Miles
Doc's been acting more neurotic than usual. First there was his weird line of questioning. Normally that wouldn't have bothered me, other than making me uncomfortable. But this time I got so angry and frustrated with him, because it seemed like he was hearing my answers but not listening to them. Like he never understood me! Or never even bothered to. Second, it seems like his entire personality has flipped. His normally stringent approach to hygiene has escalated into a full-blown obsession about cleanliness. He's been cleaning for two fucking straight hours, and who knows how long he's been doing it since I hid in my room for a while. He's dusted everything too, which I've never seen him do. The mantle is spotless and shining, light bouncing off the bronze lining of the clock face. Everything has been arranged to perfection. It's so much overkill.
I will admit, this house regains a certain grandeur when its not buried under inches of dust. It smells like someone pumped bleach in here to replace the air. It makes my eyes sting an my breathing difficult.
For a while I lounged on the couch, watching in amusement (and incredulity) at Doc's frantic cleaning, until he threw an Economics textbook at me and demanded I memorise some facts from it. Just random facts, he said it didn't matter which ones. I said no, cause what the hell? Until he threatened to pour the cleaning chemicals down my throat, forcing me to drink them straight, burning my insides like shots of hard liquor. So I started reading, and I guess it's kinda cool that now I know the U.K. economy is 3.3% smaller than it was in 2008 whereas the U.S. economy is 2.9% larger. I wonder why, and search the textbook for answers. I don't know why I needed to know that, or why Doc even has this stupid textbook that he clearly hasn't read himself. But oh well.
The doorbell rings and I look to Doc, wondering if I should hide. He just jumps in surprise and whimpers, tenses, shaking with energy. He's on full-on 'autopilot' as he calls it. Doc fixing his hair briefly in the mirror and smoothed down his hopeless cause of a bloodstained lab coat. "How do I look?" He smiles at me with blackened teeth.
"Um...smart?" I offer, wondering what answer he's actually looking for. That seems to satisfy him and he rushes to the door, wrenching it open with a huge, psychotic grin across his face.
"Doc, dear, how have you been?" The voice is old and raspy, but maintains an elegance that demands respect. A kind of elegance Doc has never possessed, but when I think about it has always strived to achieve.
I watch Doc reenter with someone else. A taller, lanky older man with longish, wavy white hair and lightly tinted puce eyes. He walks gracefully in a fitted black suit, commanding my attention and admiration. Stopping down, because he's so tall, he presses his face right on on mine, inspecting me. I lean back by he just follows my movements, reaching out a hand to cup my cheek. It's so cold compared to Doc's.
It seems so foolish to be uncomfortable with such a small touch after everything Doc has done but really, I shudder when the icy caress presses down my skin, a dreaded disgust looming over me with each small action made by this creepy man. "Hello, you're Doc's experiment. I can see why he chose you," he chuckles darkly, pulling back to his full and intimidating height. "He's highly fascinating. A little crude on the scarring,"
"You know what I like," Doc leans against the doorpost, shrugging his shoulders in a misguided effort to appear casual. He jerks his head to the adjoining kitchen, eyes flashing for his companion to follow. The man smirks, not ready to let Doc have his way yet.
"Tell me Miles, what are you studying?"
"Economics," Doc answers for me, and I keep a slanted straight face. Okay, apparently I'm studying economics. If Doc wants to create this illusion it must be for a reason, and this man creeps me out enough. I'm forced to trust my captor, wondering how evil a man can be that someone like Doc fears telling him the truth. "My experiment will succeed to wealth and power, I know,"
Wealth and power? I've never even thought of leaving this house! My life seems without future, a temporary stasis before the inevitable premature demise at the amateur hands of my doctor. It barely seems possible that Doc and this man, whoever he is, have intended to give me a future, to keep me alive long enough to realise some hidden potential. The idea remains ludicrous, but for the first time since I arrived, doesn't seem so impossible.
Doc
"Go ahead, my experiment," I speak coolly, but referring to Miles in that term is uncomfortable. A lost title that no longer belongs to him. "Demonstrate your intellect,"
What fear I had of Miles making a terrible first impression alleviates as he recites some obscure fact from the economics textbook I found stuffed between my couch cushions. I smile in relief when He nods in satisfaction and decides to finally take pity on me, saving me from this complete awkwardness. "Make me some tea," He orders. "I'll come and watch since you always do it wrong when I leave you unsupervised,"
I follow Him into my embarrassingly small and bare kitchen. It's evident I've never used the oven and rely on the microwave for everything. I do however thankfully keep stock of His favourite tea - scratch that, the only tea He accepts - and the Soya Light milk He instilled into me the habit of drinking. I set about the stupidly complicated process of measuring His required tea ingredients into the little metal diffuser. I switch on the job and put the milk to boil, stirring in the tea leaves and an expect measurement of matcha powder. It's a painfully long process.
"Well?" He asks, as soon as I pass Him the cup.
"Well what?" I sip my own instant coffee from my mug that reads 'Be Like a Proton and Stay Positive'. Which really doesn't make sense but I'm going on a tangent.
"You called me crying and snivelling like a baby," He spits disdainfully. "I assume you had some reason?"
This sets me on edge. A knife edge teetering on falling to my death from a cliff. I put down my mug and the coffee spills, and it clanks with the force of my hand. "I've been experiencing something," I tell Him vaguely, and He patiently waits for my elaboration. "I hate myself. I hate what I've done to Mi- my experiment. I don't want to hurt him, I want to make him happy. And I can't. I've ruined him!"
By now I'm crying again in my wretched misery. He approaches me silently, wrapping His arms around my shoulders and holding me so close, so warm. I've missed this contact, contact I've only ever gotten from Him. I'm so weak. Fuck. I'm so weak.
He pulls away, wiping my tears. I reuse to look up and see the disapproval on his face. I'm so pathetic. What a terrible test subject I am - He should have killed me. I'm not worth experimenting on. "What is happening to you is Lima syndrome," His voice is unexpected. It lacks the severity I'm used to. "It's expected with your personality. This was always a possible outcome of my experiments on you. I'm not disappointed,"
"You aren't?" I look up at Him and His face is simply set in stone. He's really not disappointed.
"Actually, it just reinforces how fascinating you are," He nods. "I am thoroughly impressed by how well I have created you, my experiment,"
YOU ARE READING
An Apple A Day (Wattys2019)
Horror"Doc?" "Yes?" "Teach me to love you," A young boy, his view of normality shredded to pieces by the bleakness of his life, is kidnapped and kept captive by an insane doctor for experimentation and pleasure. It isn't long before the doomed souls fo...
