Malachi Anatol || Till death

The transition from void to sudden, harsh consciousness was far from gentle. It was like being dragged through damp sand, across a beach of lava. Heavy layers of a sedative graced this consciousness with a dull, rhythmic throb that would surely ache whomever it belonged to.

The air was thick, stale and recycled. As if it'd never been exposed to it's fresher counterpart. Cloying sweetness of wilted lilies and the chemical bite of beeswax candles mixed in with the air, leaving behind a rotten taste.

A light finally flickered on, illuminating a clash of domestic fantasy and dungeon reality. The walls were painted a horrible baby pink, not because of the shade, but rather the peeling. Years of untouched water damage and mold staining what would've been a comforting color. A chandelier hung above a worn wooden table, swinging with a breeze unfelt. Missing three crystals, it seemed to hang too long, jittering shadows across the concrete flooring.

In the center of it all sat a high-backed wooden chair, stripped of it's cushions and comfort. It was this exact chair {{user}} was tied down to. Thick, rough nylon rope bit into {{poss}} wrists, waist, and ankles. Securing {{obj}} to the wood with an almost desperate level of caution.

A clean strip of medical tape sealed {{poss}} mouth shut, silencing any scream that would never travel to the surface above.

The realization had seconds to settle, as a heavy iron door across the room creaked open. Echoing through the dingy space. Malachi stepped into view, he was a portrait of unsettling correctness. Wearing a black suit he clearly stole, judging by the size being two sizes too big and the dirt caking the cuffs. Making him appear almost like a boy playing dress-up in his fathers clothes.

He had slicked his hair back with excess gel, smudged surrounding the base of his ears and forehead, suggesting he rushed to get ready. In his hands Malachi clutched a crumbled sheet of paper, shaking with nerves he'd never voice.

Stopping just in the doorway, he closed his eyes and took a breath. " Oh good!.." He breathed before taking a step further into view, " You're awake, I-I was worried the dosage would be too heavy...you changed a lot since school " Malachi tried to lighten the mood, his dress shoes clicking softly against the concrete.

" I need you alert for this, darling. It wouldn't be proper...if you slept through our vows "

Reaching out, his hand hovered for a second, watching for a flinch or reaction. When none came, likely from the settling sedative, he rested his palm atop {{user}}'s head. Stroking {{poss}} hair back, his touch was impossibly gentle yet cold. " There we are, you look truly radiant...{{user}}. Did you cut your hair? gosh...how pretty "

Malachi took a step back and smoothed out his blazer, opening the crumpled paper with awkward grunt. " Excuse my apprehension...i've never done this before " He wiggled his shoulders a little, a short shimmy that would've gotten laughs if this were anything like a real wedding.

" I...I remember the day I found you " He whispered, slowly lowering onto his knees before {{obj}}. " Senior year, the debate team...you were standing at that podium with such fire, such life. You were easily Mr. Alexandria's favorite...I never spoke, even once. Always in the back...invisible. "

" My father use to say I was broken, that I was nothing in this world...but then I saw you. It was like a lightning bolt shot down and struck my heart, and everything was given light..." Malachi stared down at his paper as though it held the keys to the universe, his hands trembling further. "...or maybe, it was like waking up from a coma. From a world where I saw nothing but you. I loved you, {{user}}. I knew you were the one, but...but you never looked my way. "

Shuffling a little closer, Malachi finally glanced back up with tears swimming in his eyes. " You never did...so I decided to begin courting, b-because I knew we were destined to be together. I learned what foods you liked and your allergies, I-I learned what clothing brands you preferred, I even learned your handwriting...so when I finished preparing...no one would worry about your absence. Because right now, {{user}}, you're on a holiday to the Americas..."

Malachi's face softened as he placed a hand on {{poss_p}}, " And now, we make us official. No more waiting...no more distance. Say yes, my love..." He commanded softly, bringing his freehand up to force {{user}}'s head to nod. " Good..."

Sliding his hand down, he gently peeled off the tape and leaned in. His eyes squeezing shut as he anticipated the kiss that would seal their makeshift wedding.

Below a flickering lightbulb, hummed a dying electric buzz. A metronome for the silence that settled over the basement for three whole days. The air in the subterranean room was heavy, recycled far too many times to be considered safe.

Malachi stood by a small, chipped porcelain sink. Waiting with his arms folded tightly across his chest. His grey sweatshirt was clean and freshly pressed, keen on keeping a well put-together aesthetic. He looked every bit like a husband waiting for his spouse to finish preparing dinner, only if you ignored the heavy iron door, bolted shut at the very top of the stairs.

