20. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Athena
I t’s been days. Days of lying here in torn panties, just the elastic remains around my waist and one of my thighs. At least I’m not chained to the wall anymore, but I’m so weak I can barely hold myself up.
Mrs. Laurel has paid me intermittent visits with bland food and water. It’s nothing at all like the food Maribel made, and I was so looking forward to trying Vanessa’s mac n’ cheese. Grinder told me it tasted like Heaven in the mouth, which apparently was saying a lot because he’d had a lot of dicks and pussy in there to compare it against. His words.
In less than a week, Bear and his family of friends embraced me, made me feel important, made me feel like more than a slave. I was a real live person for all of a few days.
A small smile tips the corners of my mouth and I wince at the memory of the best night of my life. I could really see myself making actual real-life friends of my own. Could. I don’t anymore. I already saved myself once, I’m not sure how much I have left in me to do it again if it’s only going to cause more pain. My single sliver of hope comes not from the movies I was allowed, but the books that I managed to hide away over the years. Good old Hermione Granger. She never gave up, no matter how much the odds were against her.
I know the novels are based around Harry Potter, but Hermione is the real hero in those stories. Escaping made me feel like my own hero, but here I am again. I was too complacent. There was no action. Only hiding.
“Slave!” The single word is roared aloud and echoes down the stairs, tearing me from my own thoughts. A deep sigh escapes me as I prepare myself, because while I have no idea what exactly is coming my way, I know it won’t be a friendly interaction.
Heavy footsteps bang bang bang down the wooden steps… two people. I shudder, my body now trembling in anticipation of the fear I know is about to overtake me.
“I have guests coming tonight. You will behave.” Master’s looming frame towers over me, the smell of his cigar smoke wafting up my nostrils. I try my best to not be affected by it because a burn from a cigar is one of my least favorite punishments, but it’s not easy. The scent is a stark reminder of a life I left behind.
Mrs. Grouse steps forward—the mistress—waving what looks to be a few pieces of string and fabric in her hands with a manic look on her face. I fall back into my well-known role, the one I was trained for, and my face remains emotionless.
“I was sad when you ran from us. I missed dressing you up. You always look so good in my designs.” She grins, but it’s not the nice, happy kind. Her top lip is curled and it all mixes into more of a sneer.
I don’t speak, don’t respond at all, because when she’s here, I’m basically her living doll. And dolls don’t speak. They endure whatever abuse their owner puts them through without complaint.
Eyes that have haunted my nightmares pulse. It’s a sign that she’s excited as she widens and narrows them in quick succession right before she lashes out, the back of her hand connecting with my already bruised cheek. I hiss, unable to control the sound, and the master immediately cries out in annoyance. He moves like lightning and grips my hair in his fist, pain ricocheting through my skull as he pulls me up to stand.
“Shut your dirty fucking mouth, Slave. You’ve disappointed us more than enough. You can’t afford to do it again.” He takes a large pull of his cigar, then blows the smoke into my face, oh so slowly.
I hold my breath, willing myself not to react. He’s trying to provoke me because punishing me is fun to him. He wants me to break the rules, he wants the excuses he needs to do the things he does because making me feel like it’s my fault seems to get him off more. This strong sense of right and wrong is a huge part of his personality, and the only way I can ever get back at him is to behave impeccably—which is near-impossible considering the circumstances.
Before, I had my attic room. Life was awful, terrible, almost unbearable, but I had my room, a bed—albeit uncomfortable—and my few meager things. I miss my DVDs. I miss sheets.
I miss Bear.
I hope he’s okay.
A searing heat builds near my shoulder, the smell almost unbearable, and I have to grit my teeth, taking short, sharp breaths as the pain increases… a lone tear escapes my left eye, and even when the master steps back, his cigar no longer burning directly on my skin, the sting remains.
With a smug and satisfied look on his face, Master rests his chubby palm on Mrs. Grouse’s arm and presses a kiss against her cheek.
“Have fun playing, darling. Bring her up when she’s ready.”
She practically purrs under his attention before turning to me as he heads back up the stairs.
“You’re disgusting and need to bathe. I can’t have you around guests like this and I certainly won’t sully my clothes on you as you are. Follow me.” Swift as a cat, she spins, the sound of her heels clacking against the ground is my only warning.
I know the repercussions if I don’t follow.
On shaky legs, I move slowly up the stairs after her. She takes a left and immediately walks through another door. I stumble a few times, but eventually we make it to a small bathroom where there’s a tub filled to the rim with hot water. So hot, in fact, steam is wafting from the top.
“Get in.”
I don’t question her.
I take a deep, steadying breath and lift my first leg. Holding on to the side of the tub, I close my eyes as my foot hits the water. It’s hot, too hot, and I’m trying not to hiss but I don’t think I can get in.
“Hurry up. We don’t have all fucking day.”
I don’t have time to think or control my reaction because she shoves me forward, causing me to stumble then fall into the hot water—thankfully—not as scalding as I’d anticipated. It’s been worse.
The water splashes all over the clean white-tiled floor, and within seconds, Mrs. Grouse is there. With a rough scrubbing brush she begins to scour my body, spreading soap suds and shedding skin all at once. It stings and I want to cry out in pain when she scrubs over my fresh shoulder burn, but I hold it in, letting her think the rolling tears are from the bath water.
“Stand up.”
I know what’s coming. She likes to clean me everywhere when she does this. My stomach lurches like I’m going to be sick, but that would only make this so much worse, so I stand, slowly, with my legs shoulder-width apart and face the wall.
