Stage Seventeen: Vilification
The Compound
He wondered if her room would ever fail to make him feel a little like he might suffocate at the same time he felt unworthy. He was everywhere. He was in everything. This wasn't just a little girl that had been lonely – she worshipped him. He felt a little roll of fear in his belly that he might fail her. He was a man who rarely failed and yet…
Yet…he couldn't free her. He couldn't free himself. They were both, bound, trapped, prisoners to different masters that waited to be served. Simmons, the bastard, wouldn't release her. That conversation had gone as well as could be expected.
They stood in the office done in ridiculous amounts of red and black. It was like being inside a box made of blood and burnt souls. Leon's jacket had matched, which had somehow irritated him. He didn't want to match anything in Simmons office.
Simmons himself was wearing red and black. It was ridiculous. The whole room felt like a vampire might burst through the wall and bare its fangs.
He was rolling a little cube in his palm. Occasionally, he'd stop…and sniff it.
Leon, arms crossed, watched him. "Tell me what you want here, Simmons."
"For what?"
"For her freedom."
Simmons studied him. That ferrety face with its sallow skin. Simmons and his beady eyes rimmed in big bags and circles like bullseyes of exhaustion. The van dyke style beard he wore made his long jaw appear canine, as if he had a muzzle instead of a face. It made sense, his methods of protection were often hailed as brutal and ripping. He went for the throat, as wolves were known to do.
"You think you have something you an offer me?"
Leon lifted a brow in answer. "Don't I? There's always something we want, Simmons. Always something more. She's got nothing you need anymore. You've been poking her for years. Let her go. And tell me what you want."
"…if I release her, Albert Wesker will take her."
Leon smirked a little. "Didn't you hear? He doesn't need her anymore either. And now? I think there's been a vaccine developed for her. Tricell found the answer. If it's true, in Mauti-Kifo, I can CURE her. And he won't need her anymore. She deserves to live her life, Simmons. Set her free."
Simmons was looking so shrewd. "I am fond of her. Very fond. She's like a daughter to me."
The bastard. Leon held his gaze. "Cut the shit, Simmons. What do you want?"
"I want Ada Wong. Find her for me. Get her to me. I will release Sherry if you find the cure. I will do that…for Ada."
An interesting request. And it surprised the hell out of him. Leon lifted his brows and studied the room. The red..the red…it made sense now. It was Sherry's room, in a way, Simmons room was COVERED in Ada Wong.
Leon lifted a brow. They considered each other in the awful red light that shown from the cracked door behind Simmons' desk. Was it a shrine to Wong in there? Would you open the door and find her face plastered on the walls, on the floor, on the ceiling? Did he have her panties and her blood and her fingernail clippings in there?
What was the difference between that kind of obsession….and what Sherry felt for him?
It was sobering to think of it.
Leon finally nodded, "I'll find Ada. When we get back from Mauti-Kifo, you'll set Sherry free."
"Cure her, I'll set her free. If not, she stays with me until she can be safe. She's a commodity, Kennedy. A valuable one. I won't risk her because you want to play hero."
Nodding, Leon turned and left the office.
It was his second successful negotiation in as many days.
The first had gone…not so smoothly.
Sherry emerged from the bathroom toweling her hands dry. She eyed him where he stood, staring at the photo of the three of them together after Raccoon City. She moved up behind him and slipped her hands around his waist, setting her chin on his shoulder…and she was aware that he tensed at first before he relaxed.
Curious, she moved a little tighter against his back. He tensed harder. Sherry stiffened a little and moved around him between him and the wall. She grabbed his face in her hands.
"….what did you do?"
He kept looking at the picture. "Nothing, Sherry. Are you ready for dinner?"
"Fuck dinner."
Her little voice at the word. He smiled a little at her using it. "I don't know that the waiters would like that very much. It would have to be a HELLUVA steak for me to do that."
Sherry shook her head, refusing to be amused. She asked again, "What did you do?"
"I don't know what answer you want here."
