Chapter Text
CHAPTER 12
The few days following that day in the forest passed in a way that would be perceived as normal from the outside. Ben, basking in the pleasure of re-establishing his authority, had adopted a paternal demeanor. He was constantly taking care of my injured leg, acting tender toward the very bruises he had created. He dropped me off at school as usual and waited outside to pick me up. From the outside, everything seemed normal. At least during the day.
At night, however, his touch would grow rough again, and he would take me, usually with hunger I've never seen before. Though it was rarely as harsh and merciless as it had been in the forest, I could sometimes feel his eyes go dark, blinded by lust, and my tense body would groan not just with pleasure, but with pain. His sex was rough and possessive, pushing a little further every night, experimenting with different things as he realized I could tolerate the pain.
Most of the time, I didn't resist—partly because of the pleasure I received, and partly because I realized my objections only turned him on. Beyond that, the only thing capable of silencing my suffocating mind at school was the overpowering presence of Ben’s body.
School felt like a place of mourning; events were being organized and speeches were being delivered for Joe. I frequently locked myself in the bathroom, trying to get a handle on my rising panic. A few times, in sheer desperation, I had called Ben. I think the first time was during literature class.
Our teacher had asked us to write a letter for Joe to honour our classmate. My emotions, already teetering on the edge of a high rise, wanted to leap off as I stared down at the blank paper and pen in front of me. I wanted to take the pen, cover the entire page writing I'm sorry over and over, and sob uncontrollably.
I raised my hand, asked for permission, and went to the bathroom. The moment I locked myself in one of the stalls, panic surged instantly. Everyone was in class, so the bathroom was completely empty. Sitting on the toilet seat in the small stall, I tried to regulate my breathing, tapping my chest and pulling my hair to ground myself back in the present moment. They were all techniques my therapist had given me.
My therapist, whom I could no longer see because of Ben.
When I felt I couldn't handle it anymore and was about to break down, my hands trembling, I pulled my phone from my pants pocket and called Ben. He picked up on the very first ring. “Yes, kiddo,” he said, his voice carrying the serious tone he used when reading the newspaper. Catching my breath as best as my oxygen-starved lungs allowed, I opened my mouth and whimpered, “Dad...” The moment Ben heard the desperation in my voice, he sprang into action. “Coming, stay where you are I’ll find you” he said, and hung up.
Burying my face between my knees and closing my eyes, I tried to let gravity take my shaking body so it would relax. Dark thoughts were screaming inside my brain, cornering me inside the bathroom. When Ben pushed the bathroom door open with sheer force, the door slammed hard against the wall, caught off guard by his strength.
“Baby?” Ben’s slightly worried voice filled my ears, but I felt completely paralyzed. My chest was tight, my hands were tingling, and I couldn't feel parts of my body. All I could think about was blood. I could hear the heavy thud of Ben’s boots approaching. Other men might be unnerved by being caught in a girls' restroom, but Ben moved as if he owned the place. Everything belonged to him; we were living in his world.
Ben firmly pushed open the doors of the other stalls, and when he reached mine, he knocked. “Baby, you in here?” he asked. Without opening my eyes, I let out a tiny sound of confirmation. I knew I should raise my hands and unlock the door, but I was certain I couldn't do it. I stayed right where I was and heard Ben burst the lock open with a gentle push, relying on the confirmation of my voice.
The second Ben stepped inside, he wrapped his arms around my body, holding me firm and tight enough to ensure even my numb frame could feel it. He lifted me into his arms. “It’s okay,” he said. He didn't know why I was like this; he didn't know what I was thinking. He didn't know if it was because of Joe or my other nightmares. The only thing he knew was that as long as he held me, nothing could hurt me. And that was enough.
He sank down to the bathroom floor with me, not caring if it was clean or not, resting his back against the stall door—closing it again without needing the broken lock—and allowed us to remain alone together in the tiny stall. For a few minutes at least, it was just the two of us again. The rest of the world didn't exist. Joe didn't exist. The others didn't exist. There was only us.
Ben spent a moment pressing soft kisses to my face, taking my limp hands and holding them against his chest. I could feel his deep breaths pushing against my palm. "Feel that? I'm right here. Nothing out there can touch you while I'm in this room. Match my breath. In... and out."
His voice sounded calm; unlike my rapid gasps, he was breathing easily, as if all the oxygen in the world belonged to him. He stroked my back, but seeing that the situation wasn't improving, he hardened his touch, inflicting a mild flash of pain to anchor me back into my body, much like he did during sex.