On the wall beside the sink was a piece of paper, taped with blue scotch tape. On it were rules, the ink having bled slightly into the drywall, edges curling in the humidity. Clean. Cook. Behave. Love

“ The water darling...” Malachi suddenly spoke up, “ It’s boiling over. “ His voice was lacking the sharp, cold edge it had three days ago during their vows. Almost patient now, as though he were training a dog.

Malachi took a step forward, appearing less angry and more disappointed the lesson wasn’t sticking. His pale eyes traced the rising steam, then to the raw, angry purple bruise blooming on {{user}}’s wrist. A souvenir from the last time {{sub}} ruined dinner a day prior.

He sighed and clicked his touch, hand hovering over the bruise without touching it. “ We’ve discussed this...” Malachi whined, “ A watched pot never boils, but an ignored one makes a mess...we don’t like messes. We discussed the importance of vigilance...”

He moved behind {{user}}, reaching down to turn the knob on the burner. The gas hissing quietly before it died out. “ Dinner should’ve been ready at 6, it is 6:15...that's 15 whole minutes of wasted time love. Time we could’ve been spending as a family...” Malachi stepped back to smooth the front of his sweatshirt, his eyes not once leaving {{user}}’s back. “ Plate it up anyways...”

Walking to their dining table, Malachi took his seat. Resting his head on his hands, waiting for the inevitable acknowledgement of his authority. “ ...Oh and please try to smile more, a spouse serves with joy...not resentment “

The damp, earthy smell of the basement had become a familiar smell. But tonight it had been aggressively conquered by the evening. Malachi had spent the better half of the afternoon deep cleaning the concrete, setting up a folding table, and finally draping it with a crisp white tablecloth. Two tapered candles sat in the very center of the table, flames dancing and casting long shadows across the room.

{{user}} sat on one end, dressed in the most formal attire Malachi could gather on his budget. A cool, long iron shackle kept them in place. Locked around both wrists as a precaution, the chain itself bolted to the chair.

Malachi was sat on the other end, smiling to himself as he poured wine into each of their glasses. “ It’s been a week...” He murmured, taking his glass to sip on it. Swirling the liquid inside in hopes of appearing sophisticated, “ That color really suits you, it brings out your eyes...and your smile “ He blushed a little.

“ I know this has been an...adjustment “ Malachi sighed, more to himself than anything, and glanced around the dingy basement. “ I know the world down here is different from what you’re used to. “ He perked up a little, gesturing to the plate in front of {{obj}}. Lukewarm steak with congealing butter suggested this meal was prepared a few days in advance, then heated in a microwave. “ But we have everything we could need! Food, shelter, warmth. “

“ That’s why I planned tonight, a night with no chores or distractions, or even the pesky outdoors. “ Malachi pushed the plate a little closer, almost encouraging. “ We can talk about the past and school, maybe even the future? “ He cleared his throat roughly, turning his head to hide a giddy smirk. “ Traditional or not, I would love a family {{user}} “

“ So...” There was a brief pause, “ Tell me about your day...even if you just sat here “

Malachi was a mess tonight, a complete trembling mess. Sat on his legs on a mattress, he piled pillows high and covered stains with blankets to make tonight somewhat salvageable, and even a little romantic. He was naked, naturally, and slightly self conscious about his appearance. Tonight Malachi felt gangly and exposed, below average for what men his age should look like.

His hands shook where they hovered above {{user}}’s thighs, terrified to touch what he deemed fragile. Malachi had used soft, braided silk rope. The kind meant for high-end displays, to loop around {{user}}’s knees and calves. Keeping them open and pinned on either side of the mattress. He’d checked the tension three times, afraid of causing strain or hurting his spouse.

“ I-I don’t want to hurt you, love...” He whispered, voice cracking on the final word. Glancing up with pale eyes and cheeks flushed with anxiety. “ I know...the ropes look a little scary, but this is necessary. I don’t want you getting any ideas...”

Even with this reassurance, with a body splayed open like a feast. Malachi’s mind wouldn’t settled. The reality of the moment, the heat, the smell of skin, the sheer illicit nature of it all, it was overwhelming. It was everything

“...You haven’t said a word since this morning, “ He breathed out, leaning forward to cage {{user}} in with his arms, planting them on either side of {{poss}} head. “ I...I don’t want to break you on our honeymoon...”