gearing up for what was to come. She would never give him her consent nor she would call him husband – she wouldn't allow him to corrupt who she was.

Because she was C.C. Babcock, and she belonged only to herself.

Well... her heart belonged to a certain butler, but that was another story.

Her sobs slowly quieted down until they stopped. She was breathing heavy, but her head was clearer than before.

"Now you need to eat," the voice said. It still felt like Niles was right by her side.

C.C. screwed her face. Her stomach was tied in a knot, and the idea of food made her sick.

"Just take a few bites and then store the rest for the future," Imaginary Niles insisted. "You need it, C.C.."

The producer sighed. He was right... again.

She got to her feet and forlornly made her way to the table. She chose to take a few bites of the mushroom risotto (it wasn't like she could store it for later) and gulped down a few glasses of wine – just a few, she didn't want to be drunk.

After hiding the rest of her food around her small cellar, the producer took the bag in her shaky hands. Underneath the lingerie there was also a satin robe, so the producer quickly changed into them and put on the robe. She then returned to her bed and took the guitar back in her hands.

Her music was oddly uplifting considering what was going to happen.

Maybe she needed it to relieve her soul from the pain.

She closed her eyes and pictured Niles siting before her as music enveloped the room.

"... You matter to me, simple and plain and much to ask from somebody," she sang, hoping that somehow Niles could hear her. "Cause you matter to me, I promise you do, you matter too. I promise you do... you'll see. You matter to me."

"You matter to him too," the voice whispered. "I promise you do."

"I know..." she thought back, a few tears running down her cheeks. "I truly know..."

C.C. plunged into an ocean of music for the following hours. It soothed her so much that when Thomas did come, she barely shook.

And as he carried her upstairs and consequently ordered her to lie down on his bed, C.C.'s thoughts were floating around Niles and just how much she missed him.


"See you tomorrow, Mrs Jones," Thomas crooned as he closed the trap door of her cellar, leaving C.C. alone. The wedding night had finally come to an end.

She collapsed on her mattress, curling up and facing the wall, not wanting to sleep. Not wanting to be awake. Not wanting to be alive. She had to think about something – anything else. She had to keep herself from screaming and crying until the cellar collapsed in around her ears.

It was over, for now. Until the next time he wanted her. And the next one...

"But you're alive," the voice said firmly. "You're alive, and you won't let him win any of the other times, either."

"This doesn't feel like me not letting him win," she muttered her reply, for once not caring if she could be heard talking to herself or not. "Being all passive..."

"It's better than fighting back and being killed. You know he's not winning. Now, or at any other time. And distracting yourself sounds like a good idea to me. What about writing one of those letters to the real me, hm?"

The voice's tone felt like he should have been stroking her hair.

She wished he was. She wished she was in a real bed, in pyjamas, and Niles was with her, stroking her hair and holding her and making her laugh...

"And you will be," the voice reassured her. "You will be with the real me and he will never let you go again."

C.C. nodded against the mattress. She knew he wouldn't let anything harm her ever again, and she would never leave his side, either. She would burrow in Niles' embrace and fall asleep while listening to his steady heartbeat. She would go to bed feeling loved.

Loved by the man she now knew she loved more than anyone.

Probably that was the thought that gave her the strength to get back on her feet and retrieve a shirt and sweatpants from her drawer. Thomas had allowed her robe back on when he had taken back to the cellar, and seeing as it was chilly, he had also given her a warm blanket, which he had left on her table.

Once she was dressed, she unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around herself before taking a seat at the table. The notebook was still there, and unlike what had happened a few hours ago, she knew exactly what she wanted to write.

The producer tapped the pen against the paper a few times and then neatly wrote the butler's name – Niles. It was so nice to look at it...

"And it is also a very good way to start a letter," the voice said and C.C.'s lips curled into the ghost of a smile.

She didn't feel like she could truly and really smile again, but his memory was like a small ray of sun streaming from behind the black clouds.

Throughout the... event – yeah, she was going to call it that way – she hadn't been able to stop thinking about Niles' cheesecake. Thomas had starved her the past week, and seeing as she hadn't touched her lunch she'd found she was famished.

But she was craving for that particular food – Niles' cheesecake. Nothing else seemed tasty.

And so, she put pen to paper, and began to write him little notes.

She mentioned the event without mentioning the event.

And she told him about how she'd thought of his cheesecake.

She stared at the two little pieces of paper in front of her. She felt...not good, obviously, but somewhat satisfied that she had been able to do something other than curl up into a ball and hope she faded away.

She had to keep being strong. It wouldn't change what had happened, but dying wasn't going to solve anything, either.

"You see?" the voice sounded happy. Not for what had happened before, but because she was finally admitting some things to herself. "You're going to live, C.C.. You're going to get through this. And I know that the real me would be proud of you for not giving up."

She stroked her fingers over the part where she'd written the butler's name. The voice was right, she wasn't giving up. Even if she had written on the paper that the evil son of a bitch upstairs had broken her, she wasn't going to let it show.

She was prepared to go on for as long as she needed to, no matter how much she wanted to stop...

He wouldn't win. She would.

In the end, she'd win the war.