Zombies Are An Afterthought: Ch 6
Whump? Let's goooo! Misunderstandings between whumpee and caretaker? Let's fucking gooooo!
tl;dr: Annette thinks that Kel is her new owner. Kel thinks that Annette knows otherwise.
content warnings: references to recent dehumanization, torture, sexual abuse, and captivity; lady whumpee; caretaker is doing her best, really; injuries; let me know if you want anything else tagged :)
“Stand up,” Kel says – and the young woman kneeling in front of her does, but that backfires pretty quickly. Immediately, in fact: she wavers, her eyes roll back into her head, and she faints as soon as she’s done it.
Kel breathes a sigh of guilty relief for the girl’s unconsciousness as soon as she’s done checking her vitals (and for broken ribs. Fortunately, there are none. In fact, she’s a lot less injured than Kel had feared; this is mostly a good thing, although she briefly wonders if she should hit the gym more). Hopefully, when the girl wakes up, Kel will be more prepared.
She picks the girl up bridal-style and settles her back down onto the couch, propping up her upper half with pillows. The bed would be more comfortable, but after seeing the type of abuse this girl endured, Kel doesn’t dare open the door for any more misunderstandings. After checking her vitals once more, she sprints to her bedroom and pulls out the smallest clothes she can find. Kel is practically a giant compared to this poor thing.
After another check, Kel dials 911. Unfortunately, however, the 911 operator on the phone confirms what she had already known: no emergency services personnel were to respond to cases in which people weren’t actively dying, in danger of dying, being chased by the undead, or being held against their will, among some other things that Kel doesn’t feel like listening to. Since Annette technically isn’t being held against her will anymore, that was that.
She almost wishes she could rage at the 911 call operators and EMS, but it isn’t their fault; she knows that they would help in a heartbeat if not for the fact that a) most of their remaining resources have been mandatorily allocated to anti-apocalypse measures, and b) there are a lot of zombies to deal with and not as many emergency services personnel left, and hospitals are overflowing with long-term or severely disabled patients who must be given priority care.
She hangs up and leans against the wall, collecting her thoughts for a moment.
Maybe I should just drop her off at a hospital. They’d have no choice but to take her, right? It isn't that she wants to hand the girl's care over to someone else -- far from it -- but Kel doesn't know how the girl will ever feel safe around her after what just happened.
It was bound to happen eventually. Guess I'm just lucky it happened before she started trusting me.
Kel shakes her head at herself. "Pathetic," she mutters. "Come on, Kel. Can't you be a functional fucking human being for once?"
All of Annette’s memories are clear and present when she wakes up with a jolt.
The stranger. The punch – more like a bodily throw, really. The realization that this wasn’t a rescuer; it was a new owner…
But I don’t have to worry, she thought, steeling herself. Her body was still incredibly weak, but she would make sure it didn’t get any worse. She could protect herself by sacrificing just a bit of her mind.
She’s found herself on the couch again. The stranger has piled more logs into the fire and is now leaning against the wall, scrolling through a laptop perched precariously on her raised knee.
Annette sucks in a breath. She wants to stay asleep, but she also doesn’t want her new owner to know that she’s avoiding her. “…Miss?” She tries, but her throat is dry; all that comes out is a small whine.
The stranger turns and smiles tightly. “Hey, sweetheart. I’m right here.”
The firelight flickers over a particularly jagged scar on her cheek.
Annette hates this game. Avi used to play it all the time, asking her about her injuries and then deciding to treat her with coy, false comfort or even harsher punishment arbitrarily. “…I’m…I’m sorry for fainting.” No, no, that won’t do, that doesn’t answer her question at all. Annette takes inventory of her body. Her ribs are aching dully, though she knows from experience that they aren’t broken; the headache, lingering thirst, and other unpleasant remnants of her former owners remain. “I – I’m feeling fine now, Mistress?”
“Fuck.” Her owners’ eyes darken, and Annette flinches back before she can stop herself. “Sorry! Sorry. Didn’t mean that.”
But Annette I trying too damn hard not to fall apart like the useless pet she is to hear her. Fresh tears are already pouring down her cheek – maybe this owner will like that, too? She curls in tight around herself for a split second before correcting herself – don’t hide away, leave yourself open and pliant and ready – apologize already, you worthless toy! “I – I’m sorry, I know I should be stronger, please I promise I’ll be so good for –”
Annette freezes. Her owner, tall and terrifyingly strong, is staring down at her with a mixture of disgust, horror, and disappointment, and Annette wants nothing more than to go back to the house with her former owners, because at least she knew what to expect there. Even Kay’s unpredictability is better than this, she thinks, and it’s all coming down on her now, the self-preserving autopilot wearing off for her to truly realize how terrifying this was, to be with a new owner with new rules and new ways of hurting her and getting into her head and keeping her trapped, hidden away, when she’d thought for a brief moment that she’d had a chance –
Her owner orders her to sit back down, and Annette, desperately latching onto the order, practically falls in a heap to the floor. Another flicker of disappointment crosses her owner’s face, but it’s gone and she is speaking again before Annette can worry too much about it.
