Can't Say

Chapter 18

      Silence plagued your room once again. Your mind continued to swirl with questions and fears about the dangers you would have to face one day. What sort of oddities would you have to see? Could you defend yourself against them? Would your teammates and master defend you? Considering the fact that Masky and Jeff had been taken care of after suffering damage, your worries were only slightly comforted that you might have strong allies at your side.
      You were so deep within your thoughts, vision darkened by the hallucinogenic images flashing before your eyes, that you hadn’t noticed the tall being standing at the foot of your bed. Only the faint shifting of fabric that scratched through your ears jolted you out of your ponderings, startling you back to reality. Standing there, watching you patiently, was the Slenderman. His nearly blank countenance slightly tilted down toward you, waiting for your nerves to settle from shock. You cursed under your breath before squeaking out a short greeting to your master, “H-hey.”
      Slenderman’s head turned toward your bedside table, “I see you’ve been educating yourself.” He returned his gaze back to you, emitting an ominous wake around him. You couldn’t help but feel as though you had been caught slacking off from an important task.
      “Uh. Y-yeah,” the words barely escaped your lips as you slowly understood what the tall being was implying.
      “Have you participated in my recommendation?”
      Again, you had to define everything he had just said, trying to piece together Slenderman’s words like some sort of advanced puzzle. It soon hit you that he was talking about meditating on fighting. You quickly replied, not wanting to lie, “Kind of; those other factions and what they did to Jeff have me concerned, though.” Your master nodded his head in understanding, as though he were expecting this conversation to happen. With the lack of verbal response from him, you continued, “Hoodie told me about the Zalgoids and SCPs. I don’t know how to protect myself against them.”
      A knowing hum reverberated from Slenderman, leaving you a little confused with his vague response.
      Rather than interrogating your master about it, you instead inquired sheepishly, “Can I ask you some questions?”
      A bemused response rumbled from Slenderman, “At your own risk.” Even if he was bluffing, you didn’t take it lightly.
      You paused for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of voicing your concerns to the powerful being. Then, you gulped down the built-up nervous saliva before finally saying, “Do you get,” you hesitated, choosing your words, “intimate and dominant with the other Proxies like you do with me?” This wasn’t a question out of jealousy, but rather to understand what sort of treatment you were receiving compared to the other Proxies.
      Slenderman tilted his head, the dim sunlight from your sheer window drapes illuminating his legitimately innocent and befuddled expression – as vague as it was. “I’m unsure of what you refer to,” your master replied, his voice matching just how little knowledge he had of your mentioned experiences.
      Still, you tried going into detail, recalling how the lanky creature would crawl over you in your bed and demand that you call him “master”. How he would strangle you until you were nearly faint from lack of breath. How he would taste your skin with his hidden tongue. You didn’t like narrating what had been scarred into your brain, but you weren’t going to let him dodge the question so easily.
      Again, though, Slenderman replied after pondering for a few moments, “These events avert my memory.”
      You scowled, certain that your master was lying. It was strange, though, that he would avoid admitting what he had done when he has so much dominance over everyone in the mansion. What was he afraid of? Or could he truly not remember what he had done? It seemed that you weren’t going to get such information out of him, so you changed the subject to other concerns that you had knocking from within the back of your mind. “How often do the other factions attack us?”
      Standing still as stone, Slenderman held his chiefly posture and replied, “Occasionally, but most often during missions outside of my family’s territory.”
      A spark of excitement filled you at the knowledge that Slenderman had relatives. You thought that maybe he had a softer side to him, if he could accept his kin. “So, you really have a family? Like, blood-relatives?”
      Quietly, almost too sudden for your comfort, your master took two long strides around the bed and to your side. He then plucked up the bed covers and pulled them away, also lifting the bottom of your shirt to inspect your wound as he replied, “To my utter misfortune.” There was a short pause from him as his gaze was aimed to your still healing abdominal damage. During this time, your heart sank a little at the realization that Slenderman didn’t quite appreciate having parents or siblings or whatever he might be referring to. Maybe he was the grumpy one in the family.
