A Womans Place Ch 02 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter, much like the first, has undergone a massive edit and revamp. More chapters are also on the way. In the meantime, enjoy the read!

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CHAPTER 2 - A WOMAN'S WORDS

Language is control.

Not just over the world around you, but maybe more importantly, over yourself. What's left of you, when your words are taken away?

That's an uncomfortable question to contemplate, while three of the closest friends I've ever had are staring me down in Tessa's room, and I can't speak the words that would maybe save me.

Words are how we make our presence known to the world, and to each other. It's how we express our preferences, affirm our values, exchange ideas. Words are what makes us who we are. Without them, all that's left is... an animal.

An animal is exactly what Brad wants me to become, and if he pursues that goal single-mindedly, I know he will succeed. His hooks are sunk deep into my mind, and I didn't even know hypnosis was a thing until recently -- so the idea of finding a counter seems outlandishly improbable to me.

There's no two ways about it. I'm at his mercy.

But even when your fate is entirely in the palm of your master's hand, there's still something you can do, even if it's undignified and desperate: you can plead. You can grovel. You can beg.

I've done all that, and more. I've sworn to Brad that I'm going to do everything he says, be on my best behaviour, even though he doesn't really need my cooperation for that -- he can just make me do all those things. I've begged him to please allow me the small mercy of, at least, retaining something of my old life.

My studies at Mount Hurst, and my friends.

He surprised me. He agreed very readily to both pleas, only reminding me that the very moment my attempt is over, I'll have to move in with him and begin my new life at his feet.

Maybe now that he's actually won, now that his boot is resting firmly on my neck, he doesn't see the need to further drive my face deeper into the mud?

Well, he did remind me to keep practicing my kneeling, staying down on the hard floor for longer and longer stretches of time. But compared to what he said to me while I worshipped his cock, that reminder feels almost pedestrian.

Be that as it may, even with his agreement, rescuing these two facets of my old life will not be easy. The college feminist collective has suspended my membership for the time being, and Mount Hurst College itself is not amused with my performance. Professor Lorenz, my mentor and thesis supervisor, was right there at the debate, sitting in the front row. I can only imagine her disappointment, the sense of betrayal she must have felt.

There's whispers that I'm going to face consequences for spewing hatred on campus. Maybe even expulsion. I have so many apologies to e-mail over the next few hours...

But first, my friends. I'm sitting in their presence right now, squirming in the awkward silence, wringing my hands together from the stress. I feel like they're sitting in judgement. In a way, I suppose they are.

Becky, Tessa and Ralf. My chosen family. They were sitting in the front row... They all looked at me with such disbelief, such horror. How can I possibly explain this to them? How can I make them understand that those weren't my words, my beliefs? That I was a prisoner in my own mind, helpless to stop the flow of poison from my lips?

I want to tell them the truth. I want to scream it from the rooftops - that I was hypnotized, that Brad has enslaved me, that he's taking me by force, a masculine force that my feminine weakness is unable to oppose.

But I can't.

That's the simple, brutal truth. Brad has seen to that. So what am I to do? What lie can I possibly spin that will satisfy them?

"So, we've agreed to meet you," Tessa says, at last. "Why so quiet? Go on, we're listening."

The sheer distance in her voice makes me wince. Tessa's a feminist, of course, though her politics are closer to the centre-left than my own, or Becky's. I love her for her digital art, her passion for helping others, and her utter honesty -- she always speaks her mind.

And yet she sounds like a stranger right now. In this moment, she probably isn't sure whether she even wants to be friends anymore.

I look at each of them in turn. Tessa sits upright, her brow furrowed in a mix of concern and disapproval. Her arms are crossed defensively over her chest, and her lips are pressed into a thin line. She always gives people the benefit of the doubt, so I know she's trying to reconcile the Claudia she knows with the person she witnessed on that stage... and coming up short.

Who wouldn't?

Becky's posture is rigid, her fists clenched at her sides. Her brow is furrowed in a deep scowl, and her green eyes blaze with a barely contained fury. Her lips are pressed into a thin, disapproving line. She wouldn't be giving me the time of day at all, except that I suspect Tessa basically begged her to be here.

