“The dark goddess moves within me;
To me she brings the fruit of the hidden.”
—Segovia Amil
Day after day drifts by in the same disappointing pattern. As promised, Aubrey hasn’t left me room to breathe, let alone snoop. She’s a dedicated servant, just like the rest of them, which surprises me. There’s nothing about her that screamsfollower, not the same way I see it with Stella and the others I’ve met. She’s a free spirit with a will of her own, much like my sister, although their similarities end there.
I’m a long way from figuring out the people of the Matthews House.
My duties keep me stuck in the kitchen. The most excitement I had all week was walking in on Griff in the pantry with his pants unzipped and a secretary on her knees, but even that was a letdown. After his behavior in the Dark Room, I expected more from him.
I’m in the same boat I was in when I first arrived a week ago. Each day I’m dismissed, Aubrey walks me to Adam’s room. And each day, I intentionally keep our pace slow, soaking in every detail of my surroundings and tracking each camera we pass.
There’s no way to sneak upstairs without being recorded, let alone the basement—which is where I’ve been aching to go. Sometimes I toy with the idea of trying to get away with it anyway.
What’s there to lose?
Still, I haven’t risked it yet. Each night I go to Adam’s room only to find it empty, cold, still. It’s lonelier than I thought it’d be. Lonelier than my assigned room in the ladies’ quarters. Because now, there are always these kindling sparks of hope, anticipation, and danger building throughout the day that maybe he’ll be waiting for me.
That maybe he’ll want to see me.
Reallysee me.
Then I remember who I am, and that no one wants to see the parts of me I try so hard to hide. It’s a plain fact, not something I pity.
Frankie loves me, and she’s always encouraged me to use art as an outlet. But even she won’t look at my paintings. And if she did, she wouldn’t see what I do anyway.
Someone like Frankie would never truly see me. She could stare straight at my soul spattered across the canvas. She could tilt it for better lighting. But all she’d ever be is standing at the edge of the cliff, never feeling the dive, let alone the impact of the drop. And if it really came down to it, I don’t think she’d want to feel it either.
There’s a difference between loving someone as they are whole, and wanting to see all of their pieces. I’ve understood this for a while now, and I don’t fault anyone for it.
I’ve sought approval from Mama all my life. I’ve sought love and companionship from Frankie. I’ve sought pleasure and a few moments of pure release from art and men.
But I stopped searching for someone to really look atmea long time ago.
Although I have to admit: here, in a place where everyone around me is quite possibly as damnable as I am—some even more so—witnessing my own master, the one man whose essence tastes like mine, avoid my presence leaves a bitter sting of rejection in my chest.
Tonight, when we reach Adam’s room, Aubrey is on a call so she mouths, “Goodbye,” as I slip inside.
It’s not until I’m on the other side of his closed door, staring into the vacant room, that the fresh disappointment sinks in, settling right beside the rejection.
I undress, take a long shower, and change into a nighty, just as I do every evening. An hour later as I lie on his bed, with thoughts swarming in my head and keeping me awake, the rejection twists into frustration. It bubbles for a while then seeps into my veins.
He’s mymaster.
He claimedme.
He won’t allow me to serve him, even look at him, yet he keeps me so secluded I can’t serve or see anyone else either. Which means I can’t get any closer to figuring this place, or these brothers, out.
I can’t do another week of this—getting nowhere. I didn’t come here to clean kitchens.
Exhaling, I finally close my eyes for the night. Energy hums through my body, somehow riling me up and calming me at the same time. The rational part of my mind remembers what I came here to do. But as the anticipation builds inside me until my stomach tightens, the lines become too blurred to recognize what’s what.
I fall asleep with one thought on my mind.
Adam Matthews wanted a servant.
That’s what he’s going to get.
