Undead Boyfriend: Nemo 4 (complete)

Upon opening the door you’re greeted by the scent of plaster, paint, fresh-cut wood and a general sense of unfamiliar newness. The residential apartment was made by connecting several former patient rooms on the fourth floor, and inside you find it bright and gleaming, almost completely untouched. Nemo and Asha hired a crew to move all-new furniture and appliances in. You step inside, holding your breath as you look around. You feel out of place here, like a doll accidentally placed in the home-and-garden section of a store.

After your excursion to the forest and a good cleansing shower, Asha has joined some other rabbit women in the courtyard at the center of the sprawling red-brick building, where they’re preparing it to become more than just something pretty to look at. It’s being replanted as a working garden, to provide fresh and much-needed produce for the clinic. Nemo is still among the shadows on the patient floor, but he’s promised to spend some time with you this afternoon.

You wander through the living room, passing by the fireplace. It must have been part of the original room, but it’s been modernized and given a coat of black tiles. You see your hazy reflection in the slick stone, looking almost ghostly. That’s sort of how you feel - out of time, out of place. You quickly hurry through, stepping towards a pale wood door. Beyond it is your room.

You’ve had your own room before, but not one that was wholly yours. You picked out furnishings for your new bedroom, and you requested this space because of one special feature: a bay window. A number of rooms in the building have them, and it was a silly thing in storybooks you admired. Wendy would sit in one to wait for Peter. It seemed so grand and poetic to you.

The bay window is lovely. Like most of the hospital’s windows, it rises tall and stately beneath the high ceiling to admit lots of light, and has a white frame and a seat with shelves under it. You look from the full-size bed to the closet, and upon opening the mirrored door, you gaze into a sizeable storage space. There are clothes already hanging on the rod inside that you don’t recognize. Upon inspection, you see each one has a handwritten note attached.

“A professional blazer is always in style. I thought this one suited your eyes. Love, Asha.” She’s supplied you with a new wardrobe - dress clothes for work, casual ones for wearing around the apartment and outside, even a new robe and pajamas. You’ll treasure the notes.

A side door opens into the bathroom, which is large and stone-tiled. It has a spacious glass-walled shower with a stone bench and a matte black metal frame, a deep separate bathtub, two sinks on a long vanity, and, well, a toilet. Your footsteps echo in this room, and you grow a tad excited to hear Asha sing when she bathes. She always does.

The bathroom has two more doors that open on the hall and the master bedroom. Stepping inside the master bedroom, your heart speeds up a little. Asha and Nemo will be mainly staying here, although they do much more than just sleep. Your face grows warm as you approach the king-sized bed, smoothing your hand over the grey duvet. The things Asha and Nemo will do in this bed, in this room… you can’t take your mind off them.

You clear your throat and collect yourself, a tad embarrassed at your own train of thought. You’re happy Nemo and Asha are able to join together like that. You’re happy they choose to include you in their love at all, even if you don’t participate in certain aspects. You’re lucky.

You wander down the hallway back to the living room, where you’ve set your laptop bag on the sectional sofa. Sitting on the carpet, you see how your laptop blends in with the modern aesthetic of the coffee table, and you feel almost like you’re at work. Asha has insisted on some natural elements, which will soon include pieces made by her sister and mother. The shelves in the living room are pale wood, as is the coffee table, which has a black granite top to match the fireplace. Asha said she would also bring in plants to freshen up the place. Nemo is much more minimal, wanting everything simple and greyscale. The pops of green the plants will bring in would almost seem fluorescent against Nemo’s chosen color palette. 

You take a deep breath to center yourself. Usually that does the trick, but today it feels difficult to sweep the clutter in your mind away. Your head feels heavy, your shoulders tense, and your fingers don’t want to settle on the keyboard. You breathe deeply again and set to work. There’s stuff you need to finish on the database that can’t wait. 

You stare beyond the scaffolding outside the window. The sky's still blue, but in the distance it fades to grey, getting darker the further on it goes, before the horizon is nothing but trees. You lose your breath for a split second when something dark skitters across your mind. 

The door opens and you turn, dismissing the thought as Nemo walks in. He sighs heavily and turns to look at you. “Oh good, you’re here.” There’s a hint of a smile in his eyes. “Are you working?”

You nod. “I have to get this done, but I shouldn’t be too much longer.”

“I won’t bother you, then. I’m going to take a shower and if you’d like, when I’m done, we can read together.” He brushes his white hair aside, looking down at you with those strange, deep green eyes. “Maybe even rest before Asha comes with dinner.”