      “Minimalize your movement for the next 24 hours,” Slenderman’s deep voice boomed informatively. “Once that time has passed, you should be capable of light activity.”
      He was right, of course. After spending the rest of the day in agonizing boredom and eventually sleeping through the night, you awoke to find your wound had formed into a dark scar. It was still red and tender, and the muscle had settled to a dull ache when you used it, but there was hardly a chance that it would reopen. Laughing Jack had come by just before you fell asleep. While you ate your small dinner and took you medication, the sinister clown pulled out your stitches with one quick tug. He had a sneer plastered on his dark lips, enjoying your cry of protests when you felt the burn of the medical thread running through your tender skin. It was probably the closest he would ever get to “playing” with you.
      Now, though, you didn’t have to worry about being stuck in bed anymore. You woke up, feeling wonderfully refreshed, and happily went through your usual morning routine of getting ready for the day. After dressing into your trademark gear, you exited your bedroom to make your way to the kitchen. Hopefully there was something edible for you there.
      Just as you took your first step into the hall, you stopped at the sight of a character you hadn’t seen in quite some time. The door closest to your room was open, a man wearing a white, feminine mask stared at you in what you assumed was surprise. The both of you held a gaze on each other for a few moments before you smiled and greeted him, “Good morning.” You had spoken to Masky those couple times when he was bedridden, and he seemed friendly enough, so you hoped he would hold the same demeanor.
      At the break of the ice, Masky calmly finished closing his bedroom door and replied, “So, you’re the newest Proxy.” It sounded more of a statement than a question.
      You took a couple steps forward, still giving the man his space, as you extended your hand and nodded your head. “It’s good to see you doing better.”
      Masky’s gaze lowered to your open palm before accepting and giving one good shake. “Right,” he said and let go. “Can’t say the same, myself.”
      His words left you a little confused with their depressing tone. “Uh,” you stumbled at your words, not sure how to keep the conversation going, “Okay…? You liked being in critical condition?” Scowling at your foolish inquiry, you mentally slapped yourself.
      Still, Masky replied to you as he turned and walked away toward the staircase, “You’ll understand soon enough.” His heavy boots thudded on the carpeted floor at a slow pace.
      For a short while, you stared after the man, not sure how to process this information. He seemed so depressed about surviving. Maybe he didn’t like being a Proxy? This was something you would have to ask when the two of you knew each other better.
      You chased after Masky until you were at his side near the bottom of the stairs. He seemed to be going to the kitchen, too, so you tried to continue talking to him, seeing as how he was a teammate you needed to connect with. “Well, uh,” you stammered, trying to change the subject to something with less angst, “What’s your role in the team?” No one had mentioned that to you, yet. Hoodie and Toby seemed to have specific jobs, so it would make sense that Masky would have of specialty of his own.
      Never turning his head to you, Masky continued his stride, “Scout, mostly. I sneak around and catch the enemy by surprise whenever possible.”
      “Oh, that’s cool!” You replied, trying to sound supportive; however, Masky remained silent as the two of you reached the end of the hall near the kitchen. You tried to think of something else to talk about, but your thoughts would return to questions of why Masky was acting to differently from when you had first met him in his room. 
      Soon, the two of you entered the kitchen, finding that the light was already on. Across the tiled floor, you found Slenderman clutching a sack of stolen goods and placing them in the cabinets like some sort of pantry Santa Claus. Without turning around, your master spoke up in an oddly satisfied tone, “Ah, it pleases me to have my dear Proxies all in adroit condition.”
