CHAPTER 2 #2
“Have you ever made a mistake, Maya? You’ll be fine, plus think, I am probably stuck with Mr. Rat Face.” I contorted my face to mimic his elongated features.
She let out a sob laced with laughter, and at the same time, a single tear rolled down her cheek.
“You’ll be fine, I am sure we will see each other again, and who knows, maybe we will be neighbors.
” I tried my best to cheer her up, knowing that the likelihood was nonexistent.
“We'd better pack our bags, though, don’t want to forget all our important things,” I said dryly, pointing to our empty beds. She sniffled and laughed at my sarcasm.
Maya busied herself packing all her pressed flowers and clothing.
She loved to sneak a flower inside anytime we had an outdoor class, which was hardly ever.
Madame would always say, ‘There are too many distractions, and too much sun on your skin can harm your complexion.
My gaze flicked to my nightstand, and it hit me just how bare it was.
Nothing except a small purple flower that Maya had given me sat on it.
I tried to pull open the drawer, and, just like always, it stuck, but after a few encouraging wiggles, it gave way.
I lifted the false bottom that I had created out of leftover wood and fabric from an ‘arts’ class and pulled out my tattered, worn journal.
The art classes here were a complete mockery; they consisted of lessons on how to repair clothing and mend shoes.
This journal was the only item I had been able to sneak out of my house the day I was taken, and that was only because it was tucked in my waistband.
I ran my hand over the familiar, worn leather cover.
It had become soft and delicate from sitting in a drawer these past two years.
Carefully opening it, the spine crackled, and I glanced at the page I had opened:
“Today was beautiful outside, the snow fell peacefully, and the night sky was full of stars. The fire warms our house, and the shadows dance across the walls. Mother is knitting me a blanket, sitting in her wooden rocking chair. She is rocking back and forth, squeaking on the floor, worn smooth by countless footsteps. She is humming a nursery song that she used to sing to me when I was younger.”
Longing shot through my body, craving the life I once had, as the melody of the song played in my head.
“Ladies, it is time to go.” The pimple-faced guard said.
I placed the flower that Maya gave me between two pages of the journal and lifted my skirt to stash it in my waistband just like I had a lifetime ago.
I grabbed my small, patch-filled bag off my bed and tossed my toothbrush and hairbrush into it.
Maya was waiting at the end of her bed for me, and I grabbed her hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “You’ve got this.”
The walk back down to the main room was cold and quiet. No one was talking, and the silence became louder than any word could. Madame walked up to Maya and me, nodded her head downwards towards our hands in disapproval.
“Mind your own business.” The words flew out of my mouth, knowing it was too late for her to reprimand me.
Her look alone was lethal, but my only response was an unbothered smile. I wish I could have said more, but the doors to the main room opened again. Her silence was the only victory I was going to get before leaving.
I squeezed Maya’s hand one last time before letting go, giving her one last bit of encouragement.
We entered the main room and lined up in the same spots.
Up and down the line, some of the women were shaking and fidgeting.
Maya, who was picking at her nails again, was unaware that a thin line of blood was spreading across her nailbed and slowly trickling down her thumb.
My attention went towards the group of men standing across from us, who seemed lost in a deep conversation, laughing, and not giving a damn about the lives they were about to change.
“Gentleman, please step forward once the name of your servant is called.” The ringmaster gestured to them and then to us with a wave of his hand.
A servant. That is what we were now. Less than an hour ago, we had been ladies; now, we were servants.
I wondered if Max was going through the same thing right now, being shown like a prized possession, being questioned and assessed, or if they were only looking at his grades and skills.
“Jules Swartz – Mr. Donto.” The ringmaster started calling out our names along with the name of the advisor we were to stand beside.
“Fredrica Thomas – Mr. Tilapor.” One by one, each girl made their way to the other side and stood with the advisor who had claimed them.
“Maya Johansson,” Maya's eyes were wide, and the tears were freely flowing down her cheeks now.
“Mr. Alcatore.” The youngest gentleman stepped forward, claiming Maya for his manor and whoever had sent him.
She glanced back at me, and I gave her an encouraging smile, mouthing the words “You got this”.
“Avyn Ashwood,” my heart ceased beating. I forgot I was next. “Mr. Rattley,” I snorted, and covered my mouth and regained my practiced calm demeanor.
Of course, Rat Face’s name was Mr. Rattley. I cleared my throat and walked over to where he had emerged from the group of men, and that sick, knowing smile slid back into place.
He didn’t say anything to me as we watched the remaining women receive their assignments.
Once the last name was called, I realized that I was the only girl going to Rat Face's manor, and a flicker of panic took over.
I looked over to where Maya had stood moments ago, but her advisor was already escorting her.
Fuck. Rat Face turned away from me and started walking without saying a word, and Madame shot me with a wicked smile, her own retort to my earlier comment, stealing back my small win.
We all made our way out the front door, and the smell of fresh air filled my nose, washing away the smell of bleach and overpowering florals.
Multiple horse-drawn carriages were lined up and waiting for us.
All the carriages looked the same, black and boring, but at least it wasn’t white.
The horses matched the carriages, black bodies, black manes, and black tails.
Rat face climbed into the carriage at the back of the line-up. “Get in.” He ordered.
I stepped up and into the carriage and took a seat across from him.
He didn’t say anything to me and continued writing who knows what in his notebook; the sound of his pen scratching the paper was reminiscent of nails dragging down a chalkboard.
I peered my head out the carriage window to watch the other carriages pull away, one after another, perfectly aligned.
The sound of each horse’s canter was added to the one in front of it until it was an ensemble of hooves.
Eventually, our coach driver whistled, and our horses joined in the rhythm.
Rat Face was quiet for the rest of the afternoon and dozed off at one point; a small bead of drool trickled from the corner of his mouth.
I guess that was why he had those spit-crusts in the corner of his mouth earlier.
Staring mindlessly out the window, I began to wonder what was in store for me in this next stage of life.
A little while later, Rat Face stirred when the carriage hit a bump in the road, jostling all of us from our seats.