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Playgirl	By : Obsolescence Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Marilyn Manson Views: 2350 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Marilyn Manson. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Characters: Manson, Tim, & Sascha
Warnings/Spoilers: This story contains extreme abuse, rape, torture, sex, cursing, and Swedish.
Author Notes: Every review you give will go to the 'change the way Manson fan fiction is written' fund. Thank you for your support and donation.

Also, there is more than a few chapters to this, if you want the others just say so in your review. As my profile says I write for me and I have a hard time knowing if a reader wants more.

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I don’t know how or when I fell asleep, I just remember waking up. I was covered in sweat and moving my limbs was a trial all it’s own. But mustering all my strength I crawled to the edge of the bed and moved toward the floor. The carpet rough against my legs as I struggled to stretch out my limbs.

The damaged flesh on my back made it almost impossible to move without pain shooting up my spine. I forced myself not to cry. Just in case he was lurking somewhere around here. I held onto the side of the bed and pulled myself to my feet. I clutched onto the wall and walked toward the bathroom.

The door opened before I could turn the corner. I looked over at Manson leaning up against the door-jam. He smiled, no, smirked at me and slowly walked over. Even if my limbs could have responded quickly I don’t think I could have moved.

His eyes on mine, his contact was even in meaning he was going to go out. I shivered when his hand touched my shoulder, he turned me around and touched the burns. I, about, screamed.

“Tim stop whining they are only second degree burns. None of them along that spine of yours.” I bit my chapped lips, causing me to be put in more pain. “Come with me I have to get you all bandaged up.” His hand had moved up to my shoulder and slid along my arm. Then with bruising force he captured my wrist.

I turned slowly and hobbled after him. Trying to walk as fast as possible after his long strides. He forced me into a chair and grabbed the first aid kit, grabbing some gauze and putting it around my waist and covering all the marks from the burns.

Manson works in two modes. Either mode one: In which is the mode I was subjected to last night. The flaming asshole, who plans what he will do to torture you.

Then, mode two: In which, like aftercare, he would help you but; Where he is still a sick fucker but does his best to make it comfortable for you, before turning on you.

So, in mode two I wanted to know what my torture was for the day. He finished bandaging me up quickly and flicked his wrist upwards motioning me to stand.

I did and followed him as he walked toward the basement. I wondered what the fuck he had in store. If we were going to the studio and he was going to have me work fine, but that seemed like a dull torture compared to last night. He got out some keys and unlocked a door, that I had never been through, he turned quickly scaring me.

“I’m going out. While I’m gone I don’t want you to aggravate those burns.” I nodded and he gripped my shoulder and quickly pulled me in. I didn’t get, much of, a look around the room because I was quickly shoved into a box, that I could sit in and not much more. Maybe kneel. After a clank, the top of it closed quickly.

I blinked around the confined space. I reached my hand up to the ceiling and felt around. I could almost stretch my legs out if I did it one at a time. But the box was pitch and small. I could hear his voice it was far off.

“Brace yourself.” I was confused. But them as it started to move I understood. It was rotated on its side and my left side had become the top. And I was curled up on the floor. With a metal grate creating a pattern of small dots on my side.

Metal on metal as things were screwed into place. Then without warning water turned on making me jump and try to press against the edge. It as hot. Very hot water. It cooled down and turned into a moderately decent temperature. I felt the grate with my toes and remembered where it was because I knew it wouldn’t take long with the stream of the shower and the size of the box to fill up and I would drown.

“Have a good day Tim.” I hit the side of the box only to hear him laugh

The water streamed down and hit the floor. I sighed and leaned my head against the cold metal. I wondered how long I would be in here, Firstly my thought went to a whole day without a cigarette but if he forgot about me in here, I could easily fall asleep and drown, or I might not be dry and my skin could rupture. And I could get gangrene or some sort of infection.

Time seems slower in a dark box with nothing but the sound of water hitting a metal basin. I had to think about something. So I tried to count the seconds but the water got distracting, it was getting hotter. I tried to curl up in the corner and not be touched it. The water was turning to scalding. And my feet seemed unable to hide from it.

The heat dispersing through the metal Seeping through the gauze and irritating my burns I pulled my back off the wall letting my chest hit the hot water. Flinching and near tears as every inch of skin touching the metal felt like it was cooking, and the water was little to help. Falling in fat droplets I’m sure creating a pattern of raised blotches of red.

I don’t know how long I twitched and fidgeted in the hot box. The box became hotter as with water continued to stream making me sweat and pant hoping for some water. But the thought of sticking my mouth under the scalding water scared me. But if it didn’t cool off soon I’d have to or I’d pass out from dehydration.