Ralf sits uncomfortably in his chair, his gaze shifting nervously between me and the other two women. He appears deeply uneasy, his brow furrowed and his hands fidgeting with the collar of his shirt. His discomfort at the awkwardness is palpable.

So many negative emotions, caused by my behavior. Even if it's not my fault for being changed, I feel guilty all the same.

I want to hug them. Instead, I wring my fingers together, trying to gather my thoughts.

"I... I don't know where to begin," I say, forcing the words out, one by one. "What happened at the debate, it wasn't..."

"You said such awful things."

Tessa's words are a slap to the face.

Tears prick at my eyes as I hear the disappointment in Tessa's voice. My heart twists with guilt and shame. "I know," I whisper, my voice cracking. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to say that filth."

Becky scoffs, her eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You sure sounded like you meant every word. I was half expecting you to sneak a hand down your pants and start rubbing one out in front of everyone."

"Becky!" Tessa says, which only seems to inflame Becky further, before Ralf clears his throat.

Ralf clears his throat awkwardly. "Maybe we should let her explain," he suggests.

"Fine," Becky says, sitting back with her arms crossed, her scowl a clear non-verbal expression that it's not, in fact, fine.

Well, this is it. All or nothing.

"I can't even begin to explain how ashamed I am. It was... it was a bet. A stupid, immature bet with some of the guys from the debate club."

My bold-faced lie is met by dumbfounded silence.

It's a poor excuse, of course. I thought about claiming that I'd been drugged, but I wouldn't be able to back that up with any kind of drug test. Technically, I can't back up this lie either, but I think it'll be a cold day in hell before any one of them goes to have a conversation with the most misogynistic dudes on campus, and even if they do, they might not be inclined to believe their refusals.

It does make me look like a fucking idiot, unfortunately.

"They bet me that I couldn't convincingly argue the opposite position, that I couldn't sell a misogynistic viewpoint. I was arrogant, I thought I could do it and make a point about how ridiculous those beliefs are. I let my ego get the best of me, and I'll regret it for the rest of my life. But please, you have to know that those words, those beliefs, they don't reflect who I am. Not at all."

Tessa shakes her head in disbelief. "Claudia, that's insane. Why would you ever agree to something like that? You had to know how it would look, how much damage it could do."

"I know, I know," I say. "I thought I was being clever, subversive even. It was prideful of me."

"Wow. That's... wow," Tessa says. "I... I don't know what to say."

"So your defense is that you're not a misogynist, you're just dumb like a fucking brick?" Becky says, scoffing as she looks at Tessa and Ralf in turn. "Guys, what are we even doing here? Come on."

Ralf ignores her, pensively looking at me. "You spoke with such fervor... you're saying it was all theatrics? Why didn't you say so at the end of your speech? Or telegraph it to the audience somehow. I just..."

They all exchange a look. This is... not a good sign. I blush intensely in embarrassment. I knew it was an imperfect lie, but I wasn't expecting they'd pick it apart so quickly... what the hell am I going to say now? "I got... carried away."

"Carried away?" Becky spreads her hands in exasperation. "Claudia, dear, the things you said weren't just misogynistic. That was kinky shit. Your breath was labored as you were spewing them! No, I just - I've had enough of this nonsense."

Becky stands, storming out of the room with heavy steps, and silence falls after she slams the door shut. I can't bear to look Tessa and Ralf in the eye, and it's taking every ounce of strength I have to hold back the tears.

"I don't know how to make it right," I say at last, in a trembling voice. "But I want to try. I want to fix this, somehow. I want to make amends. I don't know what that looks like, or how to do it, but... I want to try. Will you... help me?"

"Claudia..." Tessa begins, biting her lower lip as she looks at me. "I... I know you've been a good friend. And I still believe in our friendship. But I just..." She looks down, as if ashamed of herself. "I think it's best if we all take a break from each other... till you figure things out on your own."

I flinch as if struck. "Please, don't do this," I say, my voice breaking. "I need you. I need my friends. Please, don't abandon me."

My emotional outburst is met with distant, unwavering silence. Of course. They don't see me as a friend right now, so it's no longer appropriate for me to have such an outburst in their presence. It feels like the weight of the entire world is resting upon my shoulders right now, and I can't stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks any longer.

