4. To own is to… Dominate
Chapter four
To own is to… Dominate
M y body lays limp and unresponsive on the bed as he pulls out of me. My throat is parched and scratchy, even though I stopped screaming days ago, stopped fighting when he stopped bringing the bread. He only arrives now with a smirk, that whip, his cock, and those stupid questions.
What is your name?
What is your purpose?
Who do you belong to?
I’ve tried every word combination I can think of to get the second one right, but I never do.
He zips up his pants, looking down at me in disappointment, one I feel, oddly enough. I stopped questioning it. “I’ll turn your water on for fifteen minutes today. No more, so don’t fuck around like you did yesterday. Fill both your bottles, or you’ll run out again. Do you understand?”
I stare at the mirror, where they watch. I stare at the strange, lifeless girl in the reflection.
“You may look at me.”
My eyes snap up to his face, taking in the aged, scraggly features. The structure is long, his nose bowed in the middle. He’s quite ugly, but looking directly at him feels…like a gift, a kindness I haven’t earned. “Yes, Sir.”
He shakes his head down at me before turning.
I cough, trying to wet my cracked lips. “Sir?”
He sighs loudly. “Yes?”
“I think I’m dying.”
He scoffs. “Don’t be dramatic. Your fifteen minutes start now. Get up.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I try, I really do, but my body is an open wound, my feelings and awareness muted.
When the loudspeaker comes overhead, stopping Sir at the door, I manage to roll myself off the bed. My shoulder connects roughly with the concrete there as I crumple.
The voice that comes is the same one from the first day. “Perhaps we give the sweet flower another chance. She’s wonderfully docile.”
I just lay there, staring at the floor in front of me, wondering if the girl who was here before did better than me.
Or worse.
If Sir liked her more than me. It’s a bizarre thought that comes unbidden.
His shiny boots thud on his path back to me, my body thrumming with pain as I’m jerked into a sitting position. When he crouches at eye level, I snap mine away, remembering not to make eye contact. I stare at his chin instead. “What is your purpose?”
All my breath leaves me at once until I’m fully deflated, limp except for his hand knotted in my hair. That hand takes my full weight, but I barely feel it.
“To serve.”
He stills for a moment. “To serve who? ”
My pulse jumps. “You.”
His hand tightens.
“My masters?”
An odd bead of hope swells in my chest when he smiles. “Good girl. You owe the boss big time. I was going to let you die down here.”
My face falters when I try to smile back. It feels good, getting it right. I think I pass out instead.
Chloe Age 11
Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata
My fingers fly over the keys of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata , filling the cavernous piano room, my body swaying with each note, feeling them straight to my bones. The music from the Fazioli Grand echoes off the vaulted ceilings of Tyson Manor. My eyelids flutter before drifting shut, carrying into the overture, shutting away the stuffy group of Grandma’s friends from the symphony. My perfectly crafted blonde spiral curls brush my cheeks as I play, being sure to pace myself.
Grandma says I get too excited, too lost in the music. So, I slow. My lace gloves strain as I prod each key. I wish I could get rid of them, lace gloves to match every outfit when none of my friends wear anything like them. All too soon, the piece comes to its gradual end, taking me back to the pale-colored room with the expensive furnishings I’m not supposed to sit on. Renee looks up from her place on the floor beside me, widening her eyes in a goofy expression. She chokes down a giggle when Grandma clears her throat in warning, barely audible over the excited, soft praises from her friends. Renee finally releases her giggles, but I do not. Anxiety needles my chest as Grandma’s hands find my shoulders, her fingers digging in…just a bit. Her nails prod the skin underneath the collar of my dress.
“My sweet prodigy is up past her bedtime,” she announces. The room gives their customary lighthearted complaints before she continues, “The caterer has an amazing spread in the formal dining room. Let me see my grandchildren off.”
They all file out, and finally, I can hear my breath leaving me roughly, rising too far above the general hum of the room.
“Renee, head to bed now too,” she orders.
I don’t meet my sister’s eyes as she drags herself onto her seated walker, making her way out of the grand room. With each step Renee takes, I can hear her strain to move quicker. Grandma’s hands clamp down harder, one finger tapping my skin, as if she’s counting the seconds until my sister is gone.
“Remove your gloves.”
I swallow hard.
“What did I do wrong?” My voice breaks, but I know crying will only make it worse, so I try to swallow it down deep.
“Chloe, that you even have to ask only adds to my growing sense of disappointment. Gloves off, now .” Gone is her light airy voice, replaced by something bitter and harsh. It scrapes at my chest, the inside raw and festering, desperate for her approval. It’s something that keeps me awake at night, something I’m sure I’ll never achieve.
My eyes well with tears, and I do my best to not blink, keeping them hidden for the moment. I watch her ramrod straight back as she stalks toward the bookshelf, retrieving the switch she keeps there, hidden between rows of aged sheet music. “Close the lid and ready your hands.”
I do, my lace gloves folded neatly in my lap.
“Make a sound, and I add ten more. I have guests over, and I refuse to endure any more humiliation. Am I understood?”
I nod. My teeth dig into my inner cheeks to muffle my cries as she brings it down across my fingers, five this time, each one eating away at the nearly healed scabs. Eating away at me . My tears are freely flowing by the time she’s done. Her silent disapproval suffocates me, whittling away. My eyes are glued to my trembling, bloody hands as they grip the piano lid.
Grandma tsks behind me, finally seeing fit to speak, wiping my tears away with her palms before pressing a chaste kiss to the top of my head. “One day, you’ll thank me for making you great, Chloe. You will be great, the best, and people will kill for a chance to hear you play. Off to bed, and don’t forget to use the antiseptic wash.”
I sniffle, gathering my gloves in my hands before I start toward the doors. Grandma hisses, stopping me in my tracks, “Good grief. The back hall, Chloe. You know I have guests!”
I pivot, my sob leaving me with a choked hiccup as I flee the room. I don’t stop holding my breath until I’m slamming myself into my bedroom. My back knocks against the wooden door as I heave, my lungs feeling like they’re frozen in my chest. My panting is so loud, I don’t hear it when Renee opens the door that connects our bedrooms. Her wide green eyes are filled with tears of her own as she shuffles toward me. The knot in my chest loosens as she sits on her walker, opening her arms for me to bury my head in her lap. We both cry, her limp hand making soft passes over my back until my sobs quiet.
“I hate that stupid piano. I don’t even know what I did wrong.” The omission hiccups from me as I wipe my nose on my sleeve. “I thought I played well.”
“You always play well, Chloe. She’s a bitch.”
For a moment, our joint crying ceases. Our eyes widen on each other at the unexpected curse before they dart to the door, as if somehow, it was heard. Renee is the one who giggles first. This time, I can’t help but follow.