Chapter Text
A thin, tapering shaft of sunrise crept through the window, blinding you awake. You turned groggily away from the light, rolling over on the mattress but freezing when your eyes fell on the man beside you in bed. Such a rare sight, finding Al asleep; he was usually the one coaxing you into the land of the living with his warm breath on your neck and his soft touches trailing down your thighs.
An early summer heatwave had begun to suffuse itself through Denver’s streets, imbuing the air with the fragrant smells of hyssops and goldenrods, but bringing with it a cloying, suffocating atmosphere. You secretly welcomed the heat; it meant that Al slept shirtless, the silky sheets turned down for a more comfortable nights’ rest with you, with his little dove. You continued to watch silently, entranced at his broad, sinewy chest and his stomach, rising and falling in rhythm with his soft, slumbering breaths. There was no guilt about covertly watching him- you knew all too well that Al enjoyed watching you sleep too.
For months after you’d first arrived, you had barely seen such a sight. Initially, he had simply left you alone to cry yourself to sleep, leaving after he’d taken things from you, willingly or otherwise. Back then, you were grateful that the monster abandoned the basement once he’d been satisfied, lingering only momentarily afterwards to leer at your bruised body or to make a threatening or obscene remark before swiftly departing.
After a while, when the pair of you had grown closer, more trustful, he had begun to stay until you fell asleep in his arms, though you’d wake in the small hours, suddenly alone again in the damp basement. There would be no comforting arm around you to keep away the chill of that prison you’d been caged in. It seemed a betrayal of sorts. Like Al had snuck away in the night. It had felt cheap, and left you confused, your body muddled with a paradoxical feeling of both heaviness and hollowness.
Things were different now. Now, you woke every morning in Al’s bedroom, in Al’s bed. Even at Al’s insistence that you call those things shared (our bedroom, our bed), it still felt strange to define them in such terms. You wondered if that feeling of being a foreigner in his house, and his bed, would ever fully subside. Perhaps it stemmed from a fear that Al would snap one day, the darkness he was more than capable of would resurrect itself, and you’d be thrown back down into the depths of the basement. That the devil would watch with a grin on his face as you tumbled back into that hell.
You retreated from this invading thought- even now, you could let your mind wander to such miserable places if you weren’t careful. Al helped bring you back; the low, growling vibrations of his breath, the steady movement of his torso hypnotizing you, anchoring you back to reality. You smiled, ruminating on the unlikely situation in which you’d found yourself. A captive willingly in her captor’s bed. You’d drive yourself crazy trying to rationalize it, if madness hadn’t taken you already. Whether you were brave or cowardly, strong or resilient, all that mattered was how you felt. A heady mixture of bliss and contentment and, yes, even the sheer thrill of danger that charged through your body like electricity when you and Al resumed a certain little game...
You felt so fortunate that things had ended up here. Not that you pictured that things with Al were concluding- far from it in fact. Your life alongside Al had barely even begun to blossom. But before, there had been immeasurable difficulties, interminable conflicts, where a resolution seemed impossible and only dark outcomes were envisioned. But you couldn’t justify calling it a new beginning either. To forget what you’d been through would be a disservice to the things you’d overcome. A false memory. Besides, you could never truly forget the past that both of you shared. You had determined instead to push those thoughts aside in order to achieve your endgame. This felt like your happy ending, right here in this bed beside Al.
This happy ending had come at a cost, but you believed it was worth the price you had paid. A few days, stretching from the start of the weekend to its end, cemented itself as fundamental to everything you now had with Al. Those days, comprised of both unbridled joy and unmitigated anguish, were crucial. You’d hold each second close to your chest, regardless of whether those seconds had served to scar or heal your heart.