"I understand," I say in a whisper. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll get out of your hair."

In a daze, I stand up, grab my stuff, and make my way to the door. My world has just shrunk, it's suddenly much smaller. I wonder if Brad only agreed to let me do this because he knew I would fail. Because he knew it would further isolate me from the world, patiently remove my avenues of escape, make it so he looms larger and larger as my guiding star.

As my master.

Maybe this outcome was preordained the moment he successfully defeated me, the moment I accepted his terms for me and let him fuck the feminism right out of me, the moment I accepted female disarmament and surrendered to his power. Either way, I feel hollowed out, emotionally drained, too tired to fight back.

As it turns out, very little is left of you, when your words are taken away.

***

I drag myself back to my dorm room, feeling like a shell of my former self. My eyes are red-rimmed from crying, my makeup smeared. My shoulders are slumped, and I move with a defeated, listless energy.

Inside, I collapse onto my bed, burying my face in my pillow. I should be lashing out at Brad - my master - but I feel too emotionally drained and numb to muster up any real anger. There's just this cavernous sense of loss, of grief for the relationships that have been ripped away from me.

I feel so small, so vulnerable. So utterly powerless in the face of Brad's overwhelming masculine force.

My conqueror. My controller. The man who's done such irreparable damage to my life, and who's made me feel more quintessentially female than I ever have before in my life, through nothing but the transformative power of language.

Evil words have evil power. There is an evocative charge to an identity based on contrast. Strong and weak, dominant and submissive, powerful and powerless, dominator and dominated... male and female.

I want to hate him. I just can't find the words to do that anymore.

But I can't afford to wallow for long. There are still consequences to face, apologies to make, before I pack my bags and step into the lion's den. With a shuddering breath, I pull myself upright, shoot Brad a text to let him know I'll be ready soon, and make my way to my desk.

I open my laptop and pull up my email, my fingers hovering over the keys as I try to gather my scattered thoughts. I'll start with Professor Lorenz, I decide. My mentor, my role model. The disappointment and betrayal in her eyes as I spouted those vile words... it haunts me.

"Dear Professor Lorenz," I type, my vision blurring with unshed tears. "I am writing to express my deepest, most heartfelt apologies for my abhorrent behavior at the debate. There is no excuse for the hateful, misogynistic rhetoric I espoused. It goes against everything I believe in, everything you've taught me..."

The words pour out of me, a jumbled mess of remorse and self-recrimination. Here, too, I stick to my lie about the bet, but it rings so hollow, so insufficient.

With a heavy heart, I hit send, and move on to the next. I hate how formulaic apologies like these sound. I always hated it when it was some famous male celeb making them because he'd been found out as a sexual harasser, and I hate them even more now that I'm typing them out myself.

Caused immeasurable harm, I write, and let me offer my sincere apologies for any offense or discomfort that my words may have caused. I throw in another classic, I've let you all down, and for good measure, I can only hope that in time, I can learn and regain your trust. All trite expressions we've all read a million times.

It all tastes like ashes.

I go through the motions. Hit send, and move on to the next.

In my email to the dean, I reiterate how sorrowful and regretful I am, how stupid I was for accepting the bet and trying to play devil's advocate, and write that I understand my actions have consequences, and I'm prepared to accept whatever disciplinary measures the college deems appropriate.

I hit send on the last email, feeling numb and resigned. The apologies are done, for whatever they're worth. Which is probably not much. The damage has been done.

It's time to start packing my bags.

Soon, I'll be moving out of this dorm room that's been my little sanctuary for the past two years. My safe space to study, to hang out with friends, to dream about changing the world. So many late night conversations solving all the world's problems, so much laughter and tears and siblinghood within these walls.

I look around the small room, my vision blurred with tears. Every inch holds a memory. I wonder what I should do with the feminist literature stacked on the shelves. Leave it here? Throw it away? I doubt Brad will let me keep it.

This room is a shrine to the woman I used to be. The woman whose identity, whose very sense of self, has been stolen from her. And that's precisely why I won't be allowed to take mementos with me. I've seen enough of Brad's rule to understand at least that much.

