by Nikki Rae
“Y-you did, sir?” I stammered; being caught so off guard had made its way into my voice.
I could hear him swallow in the dark, but it didn’t exactly sound nervous. More contemplative than anything else. “At the time…” he said slowly, “it wasn’t quite something that I wanted.”
I expected him to go on, to tell me just what it was that he hadn’t wanted and how it had come to be that we now had this one bizarre thing in common. But he didn’t continue. I was left with his cryptic reply and nothing more.
“Is it always like that?” I didn’t know what I asked the question or what I expected as an answer. Of course it wasn’t meant to be that way. Not the first time and not every time. Sex was supposed to be something two people shared when they loved each other and orgasms were an expression of their bodies coming together, forming a union that they both wanted and craved deep within themselves. But I knew the answer, didn’t I? Things that were supposed to be never were and I would never have what others spent their lives searching for. Love didn’t exist for people like me. Sex was only one more bargaining chip. A commodity that I could offer and nothing more. If my body reacted to it, it was only the result of what I’d been conditioned to believe it should do.
“Like what, Doe?” he finally asked.
I tried to formulate what I meant into words, but nothing felt right. I had to settle. “Scary,” was what I chose.
He sighed, but it didn’t seem quite directed at me. “That’s ultimately up to you,” he said. “It might not seem that way now, when you hadn’t intended to experience something you were so unprepared for, but in our world, one must take pleasure where one can find it. It’s your choice how you feel towards these things. No one else’s.”
He made it sound so simple. Like I could flip a switch and let myself enjoy whatever depraved act he wanted to commit. I wasn’t convinced, and he must have sensed it.
“You’re reading too much into it,” he said. “You let go of yourself, of that person you try to be every minute—especially in front of someone like me.” He paused as if letting it sink in. “You may have felt out of control in that moment, but it was a moment you enjoyed.” Again, he paused, and had there been enough light, I was sure he would have been able to see the realization on my face. “You never are fully in control, ma petite. The sooner you accept that, the easier things will be for you.”
I couldn’t believe he was being so casual about this. I had imagined these scenarios countless times. The question of what I actually enjoyed something one of these filthy men did to me crossed my mind and I always reassured myself that it just wouldn’t happen, but if he somehow accidentally believed I had, I imagined the man would gloat, tease, or even punish me. But none of those things had happened and now I didn’t know what to do. Master Lyon only wanted to punish me when he thought I was lying about it in order to manipulate him in some way. Then once he learned the indisputable and undeniable truth, he had comforted me. Given me water, rubbed my back—hell, even sleeping next to me had to be some sort of act of comfort to him as well; he had never done it before. Things had started out dark and had only become darker. One moment I was completely in control of myself and the next, some man was turning that upside down.
But I couldn’t deny what he had said before he turned away, before he began breathing deeply and evenly, blissfully asleep as if none of it mattered. I hated to admit it—more than I hated to admit anything else, I thought—but if I had to choose something I didn’t despise about this situation, it was that I admired this one small detail about him.
My new Owner didn’t hold grudges. He didn’t live in the past. Things happened, he got angry, his plans became ruined, he punished, and he moved on directly afterwards. He didn’t let these things affect him later on; he didn’t let them clog his thoughts and dictate his emotions. If there was anything I could learn from him, it was this trait. I would take it and make it my own, as if it had been beaten into me since birth like him. He was right. In our world, one must take pleasure wherever one might find it, and I would take mine in taking back my life. No matter the cost.
ELEVEN
He wasn’t there when I woke the next morning. I had rolled over, sun on my face, eyes swollen and body sore, to find his side of the bed empty. I didn’t know if I had been expecting him to be there, but it was still strange that he’d disappeared, slipped away unnoticed without waking me.
I didn’t see him all that day, either. Mr. B came to my room, brought me clean clothes, made the bed, and informed me that I was allowed to visit the small study and any of the rooms I’d been to before upstairs. But if I wanted to go anywhere else, I had to use some sort of intercom system in the room.
So I read. I finished three books between breakfast and dinner, which Mr. B brought to me in the study so I could eat it at the desk by the window. He’d asked if I’d wanted to eat in the dining room, but he told me I’d be eating alone. Master Lyon was in the greenhouse, working on something or otherwise too busy to come near me.
The first day this happened, I thought nothing of it, but then there was a second and a third day, a week, and then the start of another. I was on my own most of the time, reading, sitting in my room, and staring out the window. It had crossed my mind that I was being punished in some way. That I was being given some sort of silent treatment. But the more I thought about it, the more I came to realize that wasn’t the case. Mr. B was overly friendly, discussing the books I’d read, asking if I wanted anything special to eat or drink, and always making sure I was content. Besides that, my new Owner wasn’t passive with his punishments. Even if he was, I had spent most of my recent years in solitary confinement, barely talking to anyone—and that was without the aid of books or a butler to occupy my mind. No, this wasn’t a punishment. He was most definitely avoiding me, but I was beginning to believe that it was for his own reasons, not because of that horrible night or anything I’d done. Honestly, I was all right with not seeing Master Lyon for a while. It gave me time to regroup after such a massive failure, to be on my own in this new place, test the windows and locks, look out the available windows to see if we really were completely isolated. If I really didn’t have a way out, just how screwed I was.
