Not Friends (Ain’t That The Worst Thing You Ever Heard?)

Not friends, no we’re somewhere in between, cause you’re awful and I miss you and I killed you in my dreams last night…

“What are you saying, baby boy?”

The voice is distorted and crackling through the speaker.

“What are you muttering?”

i stare into the camera lense and continue mouthing the words under my breath.

Even then you didn’t care, it’s a low when even in my dreams you still don’t want me there, got friends, got at least a healthy five…

White light replaces the darkness briefly and i flinch. Already i’m flinching easily. i can’t have been here more than ten minutes . But i’m jumpy. i need to watch that if i want to last. i force my breathing to slow and glare at the camera as the light begins to flash – red, white, red, white, as crackling, buzzing, growling noise fills the room.

…yeah some people think I’m funny baby don’t act so surprised, we think that your girlfriend is a bore, but we’re nice to her in public cos we’re grown up and mature.

i didn’t start strategising until the morning of the interrogation. With around ten hours to go i stood in the kitchen, cigarette in hand, googling “how to resist torture and interrogation.” The results essentially boiled down to shut the fuck up for as long as possible, and everyone will break under torture over enough time. The question was only this – would three hours be enough?

Time, i knew even before my research, would be my biggest problem. Over- or under-stimulation, nicotine withdrawal, the humiliation of inevitably pissing myself, exhaustion, cold, muscle aches, and disorientation from losing track of how long i’d been in there, all of it boiled down to my ability to endure the minutes and the hours. Time is very real and unyielding, but perception of time is not. And how do i normally help time pass?

That’s how i came to music as my anchor. i would pick some songs that i could recite completely from memory, with positive associations, an upbeat sound, that were around three minutes long. i would use them to roughly track time, to self soothe, to distract and fill the negative space. And above all, i would not tell Mx what i was doing. For two reasons – one, so that They couldn’t find a way to disrupt it. Two – having another secret created a layer above the information i really couldn’t give up. If They broke me, They would break the outer layer first. When They were in the room i would remain as silent as i could, and not say a single word. When alone, i would sing – quietly enough not to be audible on the microphone monitoring me. And i would win. i refused to consider any other option.

Just before seven, Mx turns to me on the couch.

“you’ve been sketchy as fuck all day,” They say. “Hiding your phone, looking guilty, what are you hiding?”

And They are spot on. As well as not wanting Them to see my googling or double checking lyrics, i’d also been reviewing the video of the evidence. The setup for the interrogation was, i have to say, one of the best ideas i’ve ever contributed to a scene. Somewhere on one of the three CCTV cameras in O/our home, at some point over the days before the scene, i had broken a rule. If i made it through the interrogation, i won, and would not be punished. If They extracted enough information from me to find the video, i lost, and would be. The punishment wasn’t really relevant – after what was to come in the interrogation it was the least of my worries – but i wanted to win.

They grip me by the hair and drag me into what is usually Their office, but today is an empty, white-lit box lined with plastic sheeting with a chair in the centre. i am forcibly stripped, pushed into the chair, and Mx buckles a posture collar around my neck, cuffs my hands behind my back, and my ankles to the legs of the chair. i silently thank the Gods that today is not a bad back day, and wiggle my wrists to check the cuffs aren’t too tight. Mx won’t be checking in or asking if i’m comfortable today – it’s my job to alert Them if this feels dangerous. It doesn’t. It doesn’t even feel that scary yet, and i struggle not to giggle as They start questioning me and i see the frustration in Their face at my tight lipped silence. i’m doing mischief, a rare occurrence for someone unbratty like me, and it’s a fun change of pace.

They slap me. Hard, fast, relentlessly across the face and the urge to giggle is beaten out of me fast. Punches come – with a solid pause between each one so i can tense my core as W/we agreed. And even with those choreographed safety features in the surface of my mind the energy starts to shift. From play as W/we usually do it – usually with a CNC vibe, sure, but with a psychological lightness that comes with the trust and love between U/us – to that hard to define other that comes with true viciousness and cruelty. CNC in its purest form. i am going to hate this, They are going to do it anyway, and my job is to suffer. To be ugly, to be messy, to be afraid. But not to break.

They leave me in the dark. i will not break. i will not break.

London 2020. Boy and a girl broke up, yeah it’s two a penny.

i will not break. It’s 2023 and my fiancée just left me. No, not left me, she’s in the spare bedroom and i’m going slowly insane. We agreed to stay friends, and i very much want to stay friends, but it’s goddamn hard when we are trapped together in a shoebox of a flat and i can hear her chatting to women online. i do what i do and retreat into music that gets the messy, complex feelings out of my head. She doesn’t particularly appreciate Is It Over Now? – you miss my mouth before it called you a lying traitor – or There It Goes – i wake up, it’s October, the loss is yours. And she doesn’t enjoy I’m Trying (Not Friends). But while we’re in this terrible somewhere in between i enjoy it very much, and bop around the kitchen spitting out the bridge like venom. And i don’t break. When October comes, i’m coming back to life again. i move on, she does, too, and two years later she’ll come to O/our house every weekend and watch the F1 and eat pizza and we’ll laugh about those messy days. But that song will always be my defiance – my refusal to crumble when everything felt like it was falling apart.