— — —
It had been a strange weekend, even by yours and Al’s standards. One of extreme highs and lows. It had started like a dream that Friday night, your birthday filled with innumerable pleasures lavished on you by Al. The idyllic night was the antithesis to the morning after. Al had found that damned knife hidden in the basement, and you had brawled fiercely, the pair of you scrapping like wild animals. You thought that Al had regressed into his dark former self, that the Grabber was enraged enough to kill you. Then, you thought the blade was going to tear through Al’s own heart when he turned the knife on himself, urging you to end things. Miraculously, neither of you were killed, just bruised, bloody and more sorrowful than either of you had ever felt in your lives. Even more miraculously, the consequence of your fight was exoneration. Apologies. Reassurances. Comfort. Absolution. From Al to you, and vice versa. Al didn’t want your apology, had said he deserved nothing from you, but you gave it freely regardless. You’d both done things to hurt the other, you figured. Both of you said that fateful phrase, those three little words. For you, they had been words that had been left unsaid too long, kept inside your chest like a caged bird. Those secrets had spilled, the bird set free as “I love you” finally escaped from your lips. You held each other for a long time in that basement.
You weren’t sure who finally pulled free from the embrace, but you and Al regarded each other, both covered in blood and tears that had finally dried. You didn’t think there were any more words to pass between you, but Al was always full of surprises. Always a flourish to his trick, another thing he’d magic out of his hat. This time, it was another promise to add to his catalog of commitments: he was never going to make you stay in that cold basement cell again. You believed him wholeheartedly, but were too overwhelmed right then to tangle with the logistics of the idea. Nodding was all you managed before you were being helped off the spongy dampness of the mattress. Al scooped up the small pile of clothes and books from the floor in one arm (clearly, he didn’t want to return here later either), before guiding you to the basement door.
You almost dared not turn back, but a voice inside you urged your body to pivot, taking in the basement one last time. A closure of sorts, you supposed. The dank stone walls and barred window that had been inescapable. The mattress, stained with pains and pleasures of both your bodies. The black phone that never rang; no salvatory dial tone to be heard. Connected to no one and nowhere. Countless agonies suffered here, but moments of bliss too, you remembered. But you had to call a spade a spade. It was a prison, a dark cell for The Grabber’s victims. A term that no longer applied to you. With an acknowledging nod, you climbed the first step outside of the room, and your gaze fell into those deep blue eyes of Al’s. A much better place to be trapped. It would be a mercy to drown in them if it meant you were out of the basement’s depths from now on.
Thud, click. The sound of the basement door locking shut was one of finality. You’d heard that habitual sound countless times, though never from this side of the metal door. A sealed tomb, with only ghosts inside now. A hand secured itself to yours, gripping tightly. You ascended together.
It was a quiet few days after that, an atmosphere of trepidation falling over the house. As if any raised voice or sudden movement might disrupt your renewed reconciliation. You tended Al’s wound as best you could, wrapping the chaos of scars on his chest tightly. Al kissed each of your own cuts and bruises individually, a sorrowful apology accompanying each one until he was hoarse. You bathed together, ate together, made gentle love together. There was no Naughty Girl that weekend. Only soft, tender comforts. The scars of your fight were still raw, literally so, but you had the silent thrill that you could initiate the game when you wanted. Or more accurately, knowing you’d ask for those punishments when you needed them. Because it was a need, a compulsion: just like it was for Al. For him to inflict, and for you to receive. No shame in that admittance, and denying you both opportunity to play would be cruel. You had the rest of your lives to play; you could afford a few days of healing.
The weekend passed all too quickly, no matter how much you and Al both tried to hold it in your grasp. You clutched furiously at each hour, minute, second of the weekend. Not wanting to sleep, not wanting to breathe if it meant the passing of time. Nothing was said, but your shared glances grew more frantic as Monday morning grew near, voiceless displays of worry. You made countless efforts to keep things light; encouraging smiles and squeezes, promises that things were going to be ok. But you could see the disquiet in Al’s cerulean eyes. After all, he had more to lose, so he thought. If he was true to his word and gave you free roam of the house once he was at work, why wouldn’t he think you would run? Even if you had said you loved him, said that in time things would be forgiven, he wouldn’t forgive himself for his transgressions.
You knew the first morning would be the most difficult. But you also knew: if you got through today, you could prove to Al that you weren’t intent on leaving him. Set his tormented mind at ease. All the subsequent days would easily fall into place. After the first day, the fog of uncertainty would finally lift. Once this final test of loyalty had been proven that would be it. You’d broached every subject, told every secret, gave every ounce of yourself over. And Al had given you the same courtesies, hadn’t he?