Taking her time, she leisurely slides on a pair of black latex gloves and lathers them up with soap before roughly pushing a finger into my ass hole. I close my eyes again to try and detach myself from the situation. It’s the only way I can ever get through these moments. Living through them in real time always seems so much worse than in my nightmares. At least those eventually come to an end.
With Bear around, the nightmares were almost non-existent, my mind consumed with more thoughts of him than my life as a whole. I was so close to spending the night with him, being held by him, and that kiss… I have never known anything so right. It was like we perfectly melded together. His large frame against my small one, like two puzzle pieces destined to be placed together.
I hope his brothers found him and I’m sure he’ll lead a wonderful life without me. I was a mere blip on his radar. A minor inconvenience. But regardless, I’m still going to cling to my memory of him, of my short week of freedom that I wish could be my forever.
“Get out.” She speaks with a snarl, pulling me back to the present.
My skin feels like it’s on fire and the pain between my legs throbs as I step out of the tub. With her gloves still on, she takes her time rubbing my raw skin dry with the towel before moving to dry my hair.
“Follow me.”
She grabs the string and fabric contraption she had earlier and exits the bathroom, expecting me to obey. My legs are shakier than before and my stomach is in knots, turning on itself. I still want to be sick, but again, I don’t want to suffer the consequences.
Inside a small room now, with a single bed pushed up against the far wall and a dressing table and mirror up against another, I stand and wait patiently for Mrs. Grouse to do whatever she needs to do.
“I have two guards outside and a gun in my waistband, so if you even think of attempting anything like last time, I won’t think twice about killing you. Fuck where you came from.”
What is she talking about? Other than guilt, which I highly doubt they’ll feel, consequences don’t affect these people. She’s being dramatic, as usual, and I refrain from rolling my eyes. I’m just a thing they own, something they bought as part of their messed up Firm thing.
I may be battered and beaten, but I refuse to ever let them break me. The longer I’m back here with them, the more I just know this isn’t it for my life. It can’t be. It would be too cruel a thing to have this life until the day I die, which is the only reason I think I’m still living. There will always be a tiny spark of hope for more and I think that’s the only thing getting me through this right now.
“Sit down and raise a leg.” I do as I’m told and she bends a little with a black stocking rolled up and ready to slide onto my leg. She doesn’t get to her knees, she never does, instead, she insists I lift my leg as high as possible to make it easier for her.
I could kick her in the face… it would be so satisfying, but my energy levels are below running on fumes so I wouldn’t get very far. The last time, I only made it because I had planned, I had waited, and I had prepared. The guard I killed had been a complication I didn’t account for and moved up my schedule a little, but when he tried to climb on top of me I just couldn’t take it anymore. It had to be that moment.
Mrs. Grouse dresses me in black stockings, a sheer black wrap that barely covers me down there with strings holding it up, and a thin strip of matching fabric across my breasts. Then she primps and prods at my hair and face with various pins and makeup, and when she’s finally done, she stands back to admire her work.
“Perfect. You look a bit skinnier than usual, though. Hmm. He won’t like that. We’ll have Mrs. Laurel bring you some extra food. Make sure you eat it.”
They’ve always looked after me to some extent. Getting to the point of death is something they’ve always seemed to avoid with me. Although sometimes I wished for it. Figuring out why they want to keep me alive is a whole other thing. It makes no sense. They could just buy a new slave, but I think it’s the mistress and her weird obsessions.
I try to stay still, like the doll she is so proud of, but my head is spinning and I know I won’t last for what they have planned tonight. They may not be trying to kill me, but my current condition is far from top shape. I’ll be expected to serve food and drinks to their guests, and even myself, if that’s what they want.
“Now, go and find Mrs. Laurel in the kitchen. She will hand you your first tray. Chadwick will make sure you get there without incident.”
I nod lightly in response, because anything more would send my head in a bigger spin than my current situation.
The new burn on my shoulder still throbs and stings, like it’s going through layer after layer of my flesh, but I grin and follow her out of the room.
“Chadwick, please take the slave to the kitchen and hand her off to Mrs. Laurel, but don’t take your eyes off her.”
“Yes, Mistress.” The tall, wide man is foreboding, his hair shorn close to his head, his eyes dark, but his facade is ruined when I spot the smudges by his neck, then on his hand… he is wearing fake tan and it looks bad. Like, really bad. Mrs. Grouse tried to use it on me once but it didn’t go well and the memory of her scrubbing my skin raw again makes me shudder.
One of the old maids used to wear it a lot too, and she’d always have to boil-wash her uniform to get it off of her clothes. If I focus on these minor details, it’s easier to block out the bad going on all around me.
Mrs. Grouse turns and saunters off, her nose high in the air, and Chadwick grips the top of my arm, hard, his fingertips digging into my flesh as he drags me down the hall after him. We get to the main dining room, where all the guests are congregating behind those double doors, and I’m just grateful we’re not going in there straight away. The longer I can avoid it, the better.
“Oh, there’s our troublemaker.” Master appears as if from nowhere with his entourage of followers surrounding him.
I guess they weren’t in the dining room yet.
His brows are furrowed, his eyes wild and angry, and his mouth is curled into a snarl of epic proportions. He’s pissed. This never bodes well for me.
Suddenly, one of the men beside him moves to my other side, gripping the opposite arm to Chadwick. His hold is bruising, tight, as uncomfortable as I imagine it would be in the Underworld with Hades.
Although, Hades isn’t looking too bad right about now because Not-Chadwick lifts a cloth up to my face, holding it over my nose and mouth.
I know that smell.
The edges of my vision begin to blur. I know I’m about to pass out and I’m trying not to panic, but I make out Master’s words before I do.
“Looks like you made an impression on your little vacation, Slave.”