You smile shyly, imagining being curled up in Nemo’s arms in that king-sized bed while sharing a book. “Sure thing, boss. Hopefully I’ll be finished by the time your shower ends.”

A shadow materializes in front of Nemo. It billows across the room to press a spectral kiss against your forehead before dispersing. “Take your time.” Nemo turns down the hall.

Bolstered by this affection, you quickly return to work. Lately, Nemo has taken to long showers. It’s probably one of the few situations where he can linger and unwind. Since the pandemic began, he hasn’t stopped for a moment. You’re proud of him and all his hard work, but he needs his moments of silence too, amidst constantly directing the work of the living shadows.

The scaffolding scrapes against the side of the building as an unseen builder moves across it, and like a beetle the thought scurries through your mind. Asha is working so hard on the garden, not just to make it functional, but something that will look beautiful through each season. She’s carefully selected gardeners and caretakers from the local community to cultivate it. But what if they get sick? What the garden wilts, rots, and dies away in the confusion?

The scaffolding clatters, and you hear the voices of the workers as they start to wrap up for the day. What if the builders get sick? What if the renovations don’t get done in time, and you can’t accommodate all the patients coming in? It’s already growing tight in the clinic, and you’re having a difficult time procuring more beds. You might be hiring more staff, to supplement the work of the shadows. What if the nurses get sick? The virus is supposed to have come from China - what if the patients see your face, and inwardly blame you for their illness?

The dark thought grows, looming like the trees on the horizon, stretching through your mind until it swallows everything. What-ifs and worries begin to cloud your reason. Panic grips your chest, tighter and tighter, until it seems like the fear is going to make it collapse in on itself.  You rock back and forth, pulling your knees up to your chest. Your hands shake, and you grip harder to keep them from doing so. Then you force them back onto the keys of your laptop. You have to get this done.

There’s so much at stake here. There are so many lives on the line, and even more if this project can’t be finished. Nemo is counting on this. Asha is counting on this. What will happen if it has to stop? What if it never comes to be? What will happen if you get sick?

You sign off the database and shut down your laptop. Nothing is left but your ghostly reflection in the blank computer screen, dark eyes wide and hollow with fear.

With that, the flooding torrent of thoughts becomes tears. Right as you’re beginning to sob, you feel as though you’re being watched. Looking up, you see Nemo standing in the hallway, in a fresh change of clothes and mask, his wet hair clinging to the nape of his neck and the scent of soap and freshly turned earth hanging around him. He’s just gotten out of the shower, and he’s found you in such a state.

“Lydia? What’s the matter?” He moves further into the room.

You look away, focusing on your reflection in the laptop screen. “I don’t know,” you whimper. Your throat feels so tight, your chest burns, and you can’t will the tears to stop. Taking a throw pillow from the sofa, you place it on your knees and bury your face in it. You can’t take any more questions. You fear Nemo has more, but instead he is silent. 

After what feels like hours of sobbing, you lift your head from the pillow and see Nemo sitting nearby on the sofa. You pick yourself up and sit next to him, and he inches closer and holds his hand out to you. You grasp his wrist, and he takes yours. His fingers are cool against your arm, and his pulse is noticeably slower than yours, just a few beats per minute. You sit in silence again as he anchors you back into the world. The dark thought has shrunk significantly, but it still skitters back and forth inside.

“You know what you are,” Nemo’s voice is deep and warm. “I see the trauma in you and want to scrub it away, but I know it would only hurt you more. I won’t ask for specifics, or for you to explain it to me, because I know that would hurt as well.” His greyish-brown hand squeezes tighter around your arm. He looks into your eyes, and the swirling green vortex in his grows tighter and more concentrated. “But I do want to help you.”

You place your other hand on his arm as well, keeping hold of him to reassure yourself that he’s there. The rest of the world around you - this new apartment, the bay window, the scaffolding, the garden in the courtyard - none of it feels permanent to you. You close your eyes tight, unable to look at anything.

“You’re in the perfect place. You can find treatment here.” He reaches up, brushing his fingers under your eyes and wiping away the tears that remain. “Your mind and your body are connected, working together. One can affect the other in both terrible and wonderful ways. You’re still recovering from the effects of starvation, but right now, the cracks are biggest here.” He taps a finger to the center of your forehead. “They’re moving back down into your body.”

“I can feel it.” Your voice quivers.

“We’ll be getting a lab technician soon.” His fingers brush through your bangs, and you open your eyes again. The room grows darker, a comforting darkness, and his shadows drift along the walls. “Once we have them, we’re opening up a whole new world of treatments. We’ll have better access to tests, to medications, and better care for our patients as well as you.”

