Page 21

Maeve

The fear of the unknown had prevented me from trying harder to escape.

The fear of being caught and punished kept me silently bound to the devil.

In one morning, Master made me feel beautiful and human.

His words pushed my self-doubt and fear to the far recesses of my mind.

He wasn’t a normal human, but neither was I.

He had fewer scars than me, but he knew pain and emotional torment.

I gazed out the window, seeing the high wall Master had promised me.

He didn’t tell me about the rows of curled barbed wire on top of it.

The sky was clear, and the sun shone into the room.

I inhaled the scent of us as I heard his footsteps coming up the stairs.

An echo of the past made me shiver, but I was no longer in his basement.

He left me speechless when he gently washed me with a damp towel, tossing it aside to tuck me into bed before putting his shorts on and rushing downstairs to make us breakfast.

Tears welled up at the door he left open.

I remembered all his words when he encouraged me to explore the house and vast gardens.

I was free, and I was safe, not something that I was used to.

My fingers squeezed Bear, hoping this wasn’t a cruel dream and I was still in the grey basement.

The door jerked open, and I stared at him.

My Master.

My saviour.

My eyes dropped to the tray he held, which was loaded with enough food for days. I covered my smile, remembering how hard he made me cum not so long ago. It was strange. I thought I would hate men. All men.

How could a man make my stomach flutter the way he did? Why did I trust him?

I pursed my lips, trying to stop the tears, when I saw he had cut my toast into four bite-sized pieces. Not even my mother did that for me. I closed my eyes because that was a shit comparison.

“You don't like bananas, or is it the peanut butter?” he asked.

I swallowed the lump in my throat; shaking my head, I picked up the whole wheat toast and took a bite of it. The taste of the soft, sweet banana with the salty, smooth peanut butter made me look up at him. His smile dimmed, and he wiped my tears for the second time.

“Milk or sugar in your tea?”

he asked casually, and I was grateful he did not make a fuss about my overwrought state.

I shook my head, taking a larger bite of the crispy toast.

“You take your tea black?”

he asked with a heavy dose of scepticism and a bitchy eyebrow raised that nearly hit his hairline.

“What are you? My ninety-year-old nan?”

I choked on my toast and grabbed the tea, but he was beside me, tilting me over and rubbing my back.

“Maybe you need my nan’s dentures to learn how to chew,”

he muttered, but he didn't stop rubbing my back.

I took a sip of my tea and sighed at the strong black brew.

“Thank you,”

I whispered.

He paused and stroked my hair.

I watched him from the corner of my eye as he sniffed it.

I worried for a moment, thinking that I stank.

My showers were limited in the basement, but Master’s eyes were closed.

He moved around to climb on the bed, and I quickly smelled my hair, but all I could smell was floral shampoo.

Did he enjoy smelling my hair?

He tucked into his toast and omelette, pushing my plate toward me.

I didn't remember the taste of food after the accident.

Master started to chat about today's plan.

He talked about his work. I don't think he mentioned it before. He had a private security firm. I relaxed because I knew the barbed wire wasn't here to keep me in—I think.

I watched him as he talked and ate, not focusing on his words but on his energetic hand movements and expressions.

His cracks and inner torment were gone, and he was like a different person.

Was it that easy to mimic a normal person?

“You know you’ll have to talk to me at some point, sugar. I don't want to call you Jane,”

he said softly, forcing me to focus on his words again.

I could feel the walls closing in on me, and I avoided the hard green eyes that didn't match his tone.

The truth was I didn't like him calling me Jane either.

He made us so scared that I never shared my name with the girl for two years.

Not even a whisper in case he found out.

She would have told him. The thought of saying it out loud made my hands tremble.

Master took the mug from my hand, and I noticed a dark stain on the white covers.

I gasped, grabbing some napkins frantically, trying to minimise the damage.

The more I stared at it, the more it reminded me of the girl’s blood seeping onto the mattress.

Her neck gaped open by the devil’s blade.

My heart beat faster, wondering if he would get angry at me, punish me or worse, toss me aside. He covered my hand with his. The instant warmth gave me comfort while the pressure stopped my tremors.

“It’s only bedsheets, sugar.

They can be replaced.

You can't,”

he said, and I cautiously glanced at him through my lashes, but his expression was solemn.

I bit my lower lip as my eyes roved down his naked chest towards his—

He snorted and pulled his hand away.

“Three meals and two snacks. Finish all your food first,”

he scoffed.

I smiled and picked up my plate.

**

The warmth of the sun shone on my face, and a gentle breeze tousled my hair.

The scent of spring’s damp soil and sweet cherry blossoms filled the air.

Master hugged me closer to him, trying to fuse our hips together, and I smiled, leaning into him.

I had the freedom to venture outside anytime I wanted, but I'd wait for him by the door.

His towering strength chased away the tendrils of dread in my belly.

I tried, but I stood in the doorway for so long that Master came up behind me, placing his arm around my waist and dropping a kiss on the top of my head.

There was no mockery or snide digs, only silent, unconditional support.

I walked, and he talked, but I loved the sound of his voice—gruff, soft, and happy.

I snaked my arm around his waist, making him pause as he talked about the 600-year-old oak tree in his garden.

My fingers tightened around him as we walked past his pride and joy.

I longed to speak to him, but fear held me back.

My lonely existence from my past was too overwhelming—fear of his questions.

We stepped onto the soft grass close to some flowerbeds.

I’d never appreciated the busy bees or the flutter of butterflies before.

It was difficult to admire them when my own wings had been clipped.

Master spoke about the doctor who showed him my picture and told him my story.

When he paused, I glanced up at him.

“Your eyes haunted my dreams,”

he said softly.

“I didn't know why until now.”

I held my breath, but he didn't continue. When I yanked on his sweatshirt, he began to chuckle.

“If you want to know, you have to use your words, sugar,”

he said, smiling as we reached the pond.

I wondered if it was deep enough to drown him.