That's What You Get

Chapter Nine: Echoes of Control

"Not a pet, huh?" Pete murmured, leaning in until his breath skimmed Mikey's throat like smoke. "You sure about that?"

Mikey's throat bobbed. "Y-Yes."

Pete didn't touch him; he didn't need to. His proximity did the damage, pressing in like a vice. "Say it again. Louder."

"I... I'm not a pet."

The corners of Pete's mouth twitched upward, humorless. "That sounded almost convincing." He leaned just close enough that his lips brushed Mikey's skin without quite touching. "You know what I think?"

Mikey didn't answer.

Pete's voice dropped. "I think you've been waiting for this. For me. Like some sick little clock that doesn't tick right without its master."

Mikey winced. "I'm not-"

"Are you talking back, Michael?" Pete's tone was quiet, deadly. No volume needed.

Mikey's composure faltered. He dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry... I'm..."

"Say it."

"I'm your toy..." Mikey's voice was soft, resigned, defeated.

"There it is." Pete pulled back, settling on the couch with an air of satisfaction. "Didn't think you'd changed. I can always count on you to crack with just a whisper."

Mikey curled in on himself, hiding behind his knees.

"You're still weak," Pete said, his words full of venom. "Still the same."

Mikey's voice was barely audible. "How can I fix it?"

Pete didn't answer right away. He liked the silence; he liked making Mikey stew in it.

Finally, he said, "Get your mom out of the house. Then we'll talk."

"She's in the shower... I'll ask her to go stay with Gerard when she gets out."

Pete nodded once. "Good."

The quiet stretched.

"My therapist says I have Stockholm Syndrome," Mikey whispered.

Pete's eyes sharpened at that. He didn't flinch, didn't react, not outwardly.

"Really?" he said. "So, you think you loved your captor. Think that explains all of this?"

Mikey nodded. "I didn't want to believe it, but it makes sense now. I missed you because I couldn't separate love from fear."

Pete leaned forward, tone bone-dry. "You think any of this was about love?"

"I thought it was."

Pete's laugh was quiet and razor-thin. "I played a part. That's what you do when you want to own someone. You act like what they need."

Mikey blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear something from his eyes.

"You were just another broken thing I knew how to fix for my own benefit. That's what makes you useful."

Mikey stared at him, the illusion slowly fracturing.

Pete's gaze turned flat, almost bored. "There's a thousand guys who've had it worse than you. But they didn't come crawling back to the one who ruined them. That part? That's all you, sweetheart."

Mikey's lip trembled, but he leaned in anyway, as if by instinct, and kissed him. It wasn't a plea, it was a reflex. Pete returned the kiss, then pushed him away with a casual cruelty.

"Too soon," he said, wiping his mouth. "And not on my terms."

A beat passed. Pete sniffed the air. "Still using that same chapstick."