“Alright,” the woman says. She steps forward and kneels down to get a little closer to Annette’s eye level; the drop in height is a relief, but Annette’s heart is back to racing, not knowing what her owner plans to do with the sudden proximity. “You’re – look, don’t apologize. You didn’t do a thing wrong, okay? You –” she grimaces, as if giving Annette leniency is physically hurting her. “You aren’t in trouble.” Annette feels herself relax the tiniest bit.
“Good,” her owner says approvingly, and Annette glows. She shouldn’t even be receiving praise for simply understanding her owner’s words, but she’ll latch onto anything she can get. She isn’t sure if her owner wants a reply; as a tenuous middle ground, Annette just whines and duck her head in appreciation, hoping that will suffice as proper thanks.
“Not what I – ah, never mind. Listen, I gotta ask you something. Can you tell me your name?”
And suddenly Annette is plunged back into Kay’s bedroom, scrambling to find the right answer and to figure out why she is being asked for it. Why does her owner want to know her name? Is she planning to take it away, to forbid it? Kay and the others never tried to do that; they seemed to enjoy reminding Annette who she had once been. But maybe this owner is different. Or maybe she’s asking for her former owners’ nicknames for her? That’s a long list. Annette shivers, remembering that time that Cassie had recorded her being forced to call herself all of those things. Cassie had played the video back to her whenever she wanted to dish out an extra dole of humiliation.
Her new owner – the only one that matters – is waiting for an answer. Before she can question herself too much, pet slave slut cunt toy whispers, “Annette. Annette Painter.”
“Huh. Cool name,” her owner says. Annette allows herself to feel a flicker of relief. “Looks delicate, but it’s strong in practice. You’re a strong one, Annette. I…I’ll admit, I was worried I’d never learn your name.”
Annette blinks, not quite understanding, just happy that her owner is pleased.
“I’m Kel,” the latter says. “Annette...listen. I know you’re pretty scared right now, but I promise, you’re safe with me. You think I’m your new…kidnapper, or captor, or something, that right?”
Is this another test? Annette can’t help but let out a small, questioning whine of confusion before she remembers that she can speak here. “Is…is captor the word you would like for me to use with you, M – ah, Miss Kel?”
Kel bites back another curse. She has no idea how to handle this (she's just glad the girl called her Miss instead of Mistress; thankfully, she seems to understand that Kel isn't here to hold her against her will) but she can’t just leave the girl guessing.
“Annette, I need to apologize to you.” She holds eye contact with the girl and tries to force down the deep revulsion that comes with the nightmare’s memory. “I have…awful dreams, sometimes. Awful flashbacks. When I woke up, I saw you standing over me…but I didn’t realize that it was you. I was still half in the nightmare. If I had known it was you, I wouldn’t have even flinched. I’m so sorry, Annette. I promise, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She waits with baited breath as Annette processes this information.
“I see,” Annette says, and Kel’s heart soars – for a second. “I sincerely apologize for disturbing your sleep, Miss Kel. Please, I promise it will not happen a—”
“Whoa, whoa, none of that now,” Kel says quickly, which is a mistake, because Annette flinches back. “I mean – hey, easy there, you didn’t say anything wrong. I’m just trying to tell ya, it’s not your fault. Okay? It was my fault. I promise, it won’t happen again.”
Annette isn’t sure what to make of this, Kel can see, so she just nods, eyes wide.
Right. Well, Kel doesn’t think the girl believes the tiniest bit of what she is saying, but she frankly doesn’t know what else to say, and she’s got other things to address. “Okay. Great. Uh – I have some clothes for you,” she says, gesturing to the small pile she’d left on the floor. “They’ll be pretty big on you, sorry. But it’s better than nothing. I can have my friend Marie drop off some of hers, she’s about your size, and she’s a helluva lot more fashionable than me anyway, so –”
But Annette isn’t listening to her rambling. Annette is staring at the clothes like they’re the most wonderful thing she’s ever encountered.
She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. The shaky gesture towards herself and her wide eyes speak for her.
“Yeah. They’re for you,” Kel says quietly, and Annette seizes them with trembling hands as if they’ll disappear if she doesn’t. “Listen, how ‘bout you change – I’ll be in the kitchen, I won’t look – and then – well, it looks like you’re feeling up to it, so I should probably get you to a hospital.” The undead be damned. Kel can get through them if she has to. She just doesn’t want this girl to think she’s being held captive again.
With that, Kel turns to head back to the kitchen.
She doesn’t notice Annette’s look of alarm,
or the way she drops the clothes in horror,
or the way her hand flies to her neck, trying in vain to find the comfort of a collar that isn't there.