She shook her head again. Her fingers caught the lapels of his coat and pushed. It tumbled down his arms to the floor and she WATCHED him wince when it brushed over his back.
"….goddamnit, Leon." Her voice quavered, "How did you negotiate with Excella for information?"
"Let it go, Sherry. It doesn't matter."
Sherry felt her heart throb a little. "Take off the vest and your shirt. Now."
Oh.
His face.
It was haughty and arrogant and angry now. "Don't give me orders, Sherry."
"Don't start that. Not now. Let me see what you did."
"I didn't DO anything."
"What did you let HER do, Leon? What? Damnit, what? Let me SEE."
He shook his head and turned away. Sherry felt her hands shake and she made them in fists. The idiot. The brave fool. What had he done? What price had he paid? How long had he been paying it to try to keep her safe?
She grabbed his arm and spun him back, surprising him.
"Don't, Sherry. It doesn't matter now. It's done."
"Doesn't matter?" The question was almost sing song from her voice. It was shaky and raw. She grabbed the buttons on his vest and poked them through. She shoved it off him and watched him wince again.
Furious now, Sherry thought she might hit him. "Doesn't matter, he says. Did you fuck her, Leon? Did you let her mark you? You son of a bitch."
He grabbed her arms now and pushed her away. It was rough. It shocked her.
He shook her and her teeth snapped together.
"You little…."His face. It was all rage. "No. I said I wouldn't. Didn't I? I didn't touch her."
"…then…" She was whispering now, "Then what did she want?"
They held eyes for a long, long, long moment. Finally, he unbuttoned his shirt and unhooked his tie. The tie he whipped off and threw it on the floor like he'd hurt it. Sherry jumped, watching him.
His fingers deftly slipped buttons and he stood there now, bare chested beneath the beautiful white shirt. His voice was rough and angry, "Go ahead. Push it off me."
Sherry shifted and did his bidding. She slipped her hands under the shirt on his perfectly muscled shoulders and pushed. It whispered, like good silk often did, and tumbled musically to the floor.
The sight of him never failed to thrill her. She trembled, fingers sliding over his chest to touch his nipples. They peaked for her and she almost forgot what she was doing here. Her eyes lifted. "I don't understand."
He studied her as those hands skimmed each muscle in his abdomen. And he finally grabbed her wrists and jerked her forward, stealing her breath. "You wanted to see. You wanted to know. Stand there and see it."
He shoved her back and turned.
His back.
Sherry made a sound of horror.
His back was covered in a large bandage. It was soaked through in places with blood. Sherry covered her mouth with one hand and made a little sob of pain. She shook her head. She whispered, "What did you DO, Leon? What did you do?"
His voice, so calm, so cold, "What needed done. Go on, take it off."
She moved forward and caught the edge of the bandage. Sherry peeled it back with a ripping sound, making a little noise of regret. She closed her eyes as it peeled away, taking little pieces of scabbing flesh with it.
It was horrid.
It was horrible.
It was crisscrossing and seeping and weeping. It was raw and ripped and ugly. They curled over his sides and his hips. They were thick and wide and welting in places. How much pain could one person take? The answer stood before her.
The tears poked into her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She covered her mouth with one hand and the other, so softly, touched one wet red line that waited there. "Oh my god…oh my god…why?!" The whisper…so soft. So terribly soft.
"The cure, Sherry. The cure. You can finally be free."
And he stole her heart with a single phrase.
"…tell me what she did to you."
"I gave her my power. Excella doesn't fuck like a normal woman, Sherry. She needs to hurt you to feel anything. So I let her...hurt me."
Sherry kept her eyes on his ruined back. Ruined. Because it was. He'd never heal it all. Not without scarring. She'd gotten her pound of flesh. He was marred. The perfection of his back was a wasteland of blood and torture.
Sherry shifted to her little desk and started digging in it. "Take off your pants and boots."
He wasn't sure he liked the commanding tone with her. It rankled.
He said, "I'm FINE. Leave it alone."
