La Maison 2: Differences (Complete: BDSM mxm)

December 4

Ellis

Dr. Marvin greets me with a smile. He looks nice, I guess. Fatherly. Blondish hair graying a little at the sides, still fairly trim for a guy who looks to be in his fifties. Caring eyes.

"Ellis. When Dr Kemholt rang to book your appointment, he told me you'd been having nightmares...?" So, straight to it, I suppose. I shouldn't be surprised, he works with Gray after all, who always goes right to the point.

"I have. But my Master told me I don't always realize. Like, I wake up and have no idea I'd had a nightmare in the middle of the night."

"Your Master?"

"Yeah, I'm a submissive." I don't see the point in lying or trying to hide it. The guy is meant to be helping me, and if being honest with him, like Sir told me to be, puts Sir in a better mood, I'll take that. If he's a dick about it, Sir or Gray will just have to find someone new. "He doesn't know what my dreams are about, but I know he wants me to tell him, and I want to feel as though I can." It's not quite true, but I figure it's what the guy will want to hear.

"Okay, well it's good to know you have someone taking good care of you." Oh, okay, so he's cool with it then. That's good, I guess. "What are your nightmares about?" Oof, that's a little too straight to the point.

After several minutes of silence, Dr. Marvin chuckles softly.

"Too blunt?" he asks.

"Maybe. It's not something I've ever talked about. With anyone. Ever," I emphasize.

"Well, how about you choose some small part of it to tell me? Are your nightmares abstract, you know, aliens and monsters, or falling, or being chased? Or are they memories?" I gulp. Which small part am I comfortable revealing? Well, none of it, but I don't think I'm going to get away with that. I can test the waters though. I need to trust this guy. Gray must trust him, or he wouldn't have sent me to him.

"They're mainly memories," I admit.

"Memories of things from when you were younger?"

"Yeah," and I'm trying to stop tears from falling, which have appeared unbidden in my eyes. Unbidden and unwanted. I shake my head and swallow them down.

"Okay, well that's handy, because it's rather what I specialize in," he tells me softly, with a smile, which makes me think Gray has probably already guessed at least part of my problem. "So, memories of bad things that happened to you? Or bad things that you did?" I deliberate. I can define that.

"Things that happened, mainly, I think."

"You think?" he tilts his head as if confused, but I know he's not.

"Some of the bad stuff was my fault."

"What age range are we discussing here, Ellis?"

"I- about eight to, I suppose, eighteen."

"And can you tell me if there was anyone else involved in these things that happened? Other people your age? Maybe some adults?" I just shake my head. It's too much to think about. I know my eyes are getting red, because I'm holding in all this useless emotion. All this stuff that I've managed to keep hidden, even from myself, and this stupid man, who looked kind at first sight, but he's not, he's just waiting for a mistake, trying to trick me, but I won't let him, I won't let him ruin everything I've been able to get since then.

"Stop it!" I shout, and he looks surprised at my sudden outburst, that I just couldn't hold back. "You can't make me talk about that stuff, it's in the past and it's not going to ruin things for me now. You're not going to ruin things for me now." I'm shaking, angry. I don't get angry, but this man is making me want to scream and hit and shout, but I won't. I'm already ashamed of my outburst. Master François will definitely not like it. He doesn't like it when I get silly and childish.

The doctor lets me go. Our time is up. He gives that nice fatherly smile again when he passes me off to Sir, waiting outside his office, murmurs something about progress taking time, but I ignore it, will continue to ignore it, until I'm forced to see him again later in the week.

"Shall we go for dinner, baby?" Sir asks, all timid, which I don't like in him, he isn't a frightened little rabbit – that's my job, right now.

"No, François," I'm sullen, which might earn me a punishment, maybe I want it to, but then it might not, because Sir seems tentative around me, is looking at me as if I might crash, shatter, which is exactly what I don't want, exactly what I've been avoiding these last three years, successfully, too.

"Okay, baby," he murmurs instead, "let's get you an early night. You must be tired. You'll have your punishment for sulking tomorrow instead." I am tired, but I'm not going to admit it. I just want things to go back to normal, want Sir to reprimand me for being a sulky boy, use a paddle on me until I'm moaning and begging, and force me into the bed as he smashes into my prostate until I can't hold back. He hasn't been doing that last bit much lately, and the thought has me sulking even harder, so maybe we'll be back to normal from tomorrow, and I'll take my punishment like a good little soldier.

* * * * *

"I'm sorry, mummy, I'll do better, I promise," I am twelve again; the sobs wracking my smaller than average body heartfelt, as the small woman rains blows across my shoulders and head.

"You are a stupid boy," I can hear the Eastern-European accent as loud as if it's here now; it's always more pronounced when she's really furious, "this is an easy change, you are stupid that you won't get it."

Stoo-pit, stoo-pit, stoo-pit. Ellis is stoo-pit. Always the chanting, so many years of chanting, so many years of the sharp crack of the ruler, across the shoulders, never across the hands, the precious hands.

I should run, I want to run. I could push. I'm small, she's not much bigger. I don't, frozen in place, bowing to the vicious hiss of her voice. I see my younger sister and brother, cowed, hiding, in the doorway. I'll take care of them, I'll make sure she never turns to them the way she turns to me.

Why can't I run? Why can't I hide? For them. For me. It's too late for me. I am stupid, nothing will change that, nothing will change the snarling beast her face morphs into, fangs dripping with vileness as she chants and chants and chants.

A/N: this is a short one, so December 5 will follow straight on