Serpentine Desires

The prey

The room was strangely silent except for the soft rustling of the doctor's movements. I sat there on the edge of the couch, my injured foot propped up as he carefully examined it. The pain was there like a dull throb that I could barely register over the storm of confusion and suspicion swirling in my mind. Judas had ordered a doctor.

For me.

The thought was baffling. Too much to the point I couldn't help but steal glances at his face.
Judas was stadning a few feet away though I could still feel his piercing gaze eating me alive despite the distance.

He wore his shades this time, the same pair that made him look impenetrable, unreadable. The cane was in his hand, gripped tightly, and my entire body tensed at the memory of where that cane had been just yesterday. The cruel way he'd wielded it, the way he'd relished in my pain.

But now, he was pretending—no, not pretending.

Acting. Playing the part of a concerned man, the master of this twisted little world we both inhabited. And as much as I wanted to see through it, to call it out for the farce it was, I couldn't. Because Judas, even in this charade, was still in control. Dominating.

The doctor seemed like a nervous man in his mid-forties who kept glancing up at Judas, his hands shaking slightly as he wrapped my foot. He was too scared to speak out of turn, too frightened to ask any questions. I could understand where this fear was coming from, I resided in same place.

Judas's was suffocating. He was like a delicate sword ready to break at the slightest provocation.
"Is it broken?" Judas's voice cut through the silence, and I flinched at his voice.

He had this impact on me. The kind that made me jump every time his deep voice would caress my ear lobes.

He didn't move, didn't even shift his posture, but somehow the entire room seemed to tilt towards him, as if even the walls were leaning in to hear him speak.

The doctor flinched at the question, so do I, his fingers fumbled with the bandage as he awkwardly cleared his throat.

"N-no, sir," he stammered, eyes flickered nervously to Judas's face, though he couldn't see the man's eyes behind those dark lenses. "Just a sprain. It should heal with some rest."

"Rest," Judas repeated, tilting his head. He tapped the cane lightly against the floor. "How long?"

"Two weeks, maybe less if she stays off it," the doctor replied, his voice barely above a whisper now, as if speaking too loudly would somehow incur Judas's wrath.

And it would.

Even a fly would tick this man. He was that unpredictable.

Judas tilted his head slightly to other side, considering this. "Two weeks," he mused, as if testing the length of the sentence. "No sex then?"
The doctor cleared his throat and I snapped my head at him though my cheeks burned.

Bastard.

The doctor nodded quickly, too quickly, eager to please. "Yes. She needs severe rest. I can arrange for a nurse—"

"No," my living nightmare sighed. "She stays here. Kyle will look after her."

My heart skipped a beat at that. Kyle? Of course. Another form of control, another way to keep me under his thumb. I glanced at Kyle, who stood by the door with his expression unreadable, his silence more oppressive than any words he could have spoken.

"Is that clear?" Judas asked, not to me, but to the doctor.

"Yes, sir," the doctor murmured, finishing the bandage and quickly gathering his things. He was practically trembling now, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere.