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That should have been my thought process. My thought process instead went:Is this a test? Does he not want me anymore? Is he abandoning me? How can he abandon me? I did everything he wanted. How can I mean nothing to him after he’s trained me like this?
I didn’t love him; he didn’t love me. But I was his. I belonged to him. That had to count for something. I was addicted to the way he touched me, the contrast between pleasure and pain he always delivered to me. Violence and gentleness. I couldn’t get enough.
I didn’t care how I’d arrived at this point. The only thing that mattered was that I was there, and I never wanted to leave. I was his willing slave, evidenced by the fact that I only looked at the keys briefly before my eyes went back to the floor, and I waited.
Nine-thirty came and then ten. Ten-thirty and I hadn’t moved from the spot. I was getting hungry. There were snacks and water in the mini fridge, but I didn’t move. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want him to find me not where I was supposed to be.
Finally, just before noon he stepped into the room. I didn’t look up at him. I kept my eyes on the ground as he’d trained me, despite my desperate desire to look into his eyes to find what was there.
Then he was standing in front of me, his feet in my line of sight. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but I refrained. I wanted to beg his forgiveness for whatever I’d done to upset him, but I didn’t. I just stayed where I was, my breath coming out in heavy pants, anticipation thrumming through me for his touch, any touch.
I didn’t have to wait long. He gripped my chin and forced my eyes up to meet his. He was angry, and I didn’t know why. Finally, I spoke.
“Master, please, whatever I did to upset you, you know I didn’t mean it.”
Had I ever seen him angry before? Truly angry? No, I couldn’t remember a single time over the past months that I had. He’d been so restrained. Everything so calm and orchestrated. Everything following his plans, even my lame attempts at disobedience.
Now seeing him angry unhinged me, and I found that old fear creeping back again. Not the fear mixed with the arousal until I writhed and panted beneath him. This was more uncertain fear.
Had he snapped? Was he broken too? What the hell was going on? He turned away from me, standing stiffly, his breath suddenly matching my own previously heavy panting.
He wore only jeans, and I could see the tension of his shoulder muscles as he forcibly restrained himself. From what? Killing me? Beating me?
He’d whipped me many times. I had a few scars which I knew would stay with me forever or as long as he let me live, but he’d never whipped me out of anger. It had all been out of desire.
Finally, he seemed in control of himself. He crossed to the closet and after a few moments returned, tossing a pair of blue jeans and a pale pink T-shirt at me . . . and the silver wedge sandals where the ribbons tied around my ankles.
I put them on. Had there ever been a day when he hadn’t come to me in some way? Was he tired of me now? Early on I had feared this day, waking in cold sweats over it. The day he got bored with me. The day he killed me. Now I couldn’t work up the emotion for it. I just didn’t want it to end.
How was it possible, given our circumstances, that he could tire of me before I tired of him? He tossed me the car keys and left the room. He was serious. A thousand thoughts ran through my mind, all whirring through my head at the same time, so I couldn’t separate one of them out.
I sat dumbly still as if it were some kind of trick, that last tiny hope that it was a test I could still pass. My mind refused to accept just yet that passing meant leaving him.
Moments later he appeared in the doorway again, an annoyed look on his face. He came back into the room and wrapped his hand around my arm, jerking me through the door, pulling me through the house.
The blindfold was no longer covering my eyes, no longer segmenting the rooms into disembodied pieces of a larger whole. Now, seeing it all at once, the house was even more impressive inside than I’d always imagined it to be. And yet . . . it was only him.
No servants. Had he given them the day off so he could get rid of me? Did they just come in on alternate days? For a moment, I had this crazy thought we were the only two people left alive on the planet.
Perhaps the servants were keeping to the shadows. Did they know what he’d done? Did they care? I held onto the wild hope that he didn’t want to be rid of me. No, some servant suspected, and he was making me leave so they wouldn’t find me. But that didn’t make any sense. Why would he set me free on the world? To hide the evidence, wouldn’t he have to kill me first?
I stumbled a bit, and my ankle twisted under my foot. Stupid wedge sandals. These weren’t the shoes for women with tiny ankles. I cried out and he turned, the smallest shadow of concern on his face before he masked it again and was back to the business of expelling me from his house.
We were in the entry hall, the front door just feet away. He seemed to have every intention of throwing me out onto the lawn and leaving me to my fate with the elements if I was too stupid to use the car keys to leave. The keys now clutched in my hand. I couldn’t remember how they’d gotten there.
When we reached the door, I panicked and jabbed him in the ribs hard with my elbow. I’m sure it hurt some, but it wasn’t what caused him to let me go. It was simply shock that I still had enough fire left to in any way seek to go against his wishes.
I moved away from him, but he latched onto my arm with one hand. I didn’t hesitate. The keys were in my other hand, and I drove them into his skin. I expected him to cry out, but he didn’t. Instead, he let go of me and cradled his hand like a wounded animal.
I felt the smallest amount of pity well up inside me and an almost compulsive urge to bandage him up, despite the fact that I hadn’t drawn blood.
He gave me a look of shocked betrayal as if he had any right to it after everything. I was the one that was being betrayed. I was the one being thrown out without explanation. I turned and ran down the hallway.
It did remind me of a castle. The stonework, the extreme ornateness, the woven tapestries on the walls. I ran to the end of the hallway until I came to an open door. To call it a living room or den would have been to understate it. It was more of a home movie theater. A giant screen played CNN on one end of the room.
I stopped to watch for a minute, wondering if I was old news or if they would mention me. I wondered if they would flash my picture across the screen, back when I’d been another person. They didn’t. My momentary distraction allowed him to catch up to me.
Strong arms wrapped around me like a vice, and for one insane moment I sagged back against him, soaking up the feeling of being in his embrace, even if it wasn’t really an embrace. I could feel his hot breath on my ear as he bent down.
