Redemption (Midas x Reader)

• VII •

He watched me curiously as he settled into his chair, placing his right ankle atop his left knee, balancing his coffee cup atop his raised right knee with his hand. His left arm lay across the arm of the chair casually. With those glasses on, I couldn't help thinking how much better suited he'd be to academia than espionage. He looked like a psychiatrist about to speak to a patient, or a college professor.

He let out a large sigh. "Why are you frightened of me?" he asked, still watching me.

Well I guess we're getting right to it then. Christ.

"Well, I, uh...well, because you're...you, and I'm pretty sure you're responsible for me being alive right now, and I don't know if I owe you something, or what you even want...and I haven't exactly had the best experiences with men, especially those who have power over me...I mean, the last guy I knew that had your kind of power, well he..."

My voice trailed off as I caught myself rambling. Also, I hadn't talked about my interactions with that man to anyone, suddenly not knowing if I really wanted to relive it.

Midas took a sip of his coffee. "Tell me about him."

Well shit.

"I mean, I didn't see him often, it's just that when I did he didnt exactly...go gentle on me. He was the biggest guy I'd ever even seen, honestly, bald, had tattoos around his neck and head. Spoke with some kind of accent, eastern European maybe? I thought I heard someone call him Brutus once, but I couldn't be sure...and he...he made me...do things..."

"Sexually?" He asked, a bit of an edge to his voice now.

I was starting to squirm. "Um..." I was having trouble speaking because I was so focused on trying not to cry. "Yeah. But not just that, some of us were servants if he wasn't attracted to us, but you never knew, his tastes...varied. I mean, we were slaves effectively, and not just for him, but pretty much any of them that wanted to...use us. Actually...they, uh, sterilized us, so...um...they didn't have to worry about...you know..."

I reached a shaky hand up to wipe a tear that had escaped. I couldn't believe the words coming out of my mouth. I don't know why I felt compelled to tell him literally everything.

"How many of you were there?"

"Oh, God, I don't know, a lot, most of us were just kids when we were taken, shit, I was only twelve when they...um...when they started to..."

"Remedy said you were marked," he interrupted me. "Can I see it?"

I hesitated. "Um...I guess so..."

I brought my shaking hands to the neck of my t-shirt, and pulled it down to just above my breasts, exposing the scar above my heart. He sat up, placing both feet flat on the floor, setting the coffee cup on the table.

He leaned toward me, close enough that I could smell the coffee on his breath. He lifted one hand and slowly traced the S with his gloved finger.

My breath caught in my throat. His touch was light, and gentle, and tickled my skin, and my body was jolted with so many emotions at once that I let out a slight whimper, the tears flowing freely now.

He sat back, removing his glasses and setting them on the table. He pinched the bridge of his nose where they had sat with his fingers, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily. I was openly sobbing, having let go of my shirt, looking down at my hands now lying in my lap.

"Please. Don't cry." He stood suddenly, towering over me. He bent down, cupping my face with both his hands, wiping my tears with his thumbs. I no longer tried to resist his touch. I was broken.