She came back with a little bottle of salve and a small soft rag. "Please. Let me help. Please, Leon."
That please.
He shifted and his back protested. So Sherry unlaced his boots and helped him slip off his pants. It was worse there. She'd curled that whip over his beautiful ass and left it weeping with blood. Sherry kept her face controlled. She gestured and he lay on the bed on his belly.
She shed her jacket and climbed onto his legs, gently, to straddle his lower thighs. He didn't make a sound as she started gently touching him with the salve. It was cool and calming to his inflamed skin.
His cheek was pillowed on his folded his arms, looking across the room at a drawing of himself. Young, he thought, and smiling. Blonde and excited and laughing. He was always laughing in her pictures. He wished it was that simple.
She said, "Does part of you..like being…umm….what's the word?"
"Topped?"
He glanced at her a little and hissed. She eased him back to be still. "Yeah. Topped."
He considered it, liking her butterfly touches on his burning skin. "No. I'm not made to just…submit. I tried, in the beginning, because she liked it and it got her talking. I needed her talking. They sent me because they knew she had a weakness for pretty boys. Or pretty girls for that matter. Excella was never picky about sex. One was as good as the other. Jessica admitted to sleeping with her from time to time. Excella likes power. She takes it when she can't earn it. She'll do vanilla if the mood suits her. But it's just a lure to get you in. Once you're in, she'll get you to submit. The stronger the person, the more she loves it."
Sherry skimmed the salve over his left cheek and watched goosebumps pop on him. "Is that what you do? Do you…take power?"
He shifted a little, considering. "Sometimes. I try to make it consensual. I want you to submit. I want us both to want that. Claire tried…she really tried. But she was too much of her own dominant personality. She can't submit. Not completely. We both felt it. We both knew it wouldn't work for long."
"She loves you."
Leon blinked, sighing a little. "Probably. But not the way you mean."
"Exactly the way I mean. She told me. She ended it because you weren't happy. Why weren't you happy with her? She loves you."
He was quiet for so long she didn't think he'd answer. And he finally said, "I couldn't control her."
And now Sherry nodded a little. She nodded. "Thank you for telling me the truth. I knew that was the answer, Leon. Thank you for admitting it."
"I'm not proud of it, Sherry. I love Claire. She's one of the only things in my life that I care about. I couldn't love her how she needed. She couldn't give me what I needed. I'm…fucked up or something. I'm not proud of it."
Sherry skimmed her fingers over his spine and watched the goosebumps follow her. "Sometimes we want things that we aren't proud of. I chased you for ten years. I'm not proud of that. I let them keep me here all these years. I'm not proud of that either. I…let you hurt me."
He went so still under her fingers.
She whispered, "And I like it. I LIKE it. And I'm not proud of that either."
Leon tilted his head, watching her now. "Nothing to be ashamed of there, Sherry. Nothing. It's not wrong to like something that makes us both feel good. It's not. It's not conventional, it's not the standard…it doesn't make it wrong."
She held his eyes. "I shouldn't like for you to hurt me."
He glanced at her mouth, breathing softly. "You want me to stop?"
Her fingers skimmed over his hip. They slid around and tucked under him. He lifted enough to let her. And her hand find him thick, hard, and ready.
Jesus.
She whispered, "No.I don't want you to stop. And I'm not proud of that either."
Claire curled on her side, watching the coming fall beyond her window.
Shame. It was everywhere she looked. It was everywhere. Because she couldn't stop picturing the greatest monster she'd ever known. She couldn't stop. Every time she closed her eyes, his face haunted her.
It was between her legs. It was between her breasts. It was between her skin and her soul.
She was obsessed with her enemy. She didn't know how to get him out of her. He was a stain on her fucking bones. He wouldn't stop plaguing her. What was worse? She knew, he knew, wherever he was, that she had given him her power.
In that last moment together? She'd given him...herself.
Somewhere dark before the rescue...
He was on the phone again.
She sat in the chair, shaking.
She sat there, shaking for him.