      There was only silence as Masky approached the refrigerator and began to dig around for his breakfast. You waited your turn at the kitchen entrance, not sure if you should say anything in response to the Slenderman. Once Masky closed the fridge and stepped over to the stove and cabinet, he began gathering the necessary kitchenware to cook up some eggs. Now that it was your turn, you opened the fridge to find it fully stocked of various healthy foods and drinks. There didn't seem to be any luxurious items, such as soda and snack cakes. Part of you found this amusing that Slenderman was such a health-freak, but considering your use to him, it made sense.
      After scanning over your choices, you decided on a simple breakfast – one that didn't require cooking – to which you retrieved the items from the cold storage box. You could feel the tension in the air between Masky and Slenderman as no one in the room spoke. All that broke the otherwise absolute silence was the sizzling of eggs on the stove, your fiddling with your own food, and your master still stocking the cabinets. The tall being seemed to be the least bit concerned with Masky's muteness, his voice confirmed this as he spoke, “Considering that the both of you are at similar stages in your recovery, I recommend that you begin your physical therapy exercises together.”
      Immediately, you whipped your head with an awkward expression to view Masky's opinion on the matter. He was returning the gaze, almost sizing you up, but never uttered a word as he returned his attention to his scrambled eggs.
      Not wanting to leave Slenderman's words hanging in the air, you replied obediently, “Yes, master.” You had this gut-wrenching feeling that Masky was in for torturous consequences due to his lack of responses to the Slenderman, and you didn't want to suffer the same fate. It was strange, however, that Masky hadn't received any backlash from your master yet. Slenderman was usually quick to administer discipline. Maybe the Proxy's silence was a normal thing?
      As you began to consume your breakfast, Slenderman placed the last item into the cabinet, closed the door, and began neatly folding the large, old sack he had used. He placed it onto the counter in a secluded area, then said, “I will be attending a meeting elsewhere for the remainder of this day. When I return, be prepared for a status briefing.”
      You turned from your plate on the counter, eyeing your master curiously, “Another mission?”
      “That will be decided upon my return,” Slenderman replied.
      As you cracked open your mouth to inquire further, you only managed to utter a single syllable before a large white hand gripped under your jaw and forced your neck to crane up. You were now staring at Slenderman's looming head as he held you from behind and close to his tall frame. His deeply knitted brow gave clear indication that he was now upset with you. “Request permission to speak,” his voice growled; you could feel it reverberate through his torso and into your back. “You've grown too comfortable so soon.”
      Vigorously, you tried to nod your head against Slenderman's tight grip to show compliance. You felt that the attempt wasn't good enough, so you squeaked a response, despite your strained throat, “Y-yes, master.” For several long moments, all you could hear was the casual tink-tink as Masky scraped his scrambled eggs into a plate. You were far too scared to take deep breaths, barely letting your chest rise and fall. Masky's seemingly oblivious behavior made your situation feel far more awkward than it should have. 
      Finally, though, Slenderman slowly released his grip on your jaw, allowing your head to relax some. He said, “I recommend that you learn your place by the time I return.” You didn't hesitate to reply with another nod and verbal understanding. Slenderman fully released you by this point, and you couldn't feel him behind you any longer. 
      That wasn't enough to ease your nerves, though, as you kept your head tilted up as he left you, only just turning your head to peek over your shoulder. The more you couldn't see your master, the more you turned, until you were sure that he was truly gone. At this point, you found Masky with his effeminate visor on top of his head, busy eating away at his breakfast with little concern to your recent event. He did, however, say between bites, “I'd say you got lucky, but...” his thoughts trailed off within the confines of his mind.
      You turned back to your food, catching on to what Masky was hinting at. Even with all that's happened, you were partially convinced that being a veteran Proxy had its perks, so Masky's behavior seemed odd to you. “Is it really that bad being a Proxy?”
