* * * WARNING: This chapter contains a fairly graphic flashback that deals with psychological and physical torture. * * *
While trauma may cause the brain to lock down certain memories, psychologists agree that further trauma may also cause the recollection of these locked memories.
Depending on the degree of psychopathy, psychopaths might be able to adapt to society and fit in as a normal person.
Camille stood outside, bare feet in the snow. He wrapped his arms around himself, the wind cutting through the mesh fabric of the cropped sleeveless shirt he wore. "P-p-please, Blaise," he stuttered out in between the sharp clicks of his teeth. "I-I'm g-g-gonna freeze."
Blaise leaned against the front door, wrapped in a coat, gloves, and hat. He tsked like he was disappointed in Camille for begging when Camille knew that Blaise got off on his begging every time without fail. He loved it when Camille admitted that he was helpless and he needed Blaise to agree to spare him. "That's the point, mon petit sucre. This is what happens to omega whores out in the real world. Even if you manage to con someone into being your boyfriend, he'll still get mad at you and throw you out, no matter the season. If you're lucky, he'll just lock you out on his balcony or patio for the night." He examined the snowflakes dotting his coat sleeve like he could care less about Camille getting hypothermia because he did. He cared so little it was terrifying. "So I guess you should thank me for preparing you for reality."
Camille would thank Blaise a million times if it got him inside, even if Blaise decided to tie him up and teach him the other skills an omega whore needed to know. "T-thank you, Blaise," he said obediently, his breath puffing out in front of him, illuminated by the porch light.
Blaise's teeth flashed in one of his horrible smiles that never reached his eyes. "There we go. Was that so hard, mon petit sucre?"
Camille could not feel anything below his bare calves. He needed to get inside or he knew he would lose his feet. He was fighting down shock with all his might, but it rose like a steady flood within him.
Blaise sighed and opened the door. After a moment, he made the motion that called Camille to his side.
Camille obeyed, stepping out of the snow bank and stumbling up the frozen sidewalk to stand in front of Blaise. Even if he felt like he was dying, he knew better than to go inside without Blaise's express permission. When Blaise turned Camille toward the door and shoved him by his ass into the foyer, he nearly tripped over the threshold.
Their father looked up from one of the many briefs piled on his desk as Blaise pushed Camille to the office doorway. "Done playing already, Blaise?"
Blaise grinned. "Hardly."
Camille would have shuddered if he was not already shaking from the cold still sitting in his bones.
Their father waved a hand. "Carry on, then."
Blaise gripped Camille by the nape of his neck. "Let's go to the third floor, mon petit sucre," he purred in Camille's ear, starting to haul him up the stairs.
"No," Camille whimpered, his numb feet catching on every stair. "Please, Blaise."
Blaise did not deign to reply to Camille's pleas and took him straight up to the third floor.
Camille fainted before Blaise finished tying the first rope around his wrists. He was literally slapped back to consciousness.
Blaise stood right in front of him, his head cocked like Camille was an interesting, but malfunctioning, android. He smiled when Camille's eyes met his. "You can't slip away like that," he cooed. "Non, non, mon petit sucre. I haven't even started playing yet."
Camille tried to get his feet underneath him to relieve some of the pressure on his arms, but they were still so cold and numb. But there were pins and needles in his calves as the heat brought his nerves back to life. "I didn't do anything," he whispered. "Why are you punishing me?"
Blaise had shed his coat, but he had left his leather gloves on. With a gloved hand, he grabbed Camille's jaw, squishing his cheeks painfully. "I don't need a reason to punish you. Every day you wake up alive is reason enough." He released Camille's face and walked over to his wall of toys, pulling off a couple items and turning them over in his hands before putting them back. Blaise had to be in very specific moods to use certain tools, so Camille allowed himself a breath of relief. But then Blaise unbuckled his belt and slid it out. "Why don't we start with this, mon petit sucre?"
Camille could not stop the whimper that tore past his lips.
