Page 31 of Discordant Cultivation

Kieran

Kieran didn’t remember falling asleep and hated waking up.

The basement felt branded into his skin—phantom sensations of Vale’s hands everywhere the hood had hidden them, the memory of his own body’s betrayal sharp enough to make him want to claw through his own flesh to find something clean underneath.

He didn’t move. If he stayed perfectly still, maybe the day wouldn’t start. Maybe Vale would forget about him. Maybe—

The door opened.

Vale appeared with a breakfast tray, his movements calm and unhurried, like yesterday’s session had been a piano lesson instead of whatever the fuck that actually was.

“Good morning, sweetheart. Time to get up.”

Kieran pulled the blanket tighter. “N-no.”

“Breakfast is getting cold.”

“I d-don’t care.” His voice cracked. “I’m n-not getting up. I’m n-not doing anything you s-say.”

Vale set the tray on the dresser. “There is a schedule to follow. You can participate willingly or I can help you participate. Either way, you’re getting out of that bed.”

“Fuck you.”

Something flickered across Vale’s face—not quite anger, more like amusement at Kieran’s resistance proving a point that Vale had already decided was true.

Vale stood beside the bed. “Last chance to cooperate.”

Kieran tried to scramble away, but the blankets tangled around his legs. Vale’s hand closed around his upper arm and pulled—not gently, not carefully, he just hauled him out of bed like he was luggage.

“L-let go—”

“Bathroom. Now.”

Kieran planted his feet and tried to wrench his arm free. Vale’s grip tightened until Kieran’s vision sparked with pain.

“Walk or be dragged. Choose.”

Kieran chose neither. He let his legs go boneless, a dead weight refusing to cooperate.

Vale sighed and adjusted his grip, twisting Kieran’s arm behind his back, not quite hard enough to dislocate it, but close, and pushed. Kieran stumbled forward, his shoulder screaming, with no choice but to move or let his arm snap.

They reached the bathroom. Vale positioned him in front of the sink, releasing his arm only to fist a hand in his hair and force his head toward the mirror.

“Look at yourself.”

Kieran squeezed his eyes shut.

Vale’s other hand came up, thumb and forefinger prying one eye open. “I said look.”

Kieran looked at his own face—pale, exhausted, eyes red-rimmed and wild.

“This is what refusing to cooperate looks like,” Vale said quietly. “Undignified. Pointless. You’re going to brush your teeth either way. You’re going to shower. You’re going to eat breakfast. The only question is whether you make me use force every single time.”

“Y-you d-don’t get to—” Kieran’s voice broke. “You d-don’t get to t-touch me like that yesterday and then p-pretend you’re h-helping me brush my t-teeth—”

“I’m not pretending anything.” Vale’s grip in his hair tightened fractionally. “You need structure. Routine. I’m providing it.”

“What y-you did… You—”