Three shots, lemon drop, one for being lost and alone in your early twenties

The lights cut out again, and the door jerks in its frame as sudden, deafening banging fills the room. Mx is pounding on the door and i can’t hold back a scream and a flinch that rocks my chair. Again to red, white, red, white, distorting my vision. They burst into the room and in the flashing lights they slash a leather strap against my thighs. The questions come again, shouted, then soft and pleading, then harsh and demanding. my only sounds are panicked breaths and the cries i cannot stifle.

Mx switches on the projectors. They don’t speak, They don’t look at me. The sounds of overlapping fucking sounds and music fill the room as quick cut clips of porn cover the three walls in my eyeline. Flickering, bright, distorting over corners and imperfections in the wall. They aren’t particularly loud, but in trio they are overwhelming instantly.

i don’t have long alone to process the change. Mx returns and forces a rag over my face and when i breathe in the acrid stink of poppers fills my throat. i feel the room spin and my legs turn to jelly. They lower Their face to mine, obscured by a gasmask, and bellow an incoherent roar from only an inch away. i cry out, jerk back, but won’t give in.

They leave me in the flickering, in the sound, in the blinking lights, the flood of harsh noise from the speaker, the whispers of Their voice through the camera, the relentless pornography, the cold and the fear.

And I resent you just a little, if i’m honest

It’s not too hard to get me angry during play. The resentment zone is one i like to chase – face down in a dimly lit swingers club They swing the whip, i squirm and cry and think “what the fuck is wrong with You, i’m suffering!” As if that isn’t what i specifically requested an hour ago. But it’s rare – and more special for it – for play to feel truly adversarial. That natural physical reaction to violence sits on one side of a blurry line, and on the other my mind fully rebels against the assault on my senses. It’s the rage that spat out i fucking hate You during the most brutal beating i have ever taken. The utter shame as i curled into a ball during a recent horrifically ugly rape play scene. It’s a beautifully bizarre shift, from the tension between love and pain into a heightened state where W/we become enemies for a time. Why do i crave it? Why do masochists crave anything? Intensity, altered reality, release, something more complex and deeper still? To feel the closeness i sometimes need to know how the distance feels. i need to be broken by the one i love the most, to come home to them at the end tear streaked and bedraggled. i need it in ways i can’t name.

During one of incomprehensible, untrackable rounds of questioning, They drop to Their knees. They look me in the eyes. i glare daggers. They ask me how i could lie to Them. What O/our relationship is worth if i won’t communicate – if i won’t even speak? They tell me i have betrayed Them. i long to give Them something – a word, an apology, a hint. Would that be so bad, really? i could still win. But the dam holding back my confession must be absolute, and i remain silent. i cannot see my love now, not here, not in this place with the blinking crimson glow, with the roar and rush of sound, with the growing ache in my bladder and the raised gooseflesh of my skin. W/we’re not U/us here.

Well I might be bitter and twisted and broken and petty and lying…

They strap a shock collar around my thigh and turn it to maximum. The shocks come fast – and long, Their cold gaze on me as They hold the button down and my thigh twitches and burns. They leave me in full darkness again, projectors cut and in the blackness the shocks come without warning, remotely triggered i lack even the twitch of Their thumb or sadistic glint in Their eyes to see it coming. Their return comes in clear plastic, wrapped tight across my face and i stare furiously through the misted layer, holding my breath, refusing to give the satisfaction of my gasps and choking struggle for as long as i can. But struggle i do, eventually, chest burning, back arching off the chair, the cuffs biting my wrists as every fibre of my being screams for oxygen. They give it to me, finally, and return Their gaze to mine.

“you are not the person I fell in love with.” Their face is drawn with heartbreak, and i know it’s fake, even as it crushes me there’s a little faint voice in my head cheering Them on for Their Oscar-worthy performance and Their courage in going there. “you can still fix this. Just tell Me the truth, I’ll let you out, W/we’ll get a takeaway and cuddle on the couch.”

Silence, and the pounding of my heart.

“you were never who I thought you were at all.” They sigh, stand up, looking on the verge of tears. “It was nice while it lasted.”

They leave, and i break down in the dark. i break down as the moans and sighs and music blur around me, as lights flicker in and out, as high pitched ringing blares through the room. i’m temporarily thrown off my strategy – i can’t sing a breakup song right now and i hadn’t planned to switch until that one stopped working as an anchor. A simple shift in plan feels beyond me in this state.