Tugging at the hair his fingers were tangled in, he forced me to look into his eyes, while his other hand calmly stroked my hip in contrast to the harsh gesture. Keeping our eyes locked, he continued speaking slowly: “Do not listen to the words inside your head, my little one. The only voice that you should listen to, the only voice that matters, is my voice.” He pressed a quick kiss to my lips and rested me back against his chest.
Within a few minutes, under the influence of his gentle words and warm body, I had relaxed. As my tense muscles uncoiled, Ben stroked my hair. When he felt my breathing normalize, I noticed him relax slightly as well. We sat in silence for a while. Pressing a kiss to my forehead, he said, "You did so good calling me, sweetheart. See? When you're scared, you come to your daddy. I’ve always got you."
When he scooped me up and carried me out, I didn't object. I closed my eyes and let him carry me to the car. I didn't want to go back to class; I didn't want to listen to the letters everyone had written. Instead, I wanted to sleep peacefully in the hands of a killer and inside his house. I hated that my brain found that comforting.
I didn't go to school the day after this incident, and without forcing me, Ben simply let us be father and daughter. We watched movies and cooked. I was in a desperate state, fleeing from reality. After I felt normal again, I continued going to school.
-
When the police came to talk, ten days had passed since Joe’s death. Ben and I were having breakfast, and because he had pushed me very hard the night before—we had done it from behind again, and I had realized this position hurt even more, but surprisingly I enjoyed it more too—I was still in pain and couldn't really focus on my food.
When the doorbell rang, Ben scanned his eyes over me; I was still sitting there wearing only the T-shirt he had put on my body. Reaching under the table, he touched my bare leg and stroked it gently. “Go put on something, sweetie,” he said, heading toward the door to open it while I vanished upstairs.
I put on proper clothes; whenever people were around, I had to wear extra covering because my body was covered in strange bruises all over. Bruises I couldn't explain.
As I walked downstairs, I heard a strange male voice coming from the living room: “We’re just going to ask a few questions.” Standing on the last few steps of the staircase, I saw Officer Hayes—who I knew occasionally had a beer with Ben—and a guy named Denise from school walking inside.
Ben looked massive even when other men were around; no human could come close to his size. His posture was rigid and stern; he generally disliked anyone coming into our house. When my eyes met Denise’s, I saw him avert his gaze. He was one of the guys Ben had beaten up at my birthday party.
Seeing me, Officer Hayes turned and offered a soft nod. "We're sorry to disturb you and your father. Your friend here said you were the last person Joe spoke to the day he was killed, so we just wanted to ask a few questions," he explained to me. With panic rising inside me, I turned to look at Ben, but his eyes were locked on Denise. That made me panic even more.
Offering a barely audible of course, I gestured toward the couches. We all sat down. Ben sat on the armchair right across from me, while Denise and the officer sat on the two-seater couch to my left. Suddenly, the air inside the house had turned heavy. “What did you talk about the last time you saw him?” the officer asked, pulling a notepad and pen from his pocket. Swallowing hard, I locked my eyes onto Ben, who was sitting loosely right in front of me. I could tell from his body language that he was relaxed; he was slightly sprawled out, watching me like an owl with his eyes glued to me. It was as if he was curious to hear what I would say too. Curious to see if I would break down and speak the truth.
“We... I mean he... saw me at the mall and came over to talk... to apologize,” I said, my tense hands involuntarily fidgeting with the hem of my sweater. I avoided Denise’s eyes, which were heavy with questions and pain. He was one of the many students who thought I was weird, and I was certain I caught a subtle trace of accusation in his look. He probably thought I had a hand in this. Technically, he wasn't wrong, so I didn't blame him.
“Why did he apologize?” Officer Hayes asked, furrowing his brows. I realized they didn't know about what had happened at the birthday party. I wondered if Ben would be a suspect if they knew, and when I turned to look at him in desperation, I realized he had no intention of speaking. This was my test. He wanted me to protect him.
Trying to avoid eye contact with Denise, I suppressed the panic in my head and got the sentence out: “There was a little problem at my birthday party a while ago, it wasn't anything important...” I noticed the corner of Ben’s lips curl up.
