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My head spins as the realization settles heavy on my chest. I don't belong to Master anymore, do I? I belong to the American now.
The American, who I don't know a thing about. Who I haven't spent weeks - or has it been months now? - learning how to please. Whose rules I don't know.
I have to start all over.
No, you don’t, a voice whispers in my head. You just have to wait until you can find something nice and sharp, remember? Then you can finally end this.
“You sure you want him?” Master asks. “He’s already nearing his expiration. Boy might not bounce back well."
“I'm sure," the American says. “I have a lot more planned for this one before he gets to clock out.”
A soft click makes me startle. I blink, seeing a hand near my face. It's holding a leash. Which must be what just clicked - the man attached the leash to my collar.
My fingers itch to touch the collar, to study how different it is from the one before, but I fight the urge. It's not mine to touch.
Hell, my entire body isn't mine to touch. Not anymore. Probably never again.
Not until I end this thing. My final moment on this Earth will be the moment I reclaim my body as mine. I almost smile at the thought. There’s a nice poetry to that. A peacefulness. A freedom.
Master – my… old Master - pats me a little too hard on the back of the head, making me startle. "Esclave, this is your new master. Say hello."
"H-Hello, Master," I rasp, my throat aching from being forced to make noise. I cough. Blood lingers on my tongue.
“You live for him now, not me. Do you understand?”
It’s sort of hard to wrap my head around that. I guess that’s how these things work, though. I’m just an object. A toy. I was sold. There’s no reason for Master to get emotional or anything. No reason for me to. I have a new Master now. I can handle that.
“Do you understand?” Master asks again.
I nod, my throat too sore for me to try and speak again. He allows it.
My new master steps forward, his shoes back in my line of sight. Without warning, I'm pulled to my feet by the man and draped over his shoulder so I'm dangling upside down and watching the floor as he walks. The man smells fresh, like he just showered, and his clothing is crisp and clean against my filthy body. I feel like I should apologize to him, but I'm not sure if I’m allowed to speak without permission. Not that I'd be able to get the words out anyway. My throat feels like it’s on fire just from the few words I was already forced to speak.
The fear I probably should have felt sooner kicks in when I feel the cool night air against my naked skin. I swallow a whimper, trying to keep my body from trembling. I fail. Miserably. Maybe my new master will think it’s just from the chill in the air and not punish me?
By the time we reach an idling SUV, I’m shaking hard enough to make my sore muscles ache. One of the man’s guards says he’ll drive. Another opens the back door so the man can enter with me. Nausea crawls up my throat as I wonder how long it’s going to take for me to find something sharp. What if he restrains me right away? What if he never takes me out of a room that’s safety proofed? What if I finally manage to hurt myself and he somehow save me?
My stomach churns. Don’t throw up, Casey. Whatever you fucking do, don’t throw up right now.
The man gently places me on a comfortable leather seat, the hot air of the vehicle chasing my goosebumps away. I know it’s a test. Humans sit on seats. Slaves and dogs kneel on the floor. I immediately slip off the seat and to the carpeted floor by his feet. I feel the weight of his gaze settle on me. My heart pounds a panicked rhythm in my chest as I wait for him to say or do something.
Does this man have different rules? Does he like his slaves on seats? The SUV isn’t even moving yet and already I might have fucked up.
Say something. Do something. Anything. Please.
The man doesn't say a word. The only indication that he even notices that I'm there is the slight shuffle of his dress shoes beside my knees.
When the vehicle lurches into motion, I feel hands on my bare back. I tense at first before forcing my body to relax for him. It's easier said than done when he's suddenly scooping me up into his lap. He settles my body sideways, so my legs are across the empty seat where he originally placed me. I start to shake again as I feel his lips brush my ear. "It's better this way. You need to rest."
I have just enough time for the panicked thought of what's better this way? to flit through my mind. Then something sharp pierces my neck.
The first thing I lose control of is my body, my muscles relaxing until I'm slumped uselessly against the man's chest. I try to force it to sit up, terrified I'll get in trouble for using him as support, but I feel paralyzed. I blink, discovering that I don’t have the strength to open my eyes after.
I try desperately to stay awake, to stay alert, but my mind collapses in on itself. The last thing I notice before the drug pulls me under is the American's warm hand on my back. He's stroking my skin, gentle and soothing. It doesn't hurt.
He's not hurting me.
My mind whirls with the realization.
