He can move!

He could move.

Really move.

Damian hadn’t told him what to do after bringing her here. No command to freeze, no order to kneel, no instruction to watch quietly. For the first time since the objection, Ben’s body was his own.

Damian was still gloating, eyes fixed on Evie. She tried to avert her gaze, head turning slightly, tears falling faster but her **** smile held, lips trembling.

Ben gathered everything.

Every second of watching his parents twisted, his sister reduced to a grunting animal, Evie exposed and fingering herself beside him while he gagged on her panties. Every helpless nod, every tear, every moment he’d wanted to scream and couldn’t.

He lunged.

Damian barely had time to register the movement. Ben’s fist connected square with his jaw, full ****, all the frustration and rage behind it. The crack echoed loud in the church. Damian’s head snapped back. He stumbled, feet tangling and crashed backward into the heavy stone pillar behind him.

His skull hit with a dull, wet thud.

He yelled once, sharp, pained then slid down the wall, collapsing to the floor in a heap. Blood started pooling under his head almost immediately, dark against the gray stone.

Ben stood there breathing hard, fist throbbing, watching as Damian touched the back of his skull. His fingers came away red. His eyes fluttered, unfocused.

“You… asshole…” Damian rasped weakly.

Then he snapped his fingers weakly before finally losing consciousness.

The sound was small, almost lost in the quiet of the church, but it cut through everything.

Evie grabbed her head with both hands and screamed, a raw, broken sound that tore out of her throat. Her knees buckled. She dropped hard to the floor, body curling in on itself, eyes squeezed shut. Then she went still.

Ben dropped beside her instantly. He pulled her head into his lap, cradling it, shaking her shoulders gently at first, then harder.

“Evie? Evie, wake up. Please.”

Her eyelids fluttered.

When she finally opened her eyes, Ben saw the most disturbing scene he had witnessed all day, there was no recognition in her eyes.

Two months later:

Ben opened the hospital room door and immediately averted his eyes.

Evie was on top of Damian again, kneeling over his feet at the foot of the bed, bent at the waist, mouth wrapped around his limp cock. She worked him slowly, methodically, the way she did every morning like clockwork. The sheets were pulled down just enough to expose him, her undercut hair falling forward in short black spikes that framed her face. The trashy goth look was unbearable: heavy black eyeliner, dark lipstick smeared slightly from the effort, fishnet top under a cropped leather jacket she never took off in the room. Over her heart sat the sigil tattoo, same jagged lines and curves as the one on Damian’s palm which stood out stark against her pale skin.

Evie had forcefully gotten it tattooed on her as a sign of her devotion to Damian.

The door clicked shut behind him. Evie paused just long enough to glance over her shoulder. She gave Ben a small nod, polite and distant, mouth still full, cheeks hollowed. Then she went back to it.

Ben carried the paper bag with her breakfast, black coffee, plain croissant with no sugar, the way Damian used to like it he’d been told and the fresh medical supplies for the man who’d ruined his life. He set them down quietly and waited. This had become part of the routine. He stood by the window, arms crossed, staring at the parking lot below until he heard the soft, wet sounds change, Evie’s throat working harder, a muffled hum of satisfaction from her, then Damian’s **** body twitching once as she swallowed.

She pulled off with a soft pop, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and carefully tucked him back under the sheet. Then she climbed up the bed, settled beside his head, and started caressing his face, fingers tracing the sharp jaw, the slack mouth, the closed eyes that hadn’t opened in eight weeks. She leaned in close and whispered, voice soft and reverent.

“I love you so much. You’re everything to me. I’m right here. Always.”

Ben watched her for a moment, throat tight. Then he stepped closer.

When she’d woken up in the church that day, right after the snap, everything Damian had promised had come true. No memory of Ben. No memory of the wedding, the planning, the life they’d built. She’d sat up screaming at the sight of Damian’s bleeding, **** body, shoved Ben aside without a glance and straddled Damian’s chest. Pounded on it with both fists, yelling for him to wake up, begging people around her to call an ambulance. Ben had been the one to make the call, hands shaking so badly he almost dropped the phone, while she cradled Damian’s head in her lap, rocking him like a child.

The guests Damian hadn’t touched simply left. His father and Evie’s mother kept seeing each other, quietly, shamelessly, like the command had burned away any guilt. Lauren had been committed for observation; she still grunted and humped pillows in her sleep, scratched at doors, refused clothes half the time. The bridesmaids were in a locked ward too, endlessly rubbing themselves against furniture, walls, each other, chasing an orgasm that would never come because Damian had forbidden it. They couldn’t think of anything else.

He had never seen Maria, his mother or Evie’s Father again after that day.

The doctors said Damian would never wake up. Severe traumatic brain injury. Persistent vegetative state. An indefinite coma. Ben had felt a sick rush of delight at the news. Finally, the bastard paid something for all the pain he caused. But it didn’t change Evie.

She sold the house they’d lived in together. Quit her job. Sold her clothes, her books, her laptop, everything that tied her to the old life. She moved into a cheap studio near the hospital, got the undercut because “he always liked it short and edgy,” went full goth-trash because that was the version of herself she remembered belonging to him. The sigil tattoo was what she cherished the most. She said it was the only piece of him she could keep closest to her.

Ben stayed.

He told himself it was love. He told himself he couldn’t abandon her when she was like this, lost, devoted to a vegetable, alone except for the nurses and him. He told the hospital staff he was “a close family friend.” They let him visit. Let him bring supplies. Let him sit in the room while she ‘cared for him’ in secret.

Evie finished her whispers and looked up at him. Her eyes were flat, polite, but empty of anything warm.

“Thanks for bringing breakfast,” she said. Cordial. Distant.

He’d told her he was one of Damian’s closest friends, it was the only way she’d agreed to let him stay in her life.

Ben nodded. He stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder, gentle, careful, the way he used to when she was stressed about work or family.

Usually she shrugged it off. Usually she said something sharp: “Don’t touch what belongs to him.” Usually she pulled away like his skin burned.

Today she didn’t.

She let his hand stay. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. Just sat there, staring at Damian’s slack face, letting Ben’s palm rest on her leather-clad shoulder.

Ben’s heart gave a stupid, hopeful thud.

Things were getting better, weren’t they?

Note:

I hope you enjoyed this story. I do intend to write sequels to this one if there’s enough interest. Access to stories and chapters I haven't posted publicly yet can be attained via my Patreon. Part 3 of ‘The Reality Altering Gun’, a comic I made, is also available for members $5 and above.

Here's the link to The Reality Altering Gun - Part 1: https://e-hentai.org/g/3811253/8793b60683/

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