A tight embrace woke you, Al’s arms encircling your waist, his head nuzzling into your neck. His hold was both possessive and fearful, like a child clinging onto a favorite toy that they were scared some other kid might snatch away. You returned the embrace and stilled for a while, savoring his warmth, his smell, the feel of his body against yours. But reality called, and Al had work. It felt like if you didn’t make a move, Al would have stayed under the covers all day, so reluctantly you pulled yourself away from him and padded to the bathroom.
You just hoped he didn’t take it the wrong way, perhaps thinking you were eagerly anticipating his departure.
You gave an incredulous exhale when you heard the shower door creak open behind you, felt wandering fingers come curling around your waist as Al joined you under the warm spray.
“The idea is to not be late for work, Al.” You chided, though you weren’t sure how stern you sounded as you mewled at his touch and the soft kisses being placed delicately on your bare shoulder.
“It’ll save time showering together.” he hummed in between kisses. You didn’t need to face him to know that his trademark sideways smirk was plastered on his face. You weren’t convinced by his suave words; Al had obviously no intention of cleaning just yet. But you’d be equally to blame now as your body arched into his, pressing your back into his solid frame. You braced your arms on the tiled wall, obliging him this morning pleasure. It wasn’t as if you weren’t equally enthusiastic for his touch, his slick manhood inside you and his exploratory hands finding all the right places on your body. He stilled himself after finishing, holding himself inside you, his hot breath ghosting your ear as if wishing to speak something. But it went unsaid. His brash demeanor had all but vanished. He needed reassurance, that’s all it was. You gripped his hands that had been trailing your stomach, turning your head towards him.
“Al-” teeth clamped down on your neck, stifling your words, but you allowed him to leave his mark, biting like a condemned man enjoying his last meal. Why wasn’t he letting you reassure him of your vow to be his? Did he think he was savoring you in these last few precious moments together? You steeled yourself to remind him, but he spoke first:
“Why don’t you make a start on breakfast, Y/N? How ‘bout some eggs, huh?”
It killed you to leave him alone in the shower. He’d pushed you away, but you knew he was the one feeling bereft. It seemed he didn’t want to hear any more of your assurances- did they feel like empty promises to him? It irked you a little, but you knew, by the time he came home after work, that he’d been worrying over fictional scenarios that had manifested in his head, but which wouldn’t ever become reality. A small, vicious little thought fluttered in your own mind- if he thought your promises were so easily broken, then maybe he deserved a little mental torment. Let him have these absurd thoughts that you would leave; it would be his own self-flagellation, a punishment he would administer and receive all by himself.
A quiet breakfast between you and Al. So quiet and tense that the clock on the wall, ticking away, its percussive beat echoing a fresh taunt with each passing second. Inching its way to the hour of departure, moving ever forward- though it felt more like a countdown. You clenched- your stomach, your jaw, your brow- wondering what zero hour would bring. Al’s nervousness was all too apparent. By now, you could read him all too easily. He stood from the table and glanced at his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes before dropping his arms awkwardly by his sides.
“I’ve got to go.” His fingers twitched in his palms. You rose now too, skirting the table to take his hand in yours. Any suave pretenses he’d been acting out had dropped; he was clearly pained at the thought of leaving. Your stomach roiled at the malicious thoughts you’d had in the bathroom. Of course you cared if Al was hurting, and you were sure as shit going to make sure he knew where you stood on the matter.
“Al,” you began, not quite sure of where your sentence was headed, “Would it be easier for a little while if…” Your nod towards the stairwell door gut-punched even you. Had you just offered yourself to be put back down there? For Al, maybe you were crazy enough to propose such madness. If you’d shocked yourself for offering such a thing, he looked utterly appalled.
“N-no!” he stammered, before cooling his tone, though the tight grip on your hand didn’t relent. “No, dove. Not ever. Like I said, it’s just an empty room now.”