So far, I’d found six locked windows—all from the outside—four secure doors, and a multitude of hidden cameras where Master Lyon was undoubtedly watching my every move, entertained as I failed time and again.
There wasn’t a way I could escape by myself. I needed the help of my new Owner, and he knew that just as well as me. But I also knew that men like him never kept their shiny new toys hidden for too long. That much I could tell from the stranger’s visit. He could try to convince me all he liked; he was no different than any other Member in his position. He wanted others to know he had tamed the wild girl who had disfigured the head of House Wolf. He wanted to gloat, show off like a peacock. I just had to be ready next time. No one else would touch me; of that much I was absolutely certain.
It was almost at the two-week mark. I was sitting in the usual leather chair in the study, reading Animal Farm for the second time, when Mr. B came in with my three o’clock tea. This time there were two cups and saucers on the tray he carried, so I immediately knew something was amiss. He never shared meals with me or stayed more than was deemed appropriate.
“Good afternoon, Miss,” he said as the door closed behind him. He set the tray with tea, sugar, and milk on the coffee table in front of me and I closed my book and set it aside. I had come to look forward to afternoon tea, if only because it was a break in routine—though it happened every day at three, I could pick which flavor of tea he brewed, how much milk or sugar to add—and I got a slight lift from the caffeine.
“Good afternoon, Mr. B,” I replied. “Is Monsieur Lyon joining me?” I gestured towards the extra teacup.
Mr. B sat across from me, pouring the caramel colored liquid from the silver teapot into each cup. “I’m afraid not, Miss,” he answered. “But I hope it’s
all right that I take my tea with you.” He smiled a little as he set the pot back on the tray, added milk and sugar for mine—the way he had come to know I made it myself—and kept his plain.
He handed me my tea and I took the saucer from him, sitting back in my chair and letting the steam warm my face. “He’s been pretty busy,” I said to fill the silence.
Mr. B sipped from his cup and I did the same. “Indeed.”
Of course he wasn’t about to elaborate. No one in this house ever did. He needed more of a push. “Is he usually this occupied?”
He drank more, most likely looking for a reason to pause and contemplate how he would answer. “The master has many duties as of late,” he finally said.
I nodded like I knew what it was like to have ‘duties’ or how it felt to be busy.
“He was away for a little while and has been catching up some,” Mr. B went on. “I apologize if you’ve been bored, Miss. Perhaps when I see him next I can ask about getting you more books, or maybe there’s something else you like to do in your spare time?”
I smiled politely. He was trying to make my stay comfortable. After spending the past two weeks with Mr. B, I believed he genuinely cared about my feelings and how I filled my days.
I wanted to ask him more, but then the door was opening. How did that saying go? Speak of the devil and he shall appear?
Master Lyon entered wearing a grey sweater and dark jeans with boots. He seemed to be expecting me to be here, but when his eyes panned across the room, his eyebrows drew together. Mr. B stood as soon as the door opened. He wasn’t supposed to be here, keeping me company.
“Marius,” he said, every part the person who owned others. “I think you should get started on dinner. I’d like us to eat early tonight.”
Mr. B bowed slightly as if nothing was wrong. I admired his ability to hide his true feelings. I thought I was good at it, but observing him, I had a lot to learn. “Very well, sir,” he answered.
Then he took the tray; to make it easier for him, I handed him my half-drunk cup of tea and he turned more than he had to in order to retrieve it so he could give me a secret wink. Straightening, tray in hand, he headed for the still open door. He paused as he passed Master Lyon.
“Shall I set the table for two, sir?” he asked.
My new Owner stared directly at me, arms crossed in what I was beginning to realize was his usual stance. He didn’t ask; he hadn’t yet spoken to me and perhaps he was prolonging that moment on purpose. “Two,” he said, still only looking at me.
I didn’t know how to react, what facial expression to show him, so I settled on a ghost of a smile.
Mr. B performed the same bow. “Very good, sir,” he said before he walked past Master Lyon and out the door.
He watched Mr. B go, maybe making sure he was really walking towards the kitchen. When he was satisfied, he turned his attention back to me.
“It’s been two weeks,” he said like I wouldn’t know this information. He came closer. “Your stitches should be able to come out.” He acted as if we hadn’t gone any stretch of time without seeing each other after such a horrible evening. Cupping the side of my jaw, he lifted my head so I was staring at the ceiling, which, during my extended stay by myself, I had come to know pretty well; the crown molding, the ancient looking candelabra, and how it had been updated with electricity and flame-shaped bulbs.
He studied the spot on my throat, barely grazing the skin that wasn’t nearly as sensitive as it had been the last time he’d touched me. The morning after that night together, I had realized a purple and red mark just below the stitches. It only served as a reminder of how weak I had been, so I’d avoided looking at any reflective surface.
Master Lyon let go of me and took a step back. “Come with me,” he said, already turning on a heel.
