TRIGGER WARNING: THERE IS MENTION OF BLOOD, NON-CON R-word IN THIS CHAPTER. DONT LIKE? DONT READ.
Disclaimer
I don't own Twilight. Never did own Twilight. Never will own Twilight. Hop off my back if you think I'm getting any monetary benefits from posting this- Thanks.
'Snip'
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'Snip'
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'Snip'
The sharp shears cut through their hair as the matron sang along with what was playing on the radio. They never saw their appearance, but it wasn't hard to guess that they now looked the part of the puppet they played. They didn't want to see anyways... knowing that when they looked, familiar green eyes they'd inherited from their mother and a short bob of black hair was no longer there.
The cutting though- it was part of a routine that was mind numbingly tedious due to an outbreak that broke out in the town over; Typhoid, if they recalled correctly. The sickness was current and carried over quickly. The matrons in the asylum, few in number though they were, had been instructed by one of the doctors to shear the patients hair because it would help to keep the fever down if they had typhoid- resources already stretched thin in the overcrowded and glorified prison cells they had to share. They were lucky of course, considering the most dangerous patients didn't have cellmates, and being classified as one, they didn't have any either. But sometimes, they had to admit, it did become dull in the dark loneliness.
Their cell was dark, damp and had mildew growing on all four corners of the canvas covered ceiling, drip marks bending and warping the strippng wallpaper that could have once had a floral pattern on it. It was empty with the exception of a small basin to wash themselves and a cot on a squeaky, white painted metal bed frame with a one inch thick cot made of sponge that pressed flat if you lied on it for too long. The floor was always cold, no source of heat present in the room and a threadbare blanket being used to keep warm during the cold nights. The staff weren't allowed to give them anything sturdier less they use it to kill themselves in the darkness.
They weren't allowed to wash or bathe in private either. Every month, once a month- they would be herded with other women of the asylum to the large tiled room where they would be hosed down with a high powered leather hose as naked as the day they were born. Today was no different. They barely resisted when the matron, Kingsley, they'd learned was her name (the cruel one), all but shoved her into the tiled area, just beside a drain, her rough grip leaving their arm. Not seconds later, the hose suspended above them dropped and then sprayed out ice cold waters in a high pressure torrent. They flinched under the downpour, shoulders tensing as their arms came up to cover what they could, eyes downcast to the dirt and grime that washed away, watching it swirl around the metal drain hammered into green tile. Their teeth rattled from the coolness but the matron paid no heed, turning up the turnstile on the wall to increase the flow as she watched them tremble.
Ten minutes passed before the water was abruptly turned off, Kingsley ushering her out of the uncovered stall and onto a bench nearby with a ratty towel to dry herself. They were covered again in the same old, dirty white tunic before being ushered into another room with a table, head down as a doctor walked inside, a man in a full black suit and white collar holding a book following just behind.
"We thank you for your visit, Minister," the doctor murmured quietly, "This is our most troubled patient." The minister harrumphed, adjusting his spectacles and stepping forwards.
"And what did you say was her affliction?" he sneered. They simply watched, lips pursed as a muscle in their jaw clenched, preparing them for what could not lead to a pretty evening. Just what was this man doing here?
"She claimed to have visions, the poor girl. Fanciful delusions, you know the type.." The doctor trailed off with an odd sort of smile, indulging almost. They almost rolled their eyes, if only they knew. The minister hummed once more, looming over them now. His eyes roamed freely as the doctor and matron began to tie her down with thick leather constraints. They didn't fight them, the last bits of their protest dying down with the patience for the inevitable. One of these days they would be dead, the groundskeeper would turn them sooner than later. They hadn't met him of course or seen the exact vision (mayhaps because his mind hadn't been made up yet), having not yet been granted their supervised time outside with the rest of the patients, but it would happen- they were sure.
"She's also mute," the doctor told him, and they couldn't help but imagine beating the older male with an inch of his life.
"We'll fix you up good," The other man promised lowly, too quiet for anyone else but them to hear. Slightly startled, they locked eyes with the minister, wondering just what he'd meant by saying that. They couldn't help the feeling that rose within their tummy, the sick, twisted feeling churning their guts and turning them inside out. Bile rose in their throat as the nurse and doctor soon left and the minister took a seat on a stool just to the end of the exam table they'd been placed upon. He sighed heavily, wiping sweat from his brow as though what he was about to do would weigh heavily on his shoulders.
The man removed the black leather book from under his arm and placed it onto the table they were on, the tissue paper crunching as it did. He got up, loosening his collar as he got closer, tufts of dark hair becoming visible under the black suit he wore. His eyes roved over their figure greedily, his hand coming up to drag his nasty, dirty hands along their arm in what he probably thought was sensual.
"So smooth," he muttered, "And pliant, aren't you?"
They tried not to be reactive, not wanting to give this fraud-this monster the satisfaction of seeing them squirm. They glared harshly, gaze darkening in a way that promised retribution one day very soon.
"Relax. Our benevolent god, Jesus, wills it to happen." A weight settled at their breast then and squeezed. Struggling just slightly, they tried so hard to move away from the invasive touch, unwilling to go down like this. A sharp breath escaped them, wiggling and curling inwardly to remove his disgusting touch from their person. And it wasn't even theirs. It was Alice's! This was never mentioned before! She hadn't been abused-violated like this in the books! And then a sly voice echoed in their mind,
It hadn't been in the books because Alice hadn't remembered her human life past all the shock therapy and the effect of the venom.
Of course. But this creature was utterly deranged. And they'd bet that no amount of shock therapy would ever allow them to forget what he would do to them for however long this nightmare would last.
The man raised a brow, "Want me to stop?" But still, no words came from their mouth despite wanting desperately to be anywhere else but here in this room, with this evil man. They stubbornly kept quiet.
They wouldn't go in detail about just what that man had done, but they made sure that everyone knew exactly what the so called minister had been doing when he'd escaped the room with an excruciating scream and bloody pants and pale skin from the waist down, buckle undone as he tripped and fell clumsily into a pool of blood of his own making. There had been several screams when that happened and minutes later, when the same doctor from before had rushed inside the room to check on the patient, they'd found them laughing hysterically, blood seeping between their teeth, dribbling down their chin and mixing with saliva as they struggled against their constraints, tunic ruffled and spotted with warm blood- destroyed beyond repair.
...A pile of useless skin sat bloodied and unrecognizable just beside the examination table but they'd never felt so proud. Alice's body wouldn't be violated, not if they'd had a say in it.
It was all the more worth it when the bitter Kingsley came into their cell hours later, practically foaming at the mouth and dragged them by their shorn hair into the shock room for punishment. Yes, that had been the day they learned that the wicked bitch of a matron and the sick- now forcibly celibate- minister had been intimately involved. Not anymore, they'd snorted inwardly. Nobody would ever be involved with that man ever again, willing or otherwise being as crippled as he was.