At the door (now free of the bike lock- when had that been removed?), Al picked up his keys from the bowl on the nearby shelf. Fiddling with the bunch, he took a single gold-colored key from the ring. It was yours, he said. For emergencies. Or escapes, you knew that look on his face was suggesting. If you’re gonna go, no need to break a window or force a lock. He pressed it into your hand, but you tossed it back into the bowl with a clang and shrugged nonchalantly, showing your indifference to its presence. For emergencies, you hoped your action suggested right back.
Al had given you everything but your freedom since you’d first come here. He wasn’t offering you an escape (he would never ask you to go- in his eyes, you belonged to him entirely). But he was aware it was a possibility now, and he clearly saw it as one you weren’t going to pass up. But he wasn’t about to break a newly-forged promise and put you back in the basement. You could see these two notions working at odds in his mind, a tug of war with no clear winner. He was really so ardent in his belief that he was nothing but a monster, a frightening being that anyone sane would run from. He couldn’t seem to realize that freedom was no longer something you desired. Whether monster or man, you weren’t running.
A bold step forward was the only move you needed before Al lunged, palming the side of your face and smashing his lips into yours. You gripped his shirt lapels and returned the kiss, open-mouthed to accommodate his clawing tongue. His other hand snaked its way around the nape of your neck, pulling you in impossibly closer. It felt like a final farewell. It absolutely wasn’t, but you let Al indulge in the passionate kiss anyway.
You finally pulled away, flushed and breathless, holding Al at arm’s length as you smoothed down his shirt. It felt like such a wifely act, the thought of this reddening your cheeks further, silently wondering if Al would return later with a remark of “Honey, I’m home!”. It felt like such an ‘Al’ thing to do, one of his little quips that would crease you up. You’d tell him about this amusement later, but, noting the pained look reappearing on his face, you changed tact.
“Al, Do you trust me?”
“I- yes. Y-you know I do, Y/N.”
“Then trust me when I say I’ll see you when you get back.” You spoke in a clear voice, confident and reassuring. You needed to keep your own composure to balance out the uncertainty you still saw in those endless blue eyes. You could see his deep-rooted fear in the depths of those ocean blues, fear that everything up to now might still be too good to be true. That he would come home and you’d be gone.
Al nodded, but his face was tight-lipped and solemn. He unlocked the door, stepping out and closing it again behind him. Through the glass pane of the door he gave a final, lingering look before pulling himself away. You heard his van door click open and slam shut again. An engine revving to life. And a muffled sound of tires on asphalt, eventually fading until you could hear only the low hum of a now-empty house.
You let out a long exhale. Not a sigh of relief that Al had left, more a frustration at the look of consternation on Al’s face. The next time you’d see him, he’d be so happy, truly understanding the reality that this situation could be permanent. He’d just have to suffer one little day of unknowing agony to realize you were here for keeps. His for keeps.
Even with your adamant resolve to stay, your curiosity bested you almost immediately, and you plucked the key from the bowl by the door. Just to see. The gold ridges slotted perfectly into the keyhole, and you met no resistance as you turned it. The lock clicked open. With a twist of the metal door handle, the door sprung free on its hinges, just a couple of inches. You gasped at the light morning breeze that infiltrated itself through the gap- not shocked that the key worked, per se- but a shock to the system that you were truly no prisoner anymore.
You considered all the times you hadn’t been in the basement, when freedom had appeared something you possessed. But just because it didn’t look like a prison cell didn’t mean you weren’t locked up. The bike lock had been firmly bolted shut. Al within earshot, ready to chase you down should you try anything. Now? This was the true definition of freedom, just a step outside the door, the rest of the world open to you at last.
With that heady thought, you slammed the door closed, the wood rattling in its frame from the force. You had the means of escape now. You had the opportunity to do so. But now, you had no motive- nothing compelling you to leave, and everything compelling you to stay. That’s what Al was now, to you- your everything. Hadn’t you danced together to words along those lines? You twisted the key back, feeling a sense of reassurance as the lock clicked shut. It felt safe, not like you were trapped in a hopeless situation. It was strangely uplifting, that the noise of a locking door had such an association for you now.