I had no choice but to follow. However, instead of walking ahead of me, he waited for me to catch up so we were side by side as he led me towards the foyer and down the hall that led to the greenhouse.
He must have noticed my confused expression because he said, “It has the best light this time of day. I prefer it to anything artificial.”
We walked up to the door to the greenhouse and as soon as it was open, the smell of warm, wet earth, greenery, and the many different flowers flooded my senses.
I still didn’t have any socks or shoes, but my bare feet weren’t an issue. The patio tiles that formed a trail through the staged wilderness were clean, not even a speck of dirt among them.
The farther we walked into the greenhouse, towards the large tree and bench I had seen before, the brighter it became. I had to squint and shield my eyes at moments when it was too strong. I wasn’t used to it and it took some time to adjust. The beehive of glass reflected the afternoon sun and if I stared skyward for too long I had to shut my eyes.
“This way,” he said when he noticed how distracted I’d become.
I kept up with him, simultaneously waiting for him to bring up the last time we’d seen each other and praying he wouldn’t. We only walked a little farther, past the large tree to a different part of the space. There was a wall of ivy climbing what I assumed would be more windows if they weren’t completely hidden by their leaves. The wall immediately to the right was the source of most of the sunlight and just beneath the windows was a small fountain with water trickling out.
I took a few steps towards him, aware that I hadn’t yet spoken to the man who owned me and I hadn’t seen him in two weeks. “Does this hurt, sir?” I asked as I sat on the edge of the stone fountain, glancing into the crystal water and the ripples on its surface. I had no idea what else to say. He had a tiny pair of scissors and a pair of tweezers in hand, setting them down on a blue paper cloth he had already spread out.
“Not at all,” he said without looking up, taking out some sort of packet of tiny bandages and a brown bottle of liquid with them.
He sighed as though this was all very routine for him then sat near me, his tools between us. “Just keep your head like this,” he said as he moved it for me, facing me towards the window and its blinding light that forced me to close my eyes.
Then he set to work. I didn’t really feel much of anything; a tug on my skin here and there, the soft snip of the scissors and then the tug loosening until I didn’t feel it at all anymore. It was silent for the most part, the sound of his work, our breathing, the fountain. Every once in a while, I heard a bird calling far off outside. I was tempted to open my eyes to see if I could catch a glimpse of it, but I decided against the urge, figuring that even if by some stroke of luck I could spot the bird, it would only serve as a cruel reminder of how trapped I was myself.
No, I couldn’t think like that. Not fully trapped. Not forever. I had to get to know him, convince him I was interested. I had failed so miserably before, but I had come to believe that it was because it wasn’t something I’d fully wanted to commit to. The result wasn’t worth the actions. This, though, was innocent. And deep down, I really did want to get to know this man who owned me, if only to store it away for future reference.
But try as I might, I could not think of a solitary thing to say. We were silent, neither of us speaking. For the first time, it felt awkward, as if we were supposed to be talking or addressing what had happened—even commenting on the weather would have been better than this, though I had no real experience with it. My mouth remained hopelessly closed.
I heard him set down the tools and I remained still, in the position in which he’d placed me. Something cold and wet touched my skin. It didn’t hurt, but I had been so unprepared that it made me jump.
He laughed a little. “I should have warned you.”
I tried my best to smile.
Then it was silent again. He finished with the cold wet stuff and then moved on to something else, this time warning me, “This is going to be sticky.”
I sat motionless as he spread the aforementioned substance over my scar. Then he started placing the tiny bandages over top. “
You want to try to not get this wet for a few days,” he said. “They’ll naturally fall off, so don’t pick.”
As he moved down the scar, repeating the same action, I asked, “What is it for, sir? I thought the wound was healed.”
“You are,” he said. “These are just to ensure that the topmost layer of skin stays together while it finishes forming the scar tissue. A lot of people argue that this step isn’t needed,” he went on, “but I think it’s important to avoid bumps and have a smooth end result.”
I heard him crumpling the paper of the bandages along with the paper cloth between us. “All done,” he said. “You can move now. Just be careful as it dries.
I could already feel the sticky paste solidifying, making the skin stiff wherever it had been applied. He was packing up his bag of tricks, the trash left on the edge of the fountain.
“You know a lot about scars, sir.” I said this slowly, unsure as to how to approach the subject.
He smiled without looking at me, but it didn’t seem like he found anything funny. Master Lyon turned to me, lifting up his shirt as far as his neck. I was shocked to see that he had his own set of raised white marks there. A straight vertical line ran down the length of his muscled torso, a V shape at the top near his collarbone. On each side of his ribcage were more, as if the slashes were in some way outlining the bones that lay just beneath.
“Yes,” he finally said, lowering his shirt and turning back to the leather bag to zip it up. “I know a lot about scars and how they heal, Doe.”
Instantly, the somewhat light mood had shifted to painfully uncomfortable. I had to look away, staring into the water of the fountain. There was a long leaf floating on the surface and I watched as it caught in the subtle current. He spotted it and scooped the leaf out, studying it as he held it between his fingers.
“God,” he said mostly to himself. “I need to get out of here for a while.”
