My eyes were hazy as I stared blankly at the tiles as they passed along the floor. Surely this wasn’t right. Why am I counting tiles? The sound of the rickety wheels on the wheelchair wobbling back and forth beneath the footplates my feet were planted on. How had I gotten into this wheelchair? I was trying to rack my brains but somehow it had already been forgotten. Already it was a blur.
As I began to come to, I felt that my rear hurt immensely, and I knew the reason why. Another male had sneaked into my room the night before, and made me his own. Whispering about my sister in the process. It had been occurring nearly every night. Some nights it was the same men, and some nights they were new faces. I couldn’t feel much worse than I already did. I betrayed my sister. My body reacted to theirs in ways I couldn’t counteract no matter how I fought, and screamed for them to cease.
How I hated them for this.
I drew a deep breath in through my mouth, and clenched my eyes shut. This felt wrong. I was too woozy to be moving, I felt like I was going to be sick all over the nice clean tiles. How clean those tiles looked, but how filthy the deeds that occurred behind closed asylum doors were.
Those white, clean tiles. I counted as they passed, or tried to count, but I lost my train of thought, over and over again.
I had been shocked earlier in the day. I remembered being strapped down. The familiar picture of my sister being planted in front of my eyes before I was warned that all my suffering was because of her. That beautiful face. My sister.
I found my eyes staring up as the wheelchair halted at one door in particular. The door that I knew to be my doctors. It was time to see her already? Hadn’t I just been forced to ‘speak’ to her yesterday? Or was that a week ago? Had it already been a week?
As I was wheeled inside of her office, I stared around. Looking for the next needle that might be jabbed into my arm. Praying that there wouldn’t be any. That I wouldn’t see a needle in the vicinity, and so far I didn’t see one.
“I think we should cut back on the electric treatments, Doctor. I think his brain is being fried.” The nurse mentioned as she settled his chair, putting the locks on both the wheels. “He couldn’t even walk, just now.”
“Thank you nurse, but I know what I am doing.” Dr. Markov insisted.
I found myself staring up at her, and then I remembered. I couldn’t break. I couldn’t let her change me. I already felt an aversion to touch, but that was fixable. I couldn’t lose my love for Belle. I couldn’t forget that she was who I longed to hold. Longed to be beside. It was getting harder with each passing day, but I had to stay strong. I had to remember.
“You are quite sick, Gabriel.” She spoke in her calm manner, “Do you know just how sick? Do you really know, Gabriel?” It appeared to be a rhetorical question, but I couldn’t help but to speak back to her.
“I am not sick. I fell in love.” I snapped through my haze, trying to pull myself out of it, but my words were slow. They weren’t coming out as they normally would. They were far slower, and more difficult to understand.
“Love. I highly doubt your mind comprehends love, Gabriel. Not with what you forced your poor sister into.” She spoke calmly, in a collected manner, “Do you understand the magnitude of your actions? You raped your sister, and put children inside of her. One of those children is very sick, Gabriel. And that is your fault.”
I hated her. How could she ever understand what I felt for my sister? What she returned in full to me. It was becoming harder to hold on to the memories that Belle, and I had created when day after day I was tortured, and forgetting details that I should remember.
“I can’t help who I love.” I insisted with a glare in my eyes.
“Not right now you can’t. But you will.” She stared down at a sheet of paper attached to a clipboard a small smile appearing upon her lips.
“I hear your prick has been reacting very well to stimulation from others.” She let out a low laugh, “Apparently that part of you isn’t very faithful is it? Exactly what I would expect from a horny teenage boy.”
She spoke as though she knew me, and that pissed me off. But what terrified me, more than anything, was the fact that she knew about what happened to me at night. She had probably instructed that it occur. Was it another of her mind games? Was this even real? Or was this something my mind had concocted to make me feel worse?
“Fuck you! I love my sister! I only have eyes for her!” I insisted, moving to grip ahold of the arms of my wheelchair, realizing for the first time that they had been restrained with straps to the armrests. I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to understand why such a thing had been done, but was quick to find a reason as she came around from her desk, holding up a pocket knife.
“I know you are quite confused right now. But don’t go worrying about a thing. I will fix you up. Soon enough.”
I found myself staring at her in confusion as she began to push up my state issued gown, and I realized I wasn’t wearing any boxers like I normally was. My prick hit the air as she pulled back the gown, and I flinched as she curved her hand around the base. Peeling back my foreskin she exposed the head, and length of my cock, letting the breeze hit it.
“You are uncut, are you?” She breathed out, chuckling slightly, and I struggled in the restraints.
“Now, now don’t struggle, or I might do some damage I don’t mean to.” She insisted, and I tired, unable to struggle anymore.
“Let go of me!” I was already beginning to rouse as she gave me a few firm rubs up, and down.
“There, that is much better. When you are nice and swollen that gives me more to work with.” She teased me, and I glared at her.
Peeling back my foreskin again she reached down with the knife, and slowly made a slice against my throbbing prick. I screamed, letting out an agonizing scream as I felt the small barely bleeding cut she had made against my length. She proceeded to ignore my screams, making several more little slices along my length, and it was seconds before I was limp again, unable to remain aroused through all the pain my prick was now in.
“I need to train your prick not to want to be touched. I need to train you, Gabriel. I promised to cure you, and I never fail.”
It hurt worse than anything I had ever felt before. She had made small cuts along the most sensitive piece of skin on my body, and as I sobbed, and glared at her she spoke once more.
“And just so there is no confusion, every time I make cuts on your prick, and there will be many more made, it will be because you used this offensive piece of you, to create babies with your sister. It was wrong, and sick. You are sick Gabriel. You need to be fixed.” She insisted, and I released low whimpers, hating her with every fiber of my being.
But before I could gather the strength enough to speak she lifted her hand, and plunged a syringe right into the side of my arm, and I fell into unconsciousness.