“I didn’t wake you, did I?” I ask worriedly.
“Not at all,” he admits when a slim girl trots into the room in a loose tee and messy hair.
“Is this your slave?” She questions him, looking at the two of us with sudden anger. Who is she?
“Yes,” he says simply.
“She does not appear to be a slave to me," her eyes become slits as she looks me up and down. I shift uncomfortably under her scrutinizing glare. She huffs furiously before storming towards the door. Damien groans irritably, following after her.
“She is my slave girl! What else would she be?” He shouts after her down the hall.
“Shut the hell up!” She yells back. He slams the door shut, shaking the paintings hung on the wall and vibrating the vase on the table beside me. I hold it still as he storms toward me.
“Where did you get those clothes?” He demands.
“T-they were in my closet s-so I decided to wear them instead of-” I’m cut off as he grabs me by the back of my shirt and begins to tow me across the room. “Hey! Let go of me!” I exclaim until he shoves me against a wall where I slink down to the ground while he examines the contents of his closet for something that I could wear. Maybe he isn’t that mean after all if he actually cares about what that one girl thinks of him. Did she honestly think I looked that revealing?
“Wear this,” he commands, thrusting a pair of jeans into my hands along with a belt. Even with the belt on, they’re too long for me to walk in.
He watches while I change into the jeans, which makes me feel very awkward. I try walking in them, except it doesn’t work out so well. I end up falling on his bed face first, trying to keep myself from laughing. I look up into his scowling expression, and my smile gets wiped off immediately. “Get up,” he demands, and I do. “Roll the bottoms up a bit,” he requests, and I pull my feet up onto the bed, doing as he says until they’re short enough for me to wear. “Now get cleaning, and when I return this room will be spotless,” he says, turning and stalking out of the room. In the distance I hear the door slam as he exits into the hall, leaving me to clean his mess up.
I decide to start with the bedroom. Smoothing out the covers and resituating the pillows, I make the bed and remove the dirty clothes covering the blankets. When I finish the bed, I realize that there’s a lump underneath the covers, probably a piece of clothing I missed. As I reach down and snatch the stray article of clothing, I quickly yelp and toss it back. Who keeps their lacey panties there? Maybe that girl forgot them when she left.
This is so disgusting. If he made this mess, shouldn’t he clean it? I mean, it’s kind of neat looking through all the stuff he keeps in his drawers, and I even found a collection of knives in one. I decide to keep them in a special spot where he probably won’t check in a million years. At least I know I won’t be harmed with them and no one will ever be. When I move to the bathroom, I find the floor splattered with blood, along with the tile walls and used-to-be white sink. I fight back the urge to run and scream bloody murder, but instead begin to scrub down the walls and mirror. I take my time remove all the smears and smudges on its surface, staring back at myself in the process. My crystal blue eyes are tired already, and a frown is set on my lips.
If I’m going to be living here for the rest of my life, I might as well get it over with early. There is no way I’m living this way. I’m not a slave and I shouldn’t be. He should be cleaning up his own mess, not me!
Why didn’t I think of this before I started cleaning? This isn’t my job and making slaves out of people is inhumane! It’s unnatural! I pull away from the mirror and drape the towel off the edge of the sink, turning and leaving the room.
