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I try the handle assuming it will be locked if I’m not to venture and go snooping around the house. It’s not locked though. The handle turns, and the door opens.
I’m staring at a winding set of stairs that goes up. That’s all it is. The library is on the ground floor, and the stairs must just go up to the floors above.
Snooping around enters my mind as I go through the door. If the door was unlocked, then this must be somewhere I’m allowed.
Shit….Allowed. Like a child or a pet, and my master has forbidden me to do certain things. I shake my head at myself and walk up the steps. They’re wooden, unlike the other stairs in the house that are made of stone and marble. I haven’t actually been outside to look around properly, but I get the feeling that the place is quite old. This part feels old, like it was part of the earlier features and the rest was just a refurbish.
I continue up until I see to my actual horror that I’m on the floor I was on the other night.
Across from me is the staircase I came up. The room I saw Vincent in is closer, and there’s another room next to it with a smaller door.
God… this is the part where I should turn and walk back the way I came, or go down the other stairs that will lead me back to my room.
I don’t know if he’s here. Apart from that night when I saw him in here, last night has been the only night he’s ignored me.
The warning of our altercation yesterday morning is screaming at me to leave.
Why put my fate to the test and make things worse for myself?
Why piss off the man who’s keeping me captive here any more than I already have? A captive is what I am, and those who can’t do any better should preserve what they have control over.
In other words, stay the fuck away.
Except… curiosity whispers to me. Maybe it did at the door in the library, enticing me to go through it. Now I’m here, and the whispers have a hold on me.
There’s an answer inside that room, but why do I care? Do I care to find out what the answer is?
And what’s the question? What’s the question I want an answer to? There’s nothing for me here but misery and distress. I already know the reasons for it. It’s Dad.
Looking at the room, though, I remember how Vincent had seemed from the glimpse I saw of him and what he’d said.
Maybe there’s a part of me that wants to know him that way. Know what he’s like that way. Just a man who looked up at the painting of the woman who he seemed to love.
Maybe I want to see that softer side to him… the passionate side, because I felt it every time we had sex. Every time, it grew stronger and stronger.
Maybe I want to feel like more than just his whore, and I’m looking for something to hold on to, to make myself feel better.
The thought moves me.
I look around and see the passage is clear. There’s no one up here but me. From what I noticed so far, the guards don't tend to come upstairs. Not to the private quarters.
There are enough though. Enough to make sure I don’t entertain any bright ideas of escaping. As if I would.
I almost laugh at myself. No one in my position would think of escaping, certainly not when I don’t know where Dad is.
The guards are always downstairs guarding the entrances to the house inside and out.
I see them when I go down the stairs and when I’ve gone to the kitchen. There’s a door in the kitchen leading to the garden.
It would be one of them who would walk me like the dog I’ve become.
I pad across to the room. Again, I assume the door would be locked, but I see it’s not. Opening it confirms it’s not a door with a lock on it.
I close it, and fear fills me just for being here. I look at the painting of the woman, and I don’t know why, but I feel at ease for the subtle warmth that emanates from it.
It’s her eyes. I get closer and notice the way the artist did a great job of drawing the focus to them. It captures the emotion of contentment. That’s how she looks. Content and happy.
I stare at her for a few moments, my mind racing with questions. Who was she? What was she to Vincent? Was she really his wife?