When They return for another burst of violence, my bladder finally lets go. Piss dribbles through the seat of my chair and They laugh, loud and vicious in my face. i expected that. What i didn’t expect was for Them to snatch the basin from under my chair and pour the already cooling piss over my head.

i scream – humiliation, shock, and an immediate drop in temperature. i’m shivering violently as They leave again, for the first time wondering if i can take this.

The dark, the lights, the sound. The shudder of my breath, the trembling in my limbs. i lock gazes with that hateful camera again. Cold, wet, i expected. i will not break. Under my breath, i start afresh.

Fever dream high in the quiet of the night, you know that I caught it…

It’s 2024, i’m racing through the house, i’m blinking in the bright sun. Mx is in the garden muddy to the elbows and turns around with Their perfect smile, Their golden tan, Their filthy jeans. Pure love, pure sex, everything i need.

“W/we’re going tonight,” i say breathlessly. “i got the tickets.”

It’s ten thirty in the morning, and W/we leave for Edinburgh the moment W/we’re ready.

Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price, you know that i bought it

Flying up the motorway, singing go, go, go. Bracelets and tears and glitter and a countdown on a screen, and she’s there, emerging amidst pink and orange, and Mx’s arm is around me while tears run down my face and i sing along to the setlist i know so well. This is what joy sounds like – thousands of us in a stadium screaming Cruel Summer. This is what love feels like, a partner who drops everything to support my obsession. This is what i wanted from the moment the Eras Tour was announced – my Love Story, my Fearless Lover Ready For It all with me. This is a summer i will never forget.

And it’s new, the shape of your body, it’s blue, the feeling I’ve got…

It’s cold. It’s so fucking cold. i force myself to move more, exaggerated shivers to drive heat to my body. my skin starts to dry and i feel the tension in my jaw loosen. Reminding myself i expected this, not the stench of piss, but i knew at some point i’d be soaked. Wasn’t much of a spoiler to know Mx had waterboarding on the list, and that’s still to come. So before it does i need to move, get warm, get angry, get ready.

The next time They come in, nothing happens to me at all. Not physically. They set down a watering can on the side. They set down a bowl, and i catch a glimpse of soaked cheesecloth. i want to look away. i physically recoil. But i force myself to look.

“Do you want to know how long you’ve been in here?”

i do. Desperately. i don’t say so, but my eyes flicker to Theirs. i’ve been trying to keep track of time – the singing, the syncing of the videos across the walls, my perception of time – weak and distorted as i know it is. i think it’s about eight thirty – ninety minutes in. Later, i’ll find out i was right, almost to the second. Right now, Mx has other ideas.

“Forty-five minutes.” They grin, bending down to my eye level. “Can you even imagine how much worse this is going to get for you? I haven’t even started.”

It’s bullshit. It has to be bullshit. But it might not be bullshit. i can’t do this – only a quarter of the way through, this is insane, i can’t sit here wet, cold, naked, scared like this for another two hours fifteen. i just started to dry and They’re about to drench me again and i’m sobbing, full on ugly tears, face crumpled, shattering in a way i have only let myself do in the dark so far. Because i know They can see it, i know They sit downstairs comfy on the couch watching me on screens but i didn’t want to cry like this with Them right here, i can’t show myself me showing Them weakness. i need my denial and my darkness and the white and red light blinks relentlessly and if i don’t stop this now i will lose. i slow my breathing, tuning out Their laughter. i meet Their gaze.

“i can do this all day.”

A brief flicker of – amusement? Pride? They stand up.

“So brave,” They mock.

Killing me slow, out the window, I’m always waiting for you to be waiting below

i know what Their return will bring. i know, as They approach across the room. Red, white, red, white. Their features morph in the shifting lights, They’re ringed in a rainbow haze as my eyes struggle to process the constant change. The cheesecloth in Their hands drips.

i try to remember that waterboarding is something i do for fun. i giggle, i get turned on, it’s intense and scary but it’s hot and intimate too. But i already know, tonight is different. No gentleness, no mercy.

They force my head back, a fist in my hair, soaked cloth over my face and i know my panicked gasps are making things worse for me but i can barely pull a full breath in and then They’re pouring. i’m spluttering, thrashing, lurching forward as They release me.

It comes again. And again. At one point i break free of Their grip and rock forward, whimpering as i lock my muscles tight and refuse to budge. They can’t waterboard me face down. Mx sighs.

“I thought you said you could do this all day? Pathetic.”

i straighten up. i look Them in the eye. i take a deep breath in, hold, and tilt my head back. my face is covered, the water hammers down, and i slowly let my breath leak from the corners of my mouth for as long as i can. Eventually i must draw in, the water burns my nose and trickles down my throat and the fear takes me again, i thrash and i shake but i remember the defiance, the refusal to be weak, the holding of breath even as every instinct screamed at me to gasp, and i do not break. Left soaked and shivering again, i remember that.