You sniffle and nod silently.

“My love,” he says. “Even in this world of constant emergency, we’ll be able to explore a wealth of options for treating PTSD. Ketamine, psilocybin, even...” His voice trails off.

“What is it?” you ask.

There’s a smile in his eyes again. “This might sound like a ridiculous notion to you, especially considering the context of our current conversation… but would you like to play a game with me?”

It’s certainly nothing you’d expect, least of all from him. He sounds more like Asha right now. “Well,” you start off unsurely, “what kind of game?”

The smile in his eyes grows. “Excuse the childish name, but let’s call it ‘The Wicked Sorcerer and his Mind-Controlled Captive.’”

“That’s a mouthful,” you chuckle shyly. 

“Would you be willing to play along?” Mischief creeps into his serious tone. 

You have to admit, you’re intrigued. What he’s suggesting sounds strange, but you trust him. This is Nemo you’re with, and he would never do anything to harm you. He might know you better than you know yourself. You nod, swallowing nervously. “Yes,” you say, louder than you intended.

Nemo rises and lets go of your wrist, but when he settles again in the armchair across from you, you can feel a tether between you. “Before we begin, understand that I will not force you to do anything you are uncomfortable with. Should you choose to end it, or if I sense any distress, the game will end. We can stop playing anytime you need to.”

You nod and draw up your feet to sit cross-legged. “I understand.”

“Good.” He sits up straighter in the chair. “Now, I want you to breathe. Take one in through the nose, then out through the lips. In and out. In and out. Slowly, now.”

You do as he asks, taking the breaths one at a time, slow and rhythmic.

“Focus on those breaths.” His gravelly voice is cool and soothing. “Feel them inside you, flowing through you. Each breath is like a pulse in a waterfall. It falls, then flows into the river once again. The water has known tumultuous rapids, it has been beat against rocks, scraped against sand, but it always flows.”

You continue to breathe, and the breaths become steady and easy. You focus like he asks, taking them one at a time. You exhale, you inhale.

“There, now. That feels good, doesn’t it? The heat of the out-breath, the coolness of the in-breath, bringing fresh air to fill your lungs and quicken your blood.” Each syllable he speaks is part of the rhythm, which is starting to become more and more pleasant. “It’s such a simple, easy action. To breathe. To listen to my voice. Doesn’t it feel good to listen?”

You nod slowly. Your mind is slipping away. Yes, of course it feels good. You’re wrapped up in the pleasure of his voice, breathing with the rise and fall of the sound. A sweetly aching pulse is spreading from the middle of your chest throughout your body, slowly building.

“My voice, my words, are as present as the air you breathe,” Nemo continues. “Your body is becoming heavier, sinking into rest, so comfortable and at ease. Try lifting your hand.”

You do as he says, and lift your right arm. It feels like a soft, dense weight is wrapped around it, pulling it down, and you willingly let it drop to the cushion again.

“See? You can feel that heaviness, holding you, steadying you. You could force this feeling away and stand, but that would mean an end to the game. You would have to stop listening, and to not listen would mean an end to this bliss. You want this feeling to continue - this comfort, this pleasure growing deep inside. There’s barely a thought in your head now. They’re all unraveling, falling away until the tapestry of your mind is undone. There is nothing wrong with being mindless. It’s just another way of being, and one that can transcend all fear. You can let go of yourself, and let the threads of your will be exposed and controlled by other hands. My hands. In your state of mindlessness, they can move you in any way I desire.”

You don’t fear Nemo taking control. As he exhales deeply, so do you. Undead though he is, he is so very solid and alive, and Nemo’s breath is yours.

“Now - kneel.” His tone is ominously silky, caressing your skin and running down your body.

You rise from the sofa and drop to your knees before him, so quickly and easily that you can barely understand yourself. All you can do now is breathe and listen, and that's all you want. Your heart hammers excitedly, even as your mind remains dazed, foggy, and blissful.

“Come closer, now,” Nemo says, beckoning with one hand. “Come.”

You crawl across the floor towards him, kneeling at his feet and gazing up at him. His eyes narrow on you as he tilts his head arrogantly, making the loose lock of hair framing the left side of his face sway towards his shoulder. His hand slips under your chin, holding you firmly yet tenderly. He could crush you, or he could caress you. You would welcome it either way.

“You belong to me,” he says imperiously. “Now and forever, you are mine to hold. I am victorious today. You could have run away so easily, and yet you chose to give yourself to me. I am your master now, and you will address me as such. Understand?”