The phrase ‘free time’ had never felt so literal, and you wondered what to do with the expanse of the day. You found that tidying up around the house, with the Eagles and Fleetwood Mac as background music, took up most of the morning. If Al had expected, even demanded, you become some sort of domestic help while he was out, you might have been affronted. The fact that he expected nothing from you regarding household chores meant you were happy to do them. It felt nice too, that you could actually do something useful, as opposed to when you spent your days waiting inertly downstairs.
Around midday, you made yourself lunch and settled at the breakfast bar, but without Al to talk to, your attention kept involuntarily turning towards the basement door. As if a ghostly hand had gripped your chin and maneuvered you to face towards those depths you were no longer confined in. As if whatever was down there missed your presence- but you certainly didn’t miss it. The specter’s presence lingered, your body shivering at the thought of ever going back down there. But you weren’t going down there, and your focus returned back to the kitchen, turning your head with a self-satisfied hmph that you wouldn’t be trapped in that shadowy place any longer.
With the rest of the afternoon spent reading in the quiet serenity of the living room, it felt a perfectly pleasant day, though you wondered if you might have to take up some more hobbies to pass the time. As late afternoon drew in, you grew anxious, impatient even. But it wasn’t boredom- you were missing Al, you realized. You’d started on dinner when you heard the unmistakable sound of Al’s van pulling up, and rushed to the door in anticipation of his return.
He’d just closed the door behind him as you walked into the living room. He froze. You smirked at the sight of him. Al looked equal parts happy, relieved and obviously a little sheepish . That look of guilt on his face soon dissipated when he saw how amused you were, that you’d proven all his fears were very much unfounded. He grew his own smirk then, mirroring yours, his mouth tilting sideways at the realization; what he thought might never happen in his wildest dreams was manifesting itself as reality.
“You’re here.” he said on a breathy laugh.
“I’m here.” you retorted smugly. It took a lot of willpower not to just blurt out ‘ I told you so ’.
Maybe Al sensed you were about to voice such an impetuous remark. Maybe it was that hint of brattiness that signified a little game, after you’d been such a good girl for staying put. Or maybe it was the simple fact that he’d missed you. Whichever was the case (you figured a little of each of those reasons), before you had a chance to utter another syllable, he had attacked. He pulled you into a greedy, clawing kiss, his mouth, tongue and hands wanting to explore everywhere at once. You smiled through the kiss, laughing at Al’s eagerness as his mouth probed your jaw and neck, the wild laugh turning to a shriek as Al cupped your butt and hoisted you up. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist and he began the journey to the bedroom. You were already unbuttoning his shirt and peppering his broad shoulders with endearments of your own, gnawing softly at his neck, before he kicked the bedroom door closed behind you both.
Languorous in bed in your shared, blissful afterglow, you softly stroked the gauze covering Al’s still-fresh wound. Right above his heart, reminding you of his close brush with death, a cruel magic trick where he would have vanished forever.
“Were you worried today Al?”
“I never doubted you for a second, dove. You’re my perfect girl, my good girl.” You spared him an eye roll at his obvious fib; he didn't want to admit how scared he had truly been at the thought of never seeing you again. His sweet talk, together with his fingertips brushing gentle circles on your bare hip, melted you completely and you allowed a comfortable silence to envelop you both.
You had taken a leap of faith by allowing yourself to fall for Al, to drown in those forbidden feelings. And now, he’d taken that leap too, trusting you to stay. You’d both risked everything, and now there seemed to be nothing left to say, no more skeletons in the closet. There was an underlying tension that Al would fret over what these new boundaries meant, whether true freedom was still something you sought, or something you already had. You weren’t quite sure- the definitions and technicalities were too blurred to define, a murky bog of uncertain rules. But you could write new rules together. You knew the first morning was going to be the hardest. But it had come and gone and you were both still here.
— — —
Those 72 hours (give or take a couple) turned the tides of your relationship. It could have gone so wrong, in so many ways. But you’d found the path that led to a life you wanted, waking up besides Al every morning. You still felt uneasy sometimes, worrying that everything was a dream, or (more accurately), a terrible nightmare. That events that weekend did go south. That you’d wake up, and you’d be in the basement, tormented by a man you no longer recognized as human, the Grabber using his belt to beat you bloody, taking your body by force if you refused to play his sadistic games. Or perhaps, you’d awake to find that your love was a distant memory, just a vision in your mind and a dark bloodstain on the basement floor all that remained of Albert Shaw. Or maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t wake at all, unable to think up any of these ghastly scenes because you’d become just another victim of The Grabber, buried with the Naughty Boys in an unmarked grave in some distant, unknowable location.