“Right, nothing important.” Hearing Denise’s faintly sarcastic voice, I turned my head toward him, only to see Ben sitting across from me doing the exact same thing. While he had been watching my struggles with pleasure, the moment his gaze landed on Denise, it hardened instantly. I felt the crushing weight of his green eyes as if they were trained on him, my heart in my throat.
I wanted to open my mouth and say something, but my throat was blocked. My anxiety wasn't so much about Ben getting caught, it was about what he was capable of doing. Ben wasn't afraid of getting caught—I already knew he was careful, a professional when it came to killing. Besides, even if he were caught, I didn't think he’d care. The things he had told me in the forest were still ringing in my ears: he could destroy the whole town. What's more, he could start right here, with the two people sitting across from us in our living room.
Panicking, I cut into the standoff to draw attention away: “He apologized to me and I never saw him again. We weren't close anyway... I don't have any information,” I said, my voice louder than normal. It must have worked, because Denise and the officer focused on me completely. Although Ben hadn't taken his eyes off Denise, I could see his jaw loosen.
“I see. Thank you very much—”
“Are you sure you don't know anything? You've been acting really weird for days.” When Denise cut Officer Hayes off, I closed my eyes in terror. He didn't know he was about to get himself killed. I knew that the moment I opened my eyes, I would see that terrifying look on Ben’s face. I held my breath as my subconscious forced me to watch a mental scene of Ben taking Denise’s head in his large hands and slamming it into the wall.
“See? This is how... I don't know what her problem is, but—”
I flinched at the sound of a hard slam against the coffee table. Ben’s powerful, commanding voice brought the room to a dead halt: “That's enough, little boy. You won't interrogate my girl in her own living room.” Under the impact of his voice, I opened my eyes and looked at Ben, seeing that his fist was clenched tight.
I reached my hand out toward him in hopes of calming him down. I was too far away to make contact, but seeing the movement of my body, he turned to me automatically. His jaw was locked and hatred was practically pouring from his face, but I knew he wouldn't say no to my hand reaching out for his. I knew he wouldn't pass up a chance to touch my body. Ben exhaled sharply through his nose, stood up, came over to my side, and sat beside my couch, wrapping his arm around my waist.
Meanwhile, the officer had read the tension in the room: “Yes, of course, Ben... I’ve already asked the necessary questions anyway. Denise wanted to come along, but clearly it wasn't a great idea. My apologies.”
I could sense from his voice that he was afraid of Ben. He had a gun in his pocket, but he was aware of the power imbalance that any intelligent human could feel. He didn't need to know Ben was a soldier boy; he didn't need to know he had V in his blood. He knew it. He felt it. He felt Ben's undeniable power over any human being.
Denise, on the other hand, was just a stupid teenager; all he saw in front of him was a girl acting strange and her bully father. Denise, like most people in town, didn't know I was adopted, so he must have thought the weirdness ran in our blood.
Just as they stood up to leave, Denise couldn't control his damned tongue and spoke with a bitter, sarcastic smirk: "You know... it’s funny. Every time Joe mentioned you or tried to get close to you, something fucked up happened to him the very next day. First he broke his arm, and now this. I guess being around you isn't exactly good luck for people, huh?"
I was used to bullies; when Ben wasn't around, these things happened in high school all the time. And like I said, Denise was actually right. But right now, he was acting like an idiot.
Ben slowly rose his powerful body, his frame radiating a strange tension. There was a state to him I had never seen before. Calm, yet utterly terrifying. Because his back was turned to me, I couldn't see his face, but his entire body language was deeply menacing—and seeing the faces of Denise and the officer turned toward me, I knew they could sense it too.
“Think very carefully, Denise... Was what happened to your buddy an accident, or was it the inevitable end for a kid who didn't know his fucking place? You put my girl’s name in your mouth again, and you’ll be the one worrying about what 'accident' is coming for you next. Now. Out of my house. Fuck off.”
Ben delivered the sentence slowly and harshly, walking calmly toward Denise without raising his voice. Finally sensing the danger, Denise instinctively backed up a little. I was just as tense as he was—I was the only person who knew the horror of what could happen. The other two had no idea. They couldn't even begin to imagine Ben’s horror.
The officer reluctantly and politely stepped between them, grabbing Denise by the collar and shoving him toward the door. “Alright, that’s enough! Denise, get to the car. Ben, I’m sorry about him, the kid is just grieving. Have a good day.”