He said he would utterly end my independence, I think with a shudder that's partly of disquiet, and partly just erotic. The words he used... sculpting, dismantling...

You're not a person anymore. You never should have been.

I shake myself from the reverie, starting to pack my bags, leaving behind anything that would remind me too strongly of the Claudia Bennett I used to be.

Mount Hurst College has a number of affiliated student housings. My dorm is on campus. Tessa, Becky and Ralf got rooms in a different building, closer to the outskirts of town. Very few students can afford the crazy rents in the town itself.

Of course, Brad can, largely thanks to his parents. I wonder if they're as conservative as he is. It surely seems to fit the stereotype.

Living there will cut me off even further. When people learn that I've moved in with Brad, of all people, they'll probably wonder if I've fully gone insane, and the chances of a random encounter with my usual acquaintances will be lower there.

It's just one more way he exerts his power and control. Placing me in his territory, surrounding me with his things, his world. Isolating me further from everyone and everything I once held dear.

My hands tremble as I zip the suitcase closed. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a precipice, about to tumble into an unknown abyss. Anticipation and dread swirl in the pit of my stomach.

I look at my phone, the text from Brad glaring up at me. "I'll be there to pick you up in an hour. Be ready."

An hour. One last hour as Claudia Bennett, the passionate feminist, the promising scholar, the loyal friend. Before I'm erased, rewritten, reduced to nothing more than Brad's submissive fucktoy.

I glance at my suitcase. It's already made, and there's nothing for me to do, other than be me, one last time. Even if it's painful.

I spend the hour on my knees. After all, Brad made a good point: I'm going to need the practice.

***

Literally and metaphorically, I stand on the threshold.

Brad looks at me, appraising me like a predator sizing up his prey... or a victor, drinking in the glorious sight of his prize.

He's lounging on a leather sofa, the epitome of smug masculine superiority, cool and collected in his supreme command of the situation... of me. His eyes travel up and down my body, eyeing me like I'm a piece of meat, his piece of meat.

"Strip," he orders. "Leave your clothes and old identity on the floor. This is your new beginning."

I find myself blushing furiously, which is so, so stupid. He's turned my mind inside out like a glove. He's made me destroy myself and annihilate my reputation at the debate. He's made me suck his cock.

I should be doing anything but blushing. Call the police. Call Tessa and ask for help. Run far and far away. Scream in anger at in my own impotence against his hypnotic enthrallment.

Instead, I'm blushing like a fucking schoolgirl with her crush.

I comply, feeling small and vulnerable. My hands tremble as I reach for the buttons of my blouse. It falls to the floor, a puddle of fabric around my shoes, which are the next to go.

I unzip and unbutton my jeans, sliding them down my legs until they're pooling around my ankles. I step out of them, now standing in nothing but my plain, practical bra and panties.

"All of it," he says, his voice a low purr that sends shivers down my spine.

Biting my lip, I reach behind to unclasp my bra, which joins the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Finally, my panties. I hook my thumbs into the waistband, pushing them down inch by excruciating inch. I can feel the heat of his gaze on every inch of me.

I stand before him, completely bare, naked, vulnerable. Stripped of all pretensions and defenses. Disarmed, defeated, and ready to accept his terms.

Female, available, and owned.

"On your knees," he says. "Crawl to me."

Shame floods my cheeks, but I drop without protest, lowering and folding myself into a position of female supplication. On hands and knees I creep forward, a broken feminist turned puppy girl, until I kneel between his feet.

He reaches down to fist a hand in my hair, forcing me to look up at him. His eyes are dark with lust. He looks drunk with triumph. "What are you?"

The answer comes unbidden. "Yours."

"And what is your purpose?" His smile is a twisted thing, all hunger and cruelty.

"To accept your terms," I say in a shaky voice. "With no reservation..."

"Good girl." His grip tightens, sending sparks of pain across my head."So, tell me. How did it go with your friends?"

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. Of course he knows. He must have known all along that I would fail, that I was doomed from the start. That once he had me in his grasp, once he had wormed his way into my mind and taken control, there was no escape. No way to salvage the relationships that had once meant everything to me.