“Morning dove.” The soft cadence of Al’s voice coaxed you out of your thoughts and guided your eyes to his face.
“Morning Al.” you yawned, shuffling towards the voice. An arm dug its way behind you and pulled you in close. His body was warm and solid, but you always found his chest comfortable to rest your head on. The comfort and the heat of him made you suddenly tired again, and you barely kept your heavy eyes open as he spoke.
“Is it time to get up already?” he asked lightly,
“Nuh-uh….a lil’ longer… with me…” you murmured, letting your drowsy voice trail off as sleep took hold of you.
— — —
Al lay in bed, his dreaming little dove pressed tight against him- thinking about how things had turned out. It was an intoxicating feeling, but it was a dangerous game too- and not one of those dark, salacious games he enjoyed. Like walking a tightrope: straight ahead, a path to the life he wanted; but snapping at his heels were those dark creatures in his soul, where one mis-step meant everything would end in a swift, embracing oblivion. It was hard for Al to relax when these demons invaded his mind, a malignant threat that he suppressed. But he was able to suppress them, ever more easily- because of her, of course.
She enraptured him completely. Al was spellbound by her delicate features, soft skin and pretty face, but it was more than that. It wasn’t just skin-deep. He adored her compassion, admired her strength. And when she asked for those games, it was of her own volition, her choice to be hurt- never harmed, only hurt- and it was Al obliging her requests now, even if he did take pleasure in the bruises and the screams and the broken skin. To believe his little thing had found peace in the monster’s arms was baffling, but to keep questioning it would be lunacy, a jinx on everything he was determined to cling to.
If Al thought too long and hard about it, he’d begin to worry about how much of herself his little dove had given, and how much was taken. And, most worryingly perhaps, how much was taken under the guise of being given freely. Al doubted either Y/N or himself would ever truly know the answer to that million dollar question. At first, of course, he had snatched her away, so remorseless in his cruel treatment of her, a captive that he toyed endlessly with.
Things got better, infinitely so over those transformative weeks, until their shared confessions of love seemed to cement it all in reality. His little love said it was her choice to stay with Al- but he supposed he’d never know how much he may have forced her hand. Of course, his dove would admonish him for that, reassure him in every way that she wants all the things he does. But Al was sane enough to know how trauma might really affect a person, rewiring their brains until they thought their actions were normal, real, justified. He was living proof of that. Maybe now, she was too.
But, looking at her in the morning glow, she really did look peaceful. His dove had fallen back asleep cradled in his arms, her head resting soundly on his strong chest, a hand unconsciously fingering his web of scars on his left pectoral. He used to watch her sleeping frequently, gazing lecherously as she writhed on the filthy basement mattress. But that was a lifetime ago, and everything was different now. He still liked to watch her dream, the small twitching movements of muscles on her face that he found so endearing to see: a wry smile, a cute furrowed brow, an involuntary moan. But to actually hold her as she slept soundly with him- well that was an incomparably more wonderful feeling than being just an observer. Al planted a soft kiss on her head before drifting back to sleep with his little dove safe in his grasp.
A final picture reeled through his mind as he floated back into a hazy dreamstate. It was that weekend where everything had changed, where he was so uncertain if his little thing would really stay. His mind skipped over the fretful hours of worry, wondering if he’d return to an empty house, or whether police sirens would ring in his ears at any moment. But neither did his thoughts jump to their lustful reunion in his bed. No, it was just that one moment that played in his head:
“You’re here.” Al had said, incredulous but overjoyed at the sight of her.
“I’m here.”
Al’s chest had panged with guilt, that he hadn’t fully believed the promise that she’d be here until he saw her in the flesh. His own misguided doubts were eclipsed by the absolute happiness he felt, happiness he never thought possible for someone like him. Only Y/N, his sweet dove, could make him feel this way.