Chapter 7
"What's this?!" he roars, staring at the mess in Stacy's bedroom. The family-wives behind me look at me with terror in their eyes. "What happened here?!" The discipline club trembles in his right hand.
The smirk immediately leaves Stacy's face, and she puts on her innocent look. "I can't believe what Monica has done to my room, Master Barstowe. She hates me so much."
The Mister eyes me harshly. "You did this, Monica?"
"Yes, she did," Stacy quickly chimes in.
"Why would you do this, Monica?" he asks again.
"She hates me so much. She--"
"Am I asking you?" he retorts, giving Stacy a whack that cracks on he skin with a painful sound. "Did you?" he questions me again.
"No," I simply say.
"She's lying," cries Stacy as she rubs her arm where the Mister hit her.
"Oh is she?" the Mister sarcastically asks.
"She is, Master. Barstowe," she blurts, tears of fear sliding off her face. "Monica trashed my room. She--"
"No, she didn't!" he roars. "What kind of fool do you take me for, Stacy?"
Horror fills her face. The innocent act is completely gone and in its place is sheer terror. "I would never take you for a fool, Master Barstowe."
"How do you expect me to believe that Monica would mess up a home she has to clean? That would be dumb and Monica isn't dumb!!! Not like you!!!"
Stacy's eyes twitch harshly. The rest of the family-wives look at her with alarm and pity. "Maybe it was an accident," she throws out, trying to extricate herself from the mess she had created. "Maybe--"
"How does dirt get thrown in here by accident?!"
"I--I--"
"Shut up!"
She slides to the floor. "Please have mercy on me," she pleads. "I swear it was all a misunderstanding. Please--"
"Shut up!" he yells at her. Then he turns to me once more. "There's something else I want to know. Why was my discipline club on the living room floor?"
I exhale profoundly. Stacy had probably left it there when she was menacing me. What a stupid thing to do--to forget to put it back. The girl had really been looking for trouble. Nothing set the Mister off more than someone with his personal things--especially his discipline club.
"Why was it there, Monica," he repeats. Stacy looks at me with pleading eyes.
I just don't have it in me to be a snitch even though after what she had done to me, I should rat her out. But for this mistake she would probably pay dearly--very dearly.
"I was cleaning it," I state. Maybe he'd be so disenchanted with me that he'd refuse to marry me. Or maybe he'd disfigure me.
He swiftly starts walking up to me, the discipline club firmly in his hand. I mentally get ready for the beating. I'm sure it'll be one I'll never forget. He looks furious enough to kill me.
Stopping in front of me, he eyes my face. "What's that?" he asks, pointing at my forehead.
"What?"
"You've got a bruise mark on your forehead."
Stacy must've pushed the discipline club too harshly on my skin. "I fell and--"
"You're lying, Little Bird," he murmurs.
"I--"
"That bruise is in the exact shape of the top of the club. Now, I'm sure, Little Bird, that you didn't hit yourself with it."
"But--"
"You've got to stop protecting others," he says softly. "You're heart is way too big which is why I love you so."
"I--"
"Stacy!" he snaps turning to her. "It's obvious that you hate Monica. I've warned you about hurting her! Today, you've crossed a line! You've hurt her beautiful skin with the club, you've messed up my beautiful home, you've lied to me, and--"
"She lied to you too," she blurts, pointing at me with a shaky finger.
"She lied because she's too kind. You, on the other hand, have to be taught a lesson!"
As the discipline club starts coming down, there's nothing I can do, but look away in horror. The other family-wives do the same. Even if I live to a hundred years, which I can't because of the system here, I'll never forget those cruel and aggressive thrashes.
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
Stacy screeches with blood curling agony. My eyes squeeze shut, desperately wanting to be far away from here. Finally, Stacy mercifully passes out. Instead of me landing in the hospital, it is her limp, bruised, and unconscious body that is taken there.
During the next few days, the other family-wives tell me that her wounds will heal. The Mister hadn't disfigured her forever but I'm sure that on the inside, her bitterness towards me is growing by the second. I fully expect for her to take her frustrations out on me especially when the Mister, in his ongoing fury, ordered her to starve for a few days. Her food is to be given to me.
When the first plate arrives at the slave quarters, smoked ham and assorted vegetables, I stare at it in disbelief.
"Th-th-this is for you," Miguelito informs me.
"For me?"
"M-M-Master Barstowe s-s-s-says for you to have it."
I try to give him some of my bounty, but he says he has to leave. Instead, I quickly share it with the other girls. Since no one but us are around, we grab the food with our fingers instead of sticking our mouths in the food. Luckily, I don't have to remind any of the girls not to gorge themselves, that they need to eat in small amounts. We each take turns. Because the food is divided amongst us, there isn't much for each but enough so that our hunger pains aren't quite as sharp and acute as usual.
"What's this?!" yells Helga, having come into the slave quarters.
"Nothing," I say but she's already eyeing the empty plate. We had even licked it clean.
"Is this the plate Master Barstowe sent you?!"
"Yes."
Her face seems to want to explode. "Why didn't you wait for me?!"
"You would've eaten all the food without sharing with us," I say matter-of-factly.
"What are you talking about?"
"You would've gobbled all of it up."
"What if I had? I would've deserved it."
"That food was for me. I decide what to do with it and not you."
Her face contorts in such a way that I barely recognize her. "How can you be so selfish after all I do for you girls!" she snarls.
Furious and muttering obscenities at us, she punishes us by forcing us to scrub every corner of the shack. She gives me an extra helping of punishment by making me clean the outhouse with a toothbrush. I try not to faint as I cover my nose when I'm inside the smelly place.
She thinks she taught us a lesson but to her consternation, for the next three days, those plates continue to arrive when she isn't around and we gorge on them before she shows up. It's like Miguelito knows when to deliver them.
On the fourth day, a specific gleam in her eyes tells me that she's about to get back at us for not giving her even a single morsel of the food. When she makes us go outside in a single file, I realize why she's so happy.
The dogs, snarling and vicious, are waiting for us.
Paradise Abductions Page 7