Cause when I asked you on the train why you hurt me…

What doesn’t kill me makes me want you more…

We were bad but we’re gonna be good…

And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar…

But at least I’m trying

And if I bleed…

At least I’m trying

…you’ll be the last to know

At least… at least… at least

It’s completely dark when They beat my thighs with a spiked paddle. i feel the burn of it breaking skin, the wetness of blood, but unable to see the damage the horror builds to mind bending levels. i’m losing time, losing words, stumbling when i’m left alone – is it when you asked me on the train? what doesn’t kill you makes you want me more? – and now i’m bleeding. The lights come on, white, blinding, and Their hand clamps over my mouth as They cane my breasts harder than i’ve ever taken it. i don’t take it willingly, struggling in the chair and trying to bend my body forward to protect myself. They are unyielding. i beg – “no, please, stop” spill out of me but not the words that would stop it.

“What did you do?”

The cane comes down.

“Where did you do it?”

Again.

“When did you do it?”

Screams, struggles, and deep breaths. No words. No confession.

Dark, light, They come again. i think i’ve worked it out now – the time, the place i am in the fixed chronology of this. Two hours. i’m sure it’s been two hours. If i can just make it one more.

They burn my thigh with a cautery pen, burning hair and crispy bacon smells mingle with the poppers and piss in the air. They cane my chest again, i piss myself, helpless and ashamed. They drench me in it again, and now when the cautery pen comes to my thigh it sizzles on wet flesh.

To the dark. The lights. The sounds. The slurred mumble of lyrics blurring into nonsense. The siren, the voices, the moans and slapping of flesh. A thumping beat that shakes the air around me.

A rubber paddle across my burned thigh. Slaps, fists, beaten until i go limp. Go again – the cane, the paddle. Questions – what, when, where – building to yelling in my face while i grit my teeth and hold out. There’s no need to hide anymore, if i’m to hold out (and i will hold out) another hour like this i need to be anchored here too, in Their presence.

London 2020

So quiet They struggle to identify it, mumbling, eyes unfocused.

Boy and a girl broke up, yeah it’s two a penny

Stapler against my thigh. Lock eyes. Fuck You i say inside my head but not out loud. They won’t get another word from me not penned by Maisie or Taylor.

And I’ve been trying to make a big step forward, saw you it was awkward

i make it through the song under my breath, but at the next round of staples my voice rises, grows, and now W/we’re both yelling.

“What did you do?”

“i’m drunk in the back of the car, and i cried like a baby coming home from the bar…”

“Where did you do it?”

“Said i’m fine but it wasn’t true, i don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep You…”

“When did you do it?”

“And i snuck in through the… garden… gaaa-ate”

“Tell Me.”

“Every night that summer just to seal my fate.”

The cane slashes my thighs, right up against the edges of the staples, the crusted burns, and i scream…

“…for whatever it’s worth, i love You, ain’t that the worst thing You ever heard?”

They look down, grinning like the devil.

“Then you leave me no choice.”

They walk out of the room, and i wonder in the darkness what else could possibly be still to come.

i’m not wondering long. A brief pause, They burst back in, a frantic beating in the dark, shouting what, where, when? and i won’t answer, i won’t, but i know it won’t be long now til i do but not now. Not this second. Not the next. Everyone breaks, given enough time, but i lost track of time a long time ago and it’s not fucking real anymore.

Their phone is making a noise. An alarm noise. The light comes on.

“you won.”

Their voice is soft, but it’s been soft before.

“It’s been three hours.”

“Don’t believe You.” i glance sideways at the phone. Mx picks it up, silences the alarm, and holds it up. Nine fifty-nine flips to ten in front of me. i start to laugh. i’m cackling hysterically as Mx turns off the projectors, and moves the scattered implements out of the way, but as They step towards me i stop laughing. i flinch.

“You changed the time zone on Your phone.”

Two hours. i know it’s only been two hours. They lied, They are allowed to do that, W/we agreed.

“I didn’t, I promise.”

i’m tense as They unlock my collar and cuffs, starting to believe slowly as i stagger to the door. But it’s maybe not until i leave the room, maybe even when i’m in the shower rinsing blood and piss off my skin and warming my aching bones that it hits me. i’ve won. i survived a three hour interrogation, and Mx did not go easy on me. Euphoria and exhaustion mingle as W/we eat kebabs in bed and i review Their notes to align my scrambled memories with recorded reality.

“i’ll show You now.”

i pull up the video on my phone. It’s Wednesday at one fifty-five PM. In the kitchen i break rule 3.1 – the pig will send a photo of all food it eats to its Owner. Locked eyes with the camera, i squirt half a tube of mushroom pate into my mouth, smile, then walk away. Defiance started three days ago – and tonight, i won.