Page 41 of Degradation

“Fuck.” Lyndon mutters as we sprint to catch up.

For a fat man in his late fifties the fucker sure can move when he wants to.

His robes flap behind him, his feet slap on the floor. He shouting more nonsense and it’s like the man is possessed.

At the last minute he turns to the left and I know it leads to a dead end. If there is someone there, there’s a good chance they might just attack him.

I storm after him, pulling my gun, ready to take whatever action is necessary.

Only, I find him stood, staring at the wall, completely still, frozen like a statue. He’s not even panting but I know the fucker must be out of breath. No way can he run like that and not be.

Lyndon comes up behind me and we both stand motionless, watching as Gunther shakes his head as if he’s got something stuck to it and he wants to get it off.

“The fuck is he doing?” Lyndon murmurs.

I don’t know. I don’t have a clue.

Gunther lifts his arm, slapping himself hard across the face and then he turns looking at us both. There’s a livid mark across his cheek. You can actually make out all the individual fingers imprinted on his skin.

“Well?” He says looking between us. “Let’s get on with it. I don’t have all day to be messing around.” He struts to us, pushes between us and walks on as if he wasn’t the one leading us on a merry little dance this entire time.

Lyndon frowns looking at me like I might have some clue as to what’s going on. When he goes to follow, I hold back, trying to silence the voices in my head. Needing a moment of calm. Of silence.

And as I step after them, I hear it. A click. A noise.

I turn, staring back at that same supposedly blank wall. Only, it doesn’t look so solid now. It looks like one tiny bit of it has moved. There’s a centimetre gap right at the bottom, as if the thing didn’t align properly, as if the entire wall was fake.

I step up, tapping it with my knuckle and hear the tell-tale sign that it’s hollow behind. Lyndon calls after me, reminding me of what my duty is. I look back, wanting to investigate more but Gunther is now ranting, I know there isn’t time.

Pailtyn

It’s been a week. A week since that awful night. He’s kept me in his bed ever since. I don’t know whether to be relieved about it or appalled.

Kora has been slipping the medicine into his food, ensuring he gets enough to be satisfied and right now, he’s clearly enjoying his newfound virility, not that I am.

But I’ll take his fucking.

I’ll take his grunting too.

I’ll take all of it if it means it’s contained to this room, these four walls. Just me and him.

As he leaves for another day of work, he informs me that he’s having a party tonight. A banquet. I don’t know what exactly that entails but I’ve heard rumours about them. We all have. They say the revelry is enough to rival the kinds of parties Nero held. To say I’m nervous is an understatement.

I stay in bed long after he’s gone. I hide under the covers, hating the way the guards are always there, always watching, while he gets dressed. Thankfully they stay outside the room once Gunther is gone. I guess he doesn’t want anyone but the maids to see me naked, unless he’s choosing to degrade me, that is.

Thank God for small mercies I guess because if I had to dress in front of them, especially the tall one, the monster one, - no, I shake my head, trying to bury my fear.

I need to be smart.

I need to be savvy.

What I’m doing now is working. I know it won’t last, that the man is like a volcano and any second he could erupt, but if I can limit the fallout, if I can manage it, then at least it will spare me some pain, if not all of it.

When the maids come to get me, I clamber out of the bed but gasp as I see the blood.

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

I hadn’t thought of that. Of the fact I was due on. Will Gunther be mad? Will he be angry that I’m not pregnant? I’m so stupid because I should have seen this coming. I should have realised. It’s been long enough since our wedding day, and the priest did say I was ovulating.