The Psychic

BY : SerafintheGreat
Category: Original - Misc > General
Dragon prints: 12916
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to real people, situations, or locations are coincidental.

A honeymoon phase.

It’s not that things were good, it’s just things were not quite as bad. I decided to resist the situation significantly less. I’m eating more, which pleases him, and perhaps I have filled out just a little bit more. When we fuck, which we do a lot more often, he tries to grab onto every bit of flesh that’s available to him. Now there’s just a little bit more.

He never did apologize about the whores. I never asked for an apology. I can’t commit to the idea that I was effected by that. I just try not to think about it.

Things have cooled down so much that I'm even allowed to exchange words with the Doc provided I wansn't discussing my relationship.

As I clean dishes, the Doc reaches into the cabinet next to me.

“Can you please get away from me?” I snap at him, really not in the mood for anyone to be in my space. The Psychic is seated in the kitchen with us, drinking an evening coffee and reading about all of the horrifying things he had done that week.

“What’s your problem?” The Doc asks me, “are you on your period?” He adds just to be obnoxious.

 I scoff at him and continue cleaning.

 “Well?”

It’s his voice.

“Well?” he asks again with more insistence.

I turn to look at him. He’s looking at me, and Doc is looking at the situation because it's obviously strange.

“Well what?” I ask back.

“Answer the man. Do you have your period?” The Psychic asks.

“No,” I respond, confused by the inquiry.

He looks at me as if I’m lying to him, and then I see him take out his phone, still eyeing me, and scrolling.

“It says here that you should have gotten it two weeks ago. Did you?”

I shake my head.

Doc looks perturbed by the situation, and so am I.

“I didn’t realize you had the Period app on your phone.”

He looks at me, obviously not amused.

“I’m not lying to you.” I insist.

“Go to your room. Now,” he growls at me.

Head bowed, I leave the kitchen and head to his room, knowing that’s what he means now by “my room.” I sit quietly and I wait for him.

I think it over. Why does he care so much about this? Then I realize the problem of not having my period for two weeks. I couldn’t be pregnant. I just couldn’t. He uses protection all the time.

But think about the times he’s knocked you out. Who is to say that he hasn’t fucked you while you’ve been under his control without protection? It’s possible, I guess.  

Then I realize something that upsets me more.

I’m infertile.

I’ve lost my period.

It’s possible. I’ve been in a highly stressed situation for this long, and now my body has shot down and has decided it’s not interested in producing life. It’s lost hope in my survival, and it’s trying to protect humanity from some evil Psychic hybrid.

That scares me even more than being pregnant because deep down I’ve retained the hope that one day I’ll get out of here and one day I’ll lead a normal life where I will have babies with someone I actually love.

I don’t think I can breathe anymore.

The Psychic enters. He looks mad at me, but he can’t have me this time. This time it’s his fault.

“You lied to me.” He growls at me.

“No, I didn’t lie to you. I didn’t get it.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying!” I scream back at him. “You’re lying. How do I know you didn’t fuck me while I was knocked out?”

“I would never do that. You should know that.”

“Why should I know that? I’ve felt sore in the morning after having been knocked out for days or evenings, for I don’t know how long. I don’t even know how long I’ve been here. I didn’t even know I was two weeks late. I have no sense of time anymore.”

“It’s impossible. You’re not pregnant. Unless….” And he approaches me now, trying to intimidate me, “you’ve been sleeping with someone else.”

I look at him, incredulous, “who?”

“Doc.” He says, as if the answer is obvious.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? I hate the guy more than anyone, even you,” and as I say it, I realize what I’ve said to him, and I cover my mouth, gasping. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, I-“

And he slaps me hard across the face.

I grip my cheek. I’m too terrified to look at him, too terrified to see what he’s thinking. Too terrified to-

And he grabs my chin and makes me look at him.

I can see the fire in his eyes, but the power isn’t there yet. He’s just very, very angry, and I know when he runs hot like this, I’m in very serious trouble.

The only thing I can think of doing to save myself is cry.

“I’m infertile now,” I cry, “I’m infertile and it’s all because of you!” I scream at him. “All you do is put me in terrifying, stressful situations, and my body has finally decided that it won’t allow me to have babies even if I wanted them. And I do want them!” I scream at him, “I’ve always wanted a family, and now you’ve denied me that. I hate you.” Now my crocodile tears have turned into real tears, as I realize what I say might actually be true. I am perfectly entitled to hate him right now. This is a big deal.

He releases my chin, and I look away from him.

“I don’t want to sleep with you tonight,” I tell him.

“Where are you going to sleep?” He asks me.

“I’ll sleep in my room.”

“No,” he responds, “If you don’t sleep next to me, then you sleep on the floor.”

I get up off the bed, and I sit on the floor at the foot of the bed.

He throws a pillow at me, “Suit yourself,” and then he puts himself to bed and shuts off the lights.

I lie down on the floor, alone with my thoughts and my pillow. I can’t fall asleep, but I’m happy to be away from his grasp for an evening. Then, I feel slumber slowly take me over.

I wake up to being moved around by some outside force. I look to my side and I see he has joined me on the floor. His arms are wrapped around me with a blanket wrapped around us.

He’s asleep, but there’s something disturbed about his sleep. He keeps on fidgeting and mumbling incoherencies under his breath.