Once they stepped out the door, we both remained motionless for a while. I could hear Ben’s breathing, deepening slightly with rage. His hand was balled into a fist, and I could see the muscles in his back coiling. “Ben...” I said, standing up, but I shrank back in a jolt as he suddenly turned and put his fist right through the wall just to his left.
The wall wasn't close to me, but several pieces of concrete shattered by the force of his punch landed at my feet. Staring at Ben’s dark face in shock, I realized how unaware I was of the true extent of his strength. His hand wasn't even bleeding. The section of the wall was obliterated, yet there wasn't a single scratch on his hand.
Ben turned his rage-darkened eyes onto me, the tension in the air turning heavy as lead. Normally, anyone met with those eyes would want to run, and the same instinct flared inside me, but deep down I knew he wouldn't actually harm me. My innermost voice, the side of me that had known him for years, held an unshakeable trust regarding Ben. Yet, I should have run.
Ben turned and headed for the entryway, reaching for his jacket. I knew that if I let him leave, he would go after Denise. I knew that if he hurt Denise, things would escalate even further. I knew more people would die. I couldn't let that happen. Without thinking, I threw my body fast in front of the entryway door where he was extending his hand. Looking at me, I knew he didn't see his daughter—he saw an obstacle standing in front of his rage.
“Ben, please, please don't go...” I said, my chest heaving with stress. As Ben put his jacket on, he wore the mask of a father forced to deal with his little girl again.
“Go upstairs and lie down in bed, sweetie. I will be back in no time,” he said. But I stood right where I was, refusing to budge. When Ben took an annoyed breath and wrapped his hands around my waist, I whimpered, “No.” Before I could exert any resistance, he lifted me and set me aside, but I quickly turned around and latched onto his hand. Taking his hand, I placed it against my cheek, letting him touch the tears falling from my eyes.
“Dad... Daddy, please just... don't,” I whimpered. I didn't care that I was begging. I would do anything to keep him from leaving. Ben turned to look at me, his dark eyes watching as his hand on my cheek gently wiped away my tears. “Are you begging me for him? Are you crying in front of me for yet another brat?” he asked. I could feel how much it bothered him.
“No!” I protested, backing up a few steps while glancing at the door out of the corner of my eye, trying to use Ben’s broken focus to move away. But Ben didn't move. The rage on his face hadn't dissipated in the slightest.
“He came at you, baby. What kind of father allows that?” he said, his tone carrying a voice that never questioned his own twisted logic. He viewed killing Denise as his right—a natural consequence of the boy's actions. My blood ran cold as I realized he truly meant it when he said he could kill everyone.
“He was just a grieving, stupid kid... Please, Dad... I can't handle any more,” I said, shedding more tears in hopes of softening Ben. I knew the same thoughts were still running through his head; I could feel the tension in every muscle of his body. A tangible bloodlust radiated from his frame. Ben turned to look at the door, then turned back to me. Placing his other hand around my waist, he squeezed. “I don't like you begging for someone else,” he said, his voice dark. “Beg for me.”
My breath caught slightly as he pulled my body into his. “Give me a reason not to go,” he continued, pressing my back against the wall as he moved our joined bodies together, his massive frame shutting over mine. “Give me a reason not to go tear his fucking tongue out of his throat, sweetheart.”
I lifted my eyes and met his. My hands were shaking from stress, but I was glad I had managed to pull his focus onto me. Standing on tiptoes, I wrapped my hands around his shoulders. “Because I want you,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his lips. I knew I could only hold him back with my body.
Ben, however, didn't return my kiss. When I pulled back, I saw him smile as he reached up and pushed my hair aside. “Well, I can fuck you when I come back... just like before... while being fully covered in that bastard's blood... taking what is mine,” he said, looking as though just thinking about it pleased him. I realized he derived pleasure from killing, just like he did from sex. In desperation, I furrowed my brows and tried to look into his eyes, completely at a loss for words. Trying to find the right thing to say, to make him stay.
The words choked in my throat, but when Ben moved slightly to step away, I panicked and said the very first thing that came to mind: “I’ll do anything, Ben... Dad, please just stay and I will do whatever you want,” I whispered. Once the words left my mouth, their full weight crashed down on me.
Ben turned his dark gaze onto me, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. “Whatever, huh?” he said, closing the space between our bodies once more. I could imagine my words exciting him, turning the death-filled thoughts in his head into something far dirtier and sexual. “I feel like you will regret those words, baby.”