When I opened my eyes and realized it was morning it took me a few minutes to orient myself. The trepidation I felt during the night was slow to fade. I didn’t remember falling asleep, only lying in bed for hours trying to think of a way out of my situation that wouldn’t later involve Caleb having to rescue me.
The room I slept in was beautiful and immaculate. Every morning the sun came spilling into the room when Celia came in to draw back the heavy curtains. I had told her I was more than capable of drawing back the curtains myself, but she simply ignored me as she went about her business of preparing the room for the day.
“She’s not allowed to speak to you,” Caleb said as he sat on the edge of the bed. It was only our second week at the mansion and he looked so tired, like he wasn’t able to rest at all. He complained he couldn’t go on sleeping in all his clothes forever. Yet, every night, he did.
Caleb was more erratic than usual during those first few weeks. Yes, he was cruel. He put me through my paces, teaching me certain phrases in Russian and what actions to take when I heard them. He insisted I crawl, call him master, and that I go through a series of humiliations meant to make me get over my shyness.
For all that, he didn’t really touch me. He kept me clothed. He protected me by not letting others near me. I knew he stayed with me at night because I had nightmares when he didn’t. He slept in his t-shirt and shorts, seemingly content to just sleep next to me and not touch me unless I woke from some horrible nightmare and huddled close to him. He soothed me.
“Why isn’t she allowed to talk to me?” I asked, in a sardonic tone.
Caleb glared at me for several moments before he replied. “Kitten, you should really watch the way you speak to me. Just because you’re hurt, doesn’t mean I’m not keeping score.” He stared at me, squarely in the eyes, until I finally looked down.
“Sorry, Master.” He eyed me strangely. “Can I please know why she’s not allowed to speak to me?”
“Celia isn’t just her master’s lover, she’s also his servant. It’s not so unusual I guess. I’ve never been involved with someone long enough to know the idiosyncrasies that go along with being in a relationship, but I know enough to say it makes sense. It’s not like he can use her for sex all the time.” My face must have shown my indignant shock because Caleb pressed his finger to my lips to keep me from speaking.
Even though I shouldn’t and it might piss Caleb off, I spoke anyway, “Don’t you think that’s a silly rule? It sounds pretty mean to me.”
“Well trust me; sometimes talking to you is what is mean,” he commented, but smiled.
I smiled back. Asshole. Perversely, I thought about how much I would miss him after he sold me, and I wondered if he would miss me, too, perhaps even enough to come for me. You’re not a princess and he isn’t the handsome prince come to save you. Or don’t you remember? I sighed at my inner voice. I was talking to myself more and more. Not only was I going crazy, but I was bitchy company.
Some days I could almost forget I was being held against my will. I never did, but I flirted with the idea every now and then. Caleb would have Celia bring us breakfast and we’d eat it outside, just the two of us. Out in the sunshine, eating fresh pastries from Caleb’s hand and sipping hand-squeezed orange juice, I thought: This isn’t so bad.
Of course, some days it was nearly impossible to forget I was Caleb’s prisoner. I was still moving slowly from my injuries. The bruises had nearly faded away, but the pain in my ribs and shoulder was always there to remind me about a lot of things. It was a deterrent against running away again. It was also a reminder I had gotten off easy with Caleb. Still, leave it to Caleb to think of a way to use the pain toward his own ends.
One morning in particular, he’d left me alone in the room with Celia and against my better judgment I decided to talk to her.
Celia’s eyes avoided mine as she went about my room straightening things that didn’t need to be straightened and dusting. I really pitied her. She was beautiful and her demeanor hinted at her immense inner strength and yet…she was a slave. I wondered if I would be half as graceful as she when my time finally came. I did note, with some hope, she didn’t appear to be abused. There were no bruises on her, no outward signs to suggest she was suffering. Yes. There was definitely hope in that.
“Celia?” I spoke her name haltingly, scared she would answer me and scared she wouldn’t. Her gaze fell upon me kindly, with only a quirked eyebrow in question. It wasn’t really a response, but it was more than I’d gotten from her before. I figured since Caleb wasn’t present she would speak to me. “How long have you been here?”
She stared at me for a long while, until I grew uncomfortable and squirmed. I didn’t think it was a complicated question, though at some point I wanted to ask her those too. Finally, her mouth quirked to the side and she nodded briefly; neither was for my benefit. She looked at me with a smile in her eyes and held up six fingers.
I wanted to yell at her for not using her words, but I was sure it wouldn’t get me anywhere good. “Siiiiiix…months?”
She shook her head.
I took a deep, fortifying breath for my next question, “Years?”
She nodded and smiled.
Fuck. Years? She’d been Felipe’s slave for six years. I couldn’t imagine. “Did you never try to escape?!” My voice was apparently too loud. Her eyes were suddenly frantic and she looked at the door as if it would burst open and something horrible would happen. She scurried toward me and held her fingers to my lips.
I was stunned and still, waiting for the moment to settle. Her eyes scolded me and continued to scold me as she backed away from me shaking her head.
She left the room before I could apologize or ask another question.
Nice going!