      Masky finished chewing his food, leaving a heavy silence between the two of you before he swallowed and answered darkly, “You're new to all of this, so I'll lay down the laws for you.” He set down his fork and turned to fully face you, his eyes glaring with a tired hue. “Us Proxies are the bottom of the food chain here; we're expendable. The ferals are only above us because they're so much stronger. There are no choices for a Proxy to make; there's only 'shut up and do what you're told'. We're slaves to the Slender family. That's all they see us as. There's nothing good about being a Proxy.” Masky then turned back to his glass of orange juice and pulled out a pill bottle from his jacket, the contents rattling as though to taunt you with what may come. The man dumped out a few of the white medicine and dumped them into his mouth, chasing them down with the juice.
      Speechless, you could only watch Masky in pity, yet you were slowly starting to realize just how bad your life was going to be here. At first, you thought that Masky was just one of those rebellious characters who wanted out, even though he had it made. Now, though, you were beginning to understand why he wasn't so thankful to be alive.
      Once Masky finished his drink, he gathered his dishes and carried them over to the sink for washing. “You actually had a choice, from what Hoodie and Toby have told me,” he said, jealousy thick on his tongue. “You could have failed those tests that Slender gave you. You could have died and gotten out of here.”
      Flashbacks of your experiences with the residents of the mansion filled your head for a split second. The pain and torture you had faced so far sent your hair standing on end. “From what I know about the Creepypastas here, my death wouldn't have been all that pleasant.”
      Masky didn't seem to like your reply, his baffled words trying to make you see his reasoning, “But it would have been that <i>one</i> time! I can't even count the tortures I've experienced. Every time he gets me out of there before I can finally die.” He threw a fist into the hot, soapy water, making a mess that he chose to ignore.
      You tried to quietly eat your breakfast, undeniably hungry. Still, you carried on the conversation, curiosity fueling your words. “Not that I support it, but why don't you just commit suicide?” Before becoming a Proxy, you never would have dreamed that you would encourage someone to take their own life. Now, however, you were taking on the sickness of the mind that everyone else here seemed to share. Life was no longer precious to them – to you – as the very act of extinguishing it was a way in itself.
      With a new, weary air about him, Masky began to wash his dishes. He released a sigh before saying, “I've tried – dozens of times. Unfortunately, once you become a Proxy, you're mentally linked to your master. He knows everything you do, everything you think, even what you feel. Each time I tried to die by my own hands, he would stop me; and if I was well enough, he'd punish me.”
      Finding it a little odd that this man seemed to be the only Proxy to hate his very existence, you swallowed your mouthful of food and asked, “Do Hoodie and Toby feel the same way about all of this?” So far, you hadn't noticed similar depression from your other two teammates, but asking would be better than assuming.
      A snort jetted from deep within Masky's sinuses. “Toby's a complete nut; idolizes Slenderman. Hoodie just likes to look out for himself, but he understands the importance of teamwork. He only does what he's told to save his own ass.”
      “Yeah, Hoode mentioned that about himself before my first mission.”
      A silence fell over the kitchen. Masky finished washing and putting away his used dishes just as you completed your early meal. There were few words exchanged between the two of you from then on, Masky only giving instructions of where he was leading and what exercises to do for your physical therapy. Said therapy began with an up-beat pace around the exterior of the mansion for two laps. Afterward, you were lead back inside to ascend the grand staircase several times. By this point, your legs were beginning to feel as though they would collapse from under your body at any moment. You were relieved to see Masky also winded from the workout as he instructed that it was time for upper body exercises. This eventually ended with a water and snack break, but you groaned at the sound of Masky telling you it was time for the second round.
      By near dusk, you and Masky were coated in sweat. Your abdominal scar was pulsing with irritation of your physical abuse on it. Masky wasn't doing too well, either, panting and coughing at the pain in his chest. Both of you would live, though.
      It was during another excruciating round of the staircase that Ticci Toby interrupted Masky and yourself. He hurriedly strolled over to inform the two of you that Slenderman was going to give his briefing. “Ten minutes,” was Toby's warning before he disappeared down the second floor hall to arrive at the meeting.
      Masky didn't let you grab towels to wipe off your sweat – not even a bottle of water – before heading straight to the room he knew Toby implied.