As if it were a prayer the water did cool. And as soon as it did my (most likely) blistered hands cupped the water and I drank deep, drinking the water as if it were my last, because this small metal box could be my tomb.

The water was at a (if not a little hotter) regular temperature and I thought slowly about this whole situation, What the hell was this? I felt the walls and noted how it was all metal and I tried to reach up and grab the nozzle of the shower but it cut into my hands. I wish I could have seen it, I wondered if it was rusty. I crawled around the box hitting the wall I was thrown in from a lock rattling as I beat on the box. It didn’t stop me I still hit it, cursing it in Swedish. Then the water started to cool down. It felt good against my hot and burned skin. But It worried me, if it just got to blistering then it was going to get to freezing.

I pushed my back against the wall and tried to think of a way to get the water to stop. I undid the gauze from around me and put my hands at risk trying to clog up the nozzle. My hands hitting the barbed wire, or whatever it was that stopped me from holding on. The gauze held for awhile giving me a break in the damp box, little drops of water falling but nothing extravagant. I took a breather, and thought about him.

I didn’t love him, I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wanted to come here to get away from all those stupid emotions. Love was surrendering yourself to pain, and as much as I enjoyed pain. Not this much never this much.

Sometimes Manson was amazing, and wonderful but those moments were rare and, now, few and far between, every action he did preceded another heinous crime against my body. I was tried of crying for him, tired of this and if I weren’t so afraid I’d lay down on the drain and drown right now. I was tired of trying.

It was at that thought that the stream of water broke through the gauze and spread it’s frost against the box. I grabbed the gauze quickly and wrapped my hands in it and held my body up. My arms shaking with the weight but luckily I was fit. My hand’s taking the brunt of the ice cold water, which I knew was dangerous and I slowly set my body on the metal. Hissing as the metal slid against my flesh. I undid the wrappings and put them on my feet.

Crouching and wrapping my arms around my knees I was shivering the box was growing colder and after the heat I thought the cold would be welcome, but it wasn’t. I liked the heat better. This reminded me too much of being left on the side of the street in middle-of-nowhere Sweden. I buried my head in my lap hoping to conserve warmth as much as possible.

Again the length of time was unknown. The box just grew colder and my feet went numb and so did my legs. I shivered and clung to myself for what seemed like an hour when the water went from cold to warm. I rushed to it, thawing my body. I knew the trick now, it was going to get hot again. I just thawed out and re-wrapped the gauze over my feet before regaining my stance and drinking some of the semi-warm water.

But some things aren’t as predictable and the water got cold and fast, colder than before and the spray grew wider. I was shivering uncontrollably now, clinging to myself for life. Clinging to myself so that I wasn’t lost in this black pit anymore.

My hands eventually fell off my legs. Then after a while my legs gave out and I collapsed on the floor. I slid into the corner, shivering without regard, and if I could see I’m sure my breath would have hung in the air. The water hit my skin, but I couldn’t feel it I had gone totally numb.

I couldn’t care if the box filled with water I couldn’t be bothered I couldn’t even control myself, my hands and feet useless as I laid there limply. Shaking, I tried futilely to curl up on the floor and huddle next to myself. I resigned myself to death in the dark little box.

My shivering slowed down and eventually stopped but my brain tried to be active. Even my thoughts froze and again with whatever strength I had in me, I cried. So many things I wanted to do. So many things, people I missed and wanted to see again but now, here I was in my coffin and I couldn’t even think of who they were or what things I wanted to do.

I tried to pull up any memory to comfort me but nothing came, my brain buzzed and the slowly stopped.

I was dead. Well maybe not. But that blinding light was usually a sure sign of death wasn’t it? A set of hands grabbed my legs and pulled me out onto something dry. I tried to see but the light was too bright. Rough fingers against my neck Then moved and pressed somewhere else, then somewhere else.

I felt my skin stretch against them.

I had a heartbeat. I would have cried again, but I couldn’t will my body to do anything. I was wrapped up in a blanket and rubbed slowly to dry me off. Then hoisted up and moved by something warm. I tried to move toward it but the thing that was moving me dropped me right by it and I fell in a heap of limbs next to what I assumed was a fire.

My eyes adjusted to the room, we were in some part of the house that I never saw and rarely thought about. He was piling blankets on me.

“I thought I left you in there for too long and I had killed you.” He didn’t seem too heartbroken at the thought, but as I thought about every action he has made.

He saved me from the brink of death, Manson was now my savior, and my god. And that’s the way he intended it to be.
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