The Wildness Within

What You Need, Not What You Want 2

If he hadn't run away like that, none of this would be happening now the way it was. He'd be a puppy on Ash's bed. Or he'd be with Augus, experiencing the torture-that-wasn't-torture that was far nicer than whatever this was. He shivered, his eyes felt scratchy.

When he heard Augus walking away, he forced his head to straighten, forced his eyes open. Then blinked in panic when the room was plunged into total darkness. He grit his teeth to stop himself from squeezing the ball in reflex.

'You chose to leave Ash and me in the dark. You hurt us, Gwyn. So you will wait in the dark, and I'm going to leave you now.'

Gwyn heard the click of a door shut and whimpered. He could see nothing now, not even that sliver of light. He was bound and his feet hurt and burned and he tried to shake the blindfold away and it didn't work. Of course it didn't work.

He made another sound. A questioning one. A vague, stupid hope that Augus was on the right side of the door. Not the wrong side.

But his senses could tell that Augus had gone. His fae awareness let him know that Augus had walked into the lounge. Augus wasn't even going to be there for his punishment.

What if Augus decided to just leave him there forever?

Gwyn forced his breathing to calm down.

No, Augus wouldn't leave him there forever. Augus needed to use the room at some point. He probably wouldn't leave Gwyn alone for that long at all. This was the waterhorse who foolishly insisted on healing wounds that would heal anyway. Who smeared salve onto bruises even when it wasn't necessary.

He'd hurt Ash and Augus. He didn't really understand it, but he knew that he had. He knew that he would – otherwise he wouldn't have snuck away when Ash's glamour was thick and warm and he knew that they were happy together. He knew.

That was the worst part. He wanted to believe wholeheartedly that he was bad for them. That he brought them nothing but misery. Yet he knew that the very act of leaving would hurt them worse. Even if he didn't understand it, and thought they were foolish, and knew they'd one day realise he was awful.

They hadn't realised it yet.

Gwyn shifted, his feet were really beginning to burn now. His tendons were overstretched, with the balls of his feet pressing at a sharp right angle against the slate and the metal manacles straining everything further. He tried to tune it out, but it was a different kind of pain than what he was used to. It wasn't a blunt beating, or the great mass of pain that stab wounds could become. It was a specific sharp source of pain that his body kept convincing him he could just ease if he'd shift position and relax his feet and lower his shins to the ground.

He knew that tipping to his side and away from the objects on the slate wasn't a viable option. He knew that would somehow break the rules even worse than before. There was something meaningful about what Augus had done, it was important that Gwyn see it through properly. No cheating.

But it was getting harder and harder as time passed in the darkness. He tried to push the gag out of his mouth with his tongue, but it didn't work. Moaned in frustration.

There were a few minutes where he was able to calm his mind. Where he tried to focus on nothing at all. But then his foot cramped and he shouted in pain, the sound dampened by fabric. His foot spasmodically pushed backwards to try and ease the cramp.

His shin made hard contact with whatever was on the ground. Sharp things needled into him, piercing his skin. He yelped, tried to push himself back into position, huffing through the gag and his nose, torn between choosing a cramp that wasn't going away, or choosing the objects.