You draw a deep pleasure from these words. Your excitement is honest and pure, and the feeling of being in his control isn’t nearly as frightening as you would have imagined. You could melt for him if he so commanded it.

“Do you understand?” he repeats.

“Yes, master.” Your voice trembles with weakness.

His grip tightens. “Say it again. Louder this time.”

“Yes, master,” you pant out.

Nemo smiles beneath his mask. “What did I say? Again.”

Your heart leaps at the booming of his voice. “Yes, master!” you cry out fervently. 

Nemo releases your chin and sits back again. “That’s excellent. I’m pleased. But now I want to see the devotion that permeates your voice. Give your master a token of your fealty.”

Falling to your hands, you bend low before him. There’s nothing else you can think to do. To be fair, you can’t even think. You dip down, brushing your lips against his bare foot. You press them against his ankle, his pant leg.

Nemo’s hands tense on the arms of the chair. He makes a strained noise, almost like he’s holding back a groan, and you understand how hard he’s working to hide his own enjoyment. His eyes glow brightly as you move to his other foot, kissing up his leg until you reach his knee. His fingers comb through your hair, stroking your scalp, kneading the back of your neck. You lean into his touch, wanting so much more of it, wanting it harder.

“With this devotion, I could reshape you,” he purrs. “I could take you and cut into you with my scalpel, peel away the flesh, expose the bone. Spread your chest with forceps and cradle your beating heart in my bare hands. I could pierce your veins with needles and inject you with liquid power, fill you to the brim, each vein fit to burst. And, yes...” His voice is a low growl. “Through it all, you would feel the most sublime, perfect ecstasy. You would become something extraordinary, all for me. Our joy would be one single perfect thing.”

The softest moan slips from your throat as you rain kisses onto the knuckles of his proffered hand. There is no more want. There is no more doubt. The music of his words, his sweet, perverse promises, have turned them into electric euphoria.

He cups your cheek tenderly, and his expression softens. “My love.” The haughty tone fades away, and your lashes flutter as the gentleness breaks through the haze. “It’s time to wake up. Lift the veil and open your eyes to me. When I count from ten to one and you awaken, my love, you will be freed from these compulsions. All except for one - I want you to remember the pleasure and trust you feel now. Those feelings haven’t died inside you, or else I would not have been able to bring you to this state. Hold onto them. Like muscles, they can be exercised and made stronger.” His fingers are withdrawn. “Now. Ten, nine...”

You take a breath as cold as ice, and as your eyelids lift fully you gaze up at him. Your mind knits back together as he counts down, until it’s whole again.

“Nemo?” Your voice quivers.

“I’m here, Lydia.” Nemo helps you off the floor and into his lap. You rest against him, burying your face against his chest. You feel lighter, refreshed. It’s easier to hold him, to be held.

After a long while, you raise your head. “Did you hypnotize me?” 

“I believe that’s what I just did.” He smooths his fingers under your eyes. In his own eyes you see his smile, his gentle desire. “It’s like the anesthesia I use on patients, but on a different level. Somewhat milder, and focused on the mind rather than the whole body. Concentrated on guiding rather than commanding.”

“Have you done this before?”

Nemo inhales. “No.” His once assured and powerful voice is now sheepish. “I must confess, I wasn’t sure this would work. I had to do a lot of research, and plan out my words extremely carefully. I wasn’t even sure you would be receptive, let alone as affected as you were. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to help you.”

“I can’t explain it,” you murmur. You clasp your hands over your chest. “Once you took control, I felt so happy. I was so relieved.” You sink deeper into him. “Thank you! That was wonderful.”

Nemo pulls you into a tight embrace. “I’m relieved as well. Now that we know this works, we can continue it as a treatment for you. We can train your neural pathways to be less sensitive to the pain, and more susceptible to the joy. If you’re up to it, we can start hypnosis therapy soon.” He clears his throat nervously. “Hopefully in a less fetishistic setting.”

You rise up to kiss his temple. “I liked it,” you say. “But I would very much enjoy the hypnotherapy as well. Thank you so much.”

“I want to help you,” he murmurs. “I will work my fingers to the bone to assure you and Asha are happy and healthy. You’re my comfort, and the least I should do is comfort you in return.” He presses his face into the top of your head, breathing in the soft scent of your hair.

You sit curled in his lap, enjoying the silence and warmth of the room. Soon Nemo stands, leading you to the master bedroom. You fetch a book you’ve been absorbed in and start to read aloud to him as a token of thanks, remembering how his voice took hold of you before. When you finish, you lie beside him on the bed and doze off, unencumbered by worry. It’s the first time you’ve done this so easily, but it won’t be the last.