Mistress Mine

5- slave's POV

I waited long hours, that turned quickly to days. She hasn't sent anything with me, only myself and the clothing on my back. If the broker hadn't thought to leave refreshments in the fridge, I probably would've only had water.

I thought about using the landline to call the Cruzes, but discarded the idea as soon as it came to mind. It wouldn't only mean I had failed to keep her attention on me, but also, if I had any chance of success at all, I would have to earn her trust. Calling home would ruin any chance of that, and it would displease her, probably even invite punishment.

Musing, I thought that punishment at these circumstances wouldn't be so bad. Negative attention was better than no attention, I was taught.

Again, I discarded the idea of getting any attention at all. Swallowing more flavored yoghurt, there were a dozen in the fridge. And in normal circumstances, I would've asked for permission before eating anything at all. But these were difficult times, and they called for difficult measures.

I had spent the first day in the small room that was designed for two slaves to share, walking around in circles, opening then closing the empty closet. By the second day, I was ready to break my fasting, and stalked to the kitchen with as much confidence as I could manage. The whole time, I had imagined her turning the key in the lock, and seeing me like that, hunched over and taking what I wasn't given.

But she had no keys. She gave those to me so I could get into the house. And I was taught to take care of my owner's property when my owner wasn't around to take care of me. Eating was taking care of myself.

I imagined I would be punished for being so bold. But I didn't mind I it as I once might have. My owner was never focused enough for me to tell me anything during the days I've known her, I've only ever seen her staring at her laptop screen, for hours at times.

By the time the third day rolled, I had already cleaned the already spotless place twice. And was sitting down for another lunch of strawberry flavored yoghurt when the doorbell rang.

I jumped. As any slave would. And hasted to cover my tracks before I stopped myself. There was no point. Even if she didn't see, I'd tell her anyway. I reluctantly left what I was eating on the kitchen counter, and moved to peek through the peephole.

It wasn't her.

Two men were standing with a large box between them. I weighed his options, and the doorbell rang again. i had much to lose if it were something important and I ignored it. For all I knew, she could be the one who had sent it.

I opened the door.

I was in my butler uniform, having washed it with water and soap the previous night. It was as good as it was going to get.

They knew what I was the moment he opened the door, I didn't need to explain the situation.

"Where's your owner, then?"

"Not here, Sir."

"This is where Suzanna Cruz lives, yes?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Well, when will she back?"

"I don't know, Sir."

The two men shared a look, before the first said, "You have a marking chip?"

In other words, was I trusted enough to be given something they could scan to prove they've delivered the box. "No, Sir." I wasn't trusted enough for that.

The two shared another look. "No information you could help us with?"

I was bout to tell him that I had no idea, but then the second man was tapping on his pad, then scrolling down. "Wait. There's another place listed here."

"We can just return tomorrow."

"Who says she'll be here?" He shot me a dirty look. "This one looks like a secret project in the making. Besides, she paid the fees for fast shipping."

They battered for a few seconds, completely ignoring me. Before they hauled the box, and left.

I should've known that little afternoon encounter was going to cause trouble. I thought about calling her, only to realize I had no way of knowing her phone number.

When night time rolled, I went to the bed, rolling around, unable to sleep.

I had gotten up to get a glass of water, when the doorbell rang for the second time in twenty four hours.

It was her this time.

Except, it wasn't.

I'd known her with shoulders rolled back , confident looking, woman who walked as if she had the world figured out.

The woman who stood on the other side of the door was anything but.

Her mascara had left stains on her cheeks, and the rest of her makeup smudged in places. Her hair was a mess, and she only had one shoe on, the other she was in her hand, as if holding it for fear life.

She passed by me, her voice shaking, "Water!"

I hurried to comply, bringing over the glass I had filled for myself. She gulped it down in one go, before turning to me, and handing me the now empty glass. "A bath would be great right now."

I nodded, and hurried to comply. When I came back, she was still sitting where I left her, hadn't moved an inch, the pointy heel still clutched in her hand. "It's ready, ma'am."

She didn't reply, but moved to stand up, before sitting back down and trying to get the other shoe off, her fingers twisting at the clasp in vain. I stalked closer, only to kneel down and offer my hands. She stared down at me, frowning, before nodding.

She stood up again, only to Chuck the other shoe across the hall, before stalking to where I pointed. I had to remind myself that although the house was hers, I had lived it longer than she had.