He hung up, brows lifted.
"I don't need you anymore, Claire. I have no more need of Sherry Birkin."
He rose. She shook her head.
He came around the desk to her. "You are free. Go back to your brother. Tell him how you spread your thighs for me. How you begged. How you took me into you and screamed for more."
Claire shook her head. She shook it again: no.
"Get up, Claire. We are done here."
Her hands shifted. She grabbed him. She pushed him onto the desk. He grunted and shifted.
Claire grabbed the letter opener from his desk and put it to his eye. He blinked, amused. So amused.
"Try it. Do it. Show me what Redfield's do when they are beaten. Kill me. Prove your mettle."
The stupid dresses he made her wear. He knew she hated them. He knew she hated him. He dressed her like a doll. All pretty hair and shimmery gowns.
Bastard.
Like a storybook.
A fairytale.
The Prince…and the Unwilling Slave. God...she DESPISED him.
She pressed the letter opener to his cheek. She spilled his blood. He laughed. He laughed and let her.
She hated him.
Her left hand jerked on his zipper. Her right kept the letter opener to his eye.
She jerked him into her fist. He grunted. He groaned.
She jerked up her skirt and pushed him back on the desk.
She took him into her with that letter opener to his eye. He gasped, he grunted, groaned…he let her move, slap down on him, steal his breath. She raped him – watching his face like she'd burn it into her brain forever.
She shook atop him. Riding. Riding. Wet and sticky. Blood on his face from the letter opener. Her blood in her veins burning.
She mewled. She bounced. She gasped, "Give me what I seek…and I will let you go."
And he laughed, laughed, grabbed her hips and ground her on him. She rode, throwing away the letter opener. He leaned up, spilling her into his lap. He lifted and lowered her onto his throbbing need.
She grunted, sucking him in, bowing and humping. She grabbed his hair in her fists and fucked his mouth with her tongue. She hated him.
She hated him.
His hand slid around her. His fingers slipping over her slippery body atop him. He smeared his fingers over her ass. He lowered her atop his thrusting body in a manic pace.
He hooked a finger into her needy little ass.
She bucked, screaming, and spilled wet and hot all over him. All over them. She grabbed his face and slapped him so hard.
He came in her, grunting. It was so hot. It scalded.
He pumped her full of him, laughing.
The Compound
Her heart shivered, scaring her. How did she purge him from her? How did she get him out? She wasn't Sherry. She wasn't this girl. SHe didn't crave the dark. She didn't want to be owned. She didn't bleed inside for evil.
She wasn't full of madness.
She was full of him and she hated him.
She couldn't even breathe without feeling him. How did you blot out the darkness in your fucking soul?
The small knock on her door had her rising, clutching the robe around her body like a shield. She opened it a crack to peer out. And the pretty face of the hero boy who'd come for her lingered there, looking nervous.
"...I wanted to see if you were ok. You've just..hid out here. I thought maybe..." He held up a six pack of beers, "Maybe you needed a friend."
She felt something shiver in her. A friend? No. She didn't need a friend. She needed a fuck. She needed to fuck the monster out of her body, like an exorcism made of sweat and forgetting.
She opened the door and gripped his shirt in her fist. She tugged him forward, "I need you to help me. I need you. Say yes."
Piers nearly swallowed his tongue, twice, but he whispered, "...yes."
And Claire jerked him into the room with her.
They didn't even make it to the bed. She pushed him to the desk and and climbed onto his lap. She pulled him free of his pants like a mad woman. A desperate thing without any hope.
He was so eager. Sweet. Kissing and stroking her. But she wanted it fast. Rough. She straddled him and took him, riding his body in a thunderous burst of greed.
He gasped, he grabbed her hips to guide her. He was so giving. He wanted to please her. He didn't make her please him. He murmured her name and it sounded so gentle.
He was awed to touch her.
He didn't make her seethe with hate.
She fell asleep beside him, trembling. Because part of her craved that softness he offered...and part of her yearned for the pain she'd left behind.