Blaise chuckled. "Uh-uh. You know better than to make noise before I tell you that you can." He walked around to where Camille could not see him. "Where should I start?" he mused aloud, tracing the leather down each of Camille's legs. Without any sort of warning, he snapped it against Camille's right leg.
Camille bit down hard on his bottom lip, a tear leaking out as he suppressed the urge to cry out at the slash of pain across the back of his upper leg. It felt like a trail of fire had been left in the belt's wake. He shuddered when Blaise was suddenly whispering in his ear.
"Prêt, mon petit sucre?"
"P-please, Blaise," Camille stuttered out. "I c-can't."
Blaise bit his ear and laughed under his breath when Camille's breath hitched sharply. "You can, and you will. I've barely started, and you're already begging for me to stop?" He snorted. "You really are a weak little bitch." He smacked the belt against Camille's other leg. He liked to balance the wounds he inflicted, since he said it made for a better final picture. He paced around to Camille's front, considered a moment, turned the belt around, and then snapped it against Camille's exposed midsection, the metal of the buckle cutting a thin line across Camille's stomach.
Camille tasted copper as blood spilled from his bottom lip into his mouth. Another tear joined the first on his face, running hot over his still cold skin.
Blaise's leather-covered thumb brushed over Camille's face, swiping the tears away. "Oh, does it really hurt that bad, mon petit sucre?"
Camille lowered his tear-blurred vision to the floor. It hurt. It hurt every time.
Blaise made a sound of dissatisfaction and threw the belt away. It clattered into a corner as Blaise walked back to the tool wall. He grabbed a knife without deliberation and was back in front of Camille in the blink of an eye. He used the flat of the blade to tip Camille's chin up. "I think I'm ready for some sounds of pain. What do you think?"
Camille fought against his desperate desire to close his eyes and shut out Blaise's smug expression. He released his bottom lips from between his teeth and licked over the fresh wound, the dry skin catching on his tongue.
Blaise smiled. "Ah, you're always so ready for it, mon petit sucre," he purred, running the back of his gloved hand down Camille's cheek. He flicked the knife away, cutting Camille's chin.
Camille watched his own blood drip down onto the floor in front of him. Then he arched away from the tip of the knife running down his side, a half-aborted whine escaping from the place he crumpled all of his terror into. The knife sliced down his other side, keeping Blaise's work symmetrical, and Camille could not seem to find his breath. He slipped into a place of haze where he could vaguely hear himself screaming, but it was so distant he could almost pretend it was someone else receiving the pain, someone else suffering…
Camille jerked upright, sweat sticking the sheet to his skin. His breaths were harsh in the perfect silence.
A hand came to rest on the covers in front of him, palm up in an invitation. "It's okay," Noah said softly. "I'm here."
Camille pulled the sheet away from his body and felt down his sides for the blood that he was sure had been there a moment ago. Nothing remained except two long, thin scars. He glanced up and realized Noah was still holding out his hand, waiting. Carefully, cautiously, he threaded his fingers through Noah's. "Did I pass out or something?" he asked, his voice catching like he had been crying.
Noah shook his head. "You were panicking. I couldn't reason with you at all. I gave you medicine to knock you out. I'm so sorry."
"For knocking me out?"
Noah's eyes were full of so much pain. "For leaving you alone with those agents when I promised I wouldn't leave your side."
Camille raised his free hand to Noah's face. "You think this is your fault? It's not, ma moitié. It's my brother. It's…Blaise." He clenched his teeth against the panic that name stirred up in his mind. "It's always been Blaise who's to blame. Not you. Never you. I panicked because of him, not you. And I can't promise that I won't panic again because he scares me so, so badly."
"I know," Noah murmured, coming to sit on the bed next to Camille. "I can't even imagine what he put you through. But I swear that I'll kill him before I let him hurt you again."
Camille dropped his forehead to rest on Noah's shoulder. "I know."