I can’t fall asleep, so I think about what this means, his refusal to sleep without me, even for an evening. I think for a second if this gives me any sort of power over the situation. He’s just shown me he is so desperately afraid to sleep without me that sleeping on a hardwood floor with me seems more desirable than sleeping on a soft bed by himself.

I admit to myself that having him here with me, with a blanket and a pillow, makes things more comfortable, and I fall asleep eventually.

The next morning, I wake up, and I turn to my side to see him. He’s awake as well and just looks at me when I turn around.

I wait for him to speak words because I have nothing to say to him, but then he just takes me in his arms and presses my head against his chest, “I’m sorry, darling, but this is why we need to keep you healthy and eating food. I’m trying to keep you healthy, but you keep on resisting me still. I will take care of you. You needn’t have a worry in this world. I will keep you safe and healthy.”

He strokes my hair as he speaks his nonsenses.

He takes my chin and makes me look at him.

“You don’t trust me?”

I can’t answer him, but my lack of response is an answer.

“I don’t feel like a woman anymore.”

He releases my chin, and presses my face into his chest, “You are. You are a beautiful woman. You will have children one day if you want them, I promise you. Just relax. You needn’t stress about anything ever. I am taking care of you.”

Instead of crying this time, I feel numb, and I look at one spot on the ceiling as he says these words to me.

“Let me take care of you,” he says as he starts kissing my face.

I don’t like this. Not right now.

“Please, not now,” I ask.

“But I know how to make it all feel better.”

“I don’t want it to feel better right now.”

“Why do you give me so much trouble?”

“Because,” I say carefully, “I don’t feel good.”

“That’s why you need me to make you feel good.”

“I need to go for a walk,” I respond to him trying to change the subject. I try to leave, but he holds onto me. I look at him, and I can tell his brain floods with entitlement. That for whatever reason, I am denying him something he deserves.

“Fine,” I relent, “do whatever you want with me. I won’t give you any trouble.”

I slacken in his arms, so he can put me wherever he wants me, but he doesn’t budge.

“Go ahead,” I tell him, “Don’t bother with a condom. I can’t have babies. I don’t care about the diseases the whores gave you either. I’m going to die of something.”

I don’t know why he’s on the floor with me, and I don’t know why he won’t leave me alone, or just take me now, I gave him permission.

“You need rest, don’t you?” I feel instantly the power starting, and I look away immediately.

“No, I don’t want rest.”

“No, I’m quite certain that’s what you need,” he says, trying to make me look at him.

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” he grabs my face and makes me look at him, but instead I close my eyes tight.

“Oh, dear, oh dear. I am trying to help you. Just look at me.”

“No, you’re trying to control me. I don’t like it.”

“I just wan to help you relax, you need help relaxing.”

“I’m fine,” I scream back.

“No, you’re not fine, you need to look at me, so I can help you. Be a good girl. Be a good, good girl.”

And each time he calls me a ‘good girl’ I feel a warmth emanating from my stomach.

“That’s it. Now you are being a good girl,” He says it again, and I feel my whole body warm up.

“Come on, now you want to open your eyes and look at me. I will not hurt you. I will make you feel relaxed and better. You will be happy if you just look at me.”

I feel I’m about to, but then I stop. “No, no, how many times do I have to say ‘no,’ for you to stop?”

There’s a moment of silence. Then, he mounts me, slamming me into the ground. He’s on me, but I keep my eyes closed. I can feel a switchblade against my throat.

“Open your eyes, now.” He presses the switchblade against my neck.

I open my eyes, no other choice now, and I see his.

And there’s nothing there. No power, no commands, nothing, but then I realize he must be reading my mind, and when I have that realization, his eyes suddenly have power, and they lock me in place. I don’t know what I was thinking, so I don’t know if I should be scared.

 He studies me for a long while, but is expression doesn’t change, so I don’t know if I should be scared or not, but now I can feel it. It’s like his hand is carefully folding through all of the files of my brain, all of them, learning everything he can about me. I’m starting to feel very lightheaded and violated.

Finally, it stops. He releases me, and I can see something in him has changed. He doesn’t look like he feels well.

After a moment, all he says is, “Please, don’t sleep on the floor again.”

“What did you just-"

“Please,” he interrupts, “don’t sleep on the floor again. I…I will not put my evil seed in you, I promise.”

He sits up, and I go to sit up as well, but then I feel overwhelmingly dizzy.

“Just relax, you might need to rest for a bit after that. Please, use the bed. Are you hungry?”

I shake my head.

“You are hungry. I know you’re practically starving.”

“What just happened?” I ask, confused.

“Would you like to rest in here or outside?” He asks avoiding the question.

“Outside, please.”

He extends his hand to me. I take it, and true to his word, I’m very shaky on my feet.

“I can carry you.”

“No, that’s embarrassing.”

“No one will see you. You won’t make it down the stairs without falling down them. Please, just let me carry you.”

“I can stay in here-“

“Let me carry you!” he screams at me. He backtracks when he sees me recoil, “Please, just, let me take care of you. Please.”

I nod.

He scoops me into his arms, and I wrap my hands around his neck. He carries me down the stairs and out the back door. He places me carefully on the deck stairs. He sits next to me, wraps an arm around me, and pressed my head against his shoulder.

He doesn’t say another word to me.


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