She relaxes a bit and waves her hand in front of her face as if to say that it’s no trouble at all. I shove my hands in my pockets and shuffle backwards toward the door, knowing full well this is about as many social interactions as I can handle in a day. I generally don’t exchange more than a couple of sentences with people, and this already exceeded the monthly quota.
“Ah. Well, Pepper, I better start work.” I shrug, leaving the kitchen.
I double-check the instructions again to confirm that my chores are indeed outside. Once on the grounds, I quickly find the new tools waiting for me not far from the spot I weeded yesterday.
Today, I am to dig two holes for an unspecified purpose.
Well, it’s not like they’ve told me the reason for anything I’ve been doing here. Not that I came here to ask questions, either. Without thinking further about it, I take my coat off and roll my sleeves up. Even though my skin seems to have already recovered from yesterday’s time spent in the sun, I’m still grateful that today is overcast.
With all the very random and badly paying jobs I’ve had in the past 12 years, digging ditches hasn’t been one. And if I had to be completely honest with myself, I suspect that I was doing a pretty bad job of it. I can almost hear the shovel silently mocking me while I exhaust myself trying to loosen up the dense soil.
Even through the thick leather gloves, my fingers groan in distress. I can practically feel the blisters forming with each thrust. The scream that pierces my bones when I hit that first rock is ungodly, making me reconsider all my life choices. I know I must look like a fool, or maybe even plain stupid, doing hard-labour for these strange men, who don’t even have the decency to feed me.
The thing is, I don’t actually mind not eating. In fact, I tend to forget to eat all the time. I’ve never enjoyed it, and even thelittle that I force myself to eat mostly feels like a tedious chore. I remember when I was a child, my parents jumped through every hoop they could find in order to make food appealing to me. Of course, they were completely unsuccessful. One night, when I was around 7, I heard my mother crying in her room, worried that I might starve myself to death. Ha! If she could just see me now, positively brimming with health and elan.
What actually bothers me, though, is that Abas took my choice away from me.
No, actually, he’s punishing me. Ridiculous. What a pompous prick. Rich people really believe they can get away with anything.
I’m sure it takes me hours of digging before I finish the first hole. Hoping to catch my breath, I lean on the shovel, watching my sweat drip on the ground. The droplets glimmer in the sun desperately squeezing through the clouds.
I might be exceedingly stubborn and more resilient than I look, but right now, my body is screaming for a break. I walk a couple of meters away, pull my Walkman out, and lay down to rest. The grass is moist and smells stagnant, but I ignore the discomfort. I close my eyes, trying to calm my breathing, listening to the familiar sounds of the music. Metallic scraping. Clattering and clashing. Dragging, something, with great force. Slowly, with effort. Words slurred. Body to body. A growl. A mouth full of rocks. No meaning, just sounds. Nothing else exists. Only me in the music. I am the one that is being dragged. Caught in a net surrounded by ripped up metal. Scraping across the asphalt in the summer sun. A warm hug between noise’s arms.
The next thing I feel is something kicking my legs.
“What the fuck?” I blurt out as I jump up, glaring at whoever woke me.
Abas is glaring right back.
My thoughts stutter. My fingers chill. In bright daylight, he’s even more stunning than in the gloom of the castle. His black eyes absorb the surrounding sunlight. Only a faint glimmer hints that they’re hiding in the shadows. Watching me. Abas’ scowl is ferocious, valleys and hills marking his face, but it looks almost–no. I try to stop staring, but his mouth, it looks indecently soft.
Focus, Astaire.
Do I see a hint of sadness–
“I am not employing you to be idle,” he interrupts in a voice much too calm for having just kicked me.
“You’re also supposed to give me room and board. But last thing I heard, I’m not allowed to eat anymore,” I quip back.
“You are obligated to follow my orders.” He moves too close when he says this.
I step back, refusing to let him intimidate me. “You know, I don’t need this job.”
“Then get out. It matters not to me,” he answers, still calm.
“Are you firing me?” I ask.
“Did I say so? Perhaps I should write it down for you so you better grasp my meaning.” He says it so pompously that I can’t help but stare back, baffled.
There’s no way I’m letting this jackass think he can intimidate me into quitting. If anything, he can fire me and pay the juicy severance package that’s written into my contract. After all, that clause is one of the reasons why I decided to take this job in the first place.
Wordlessly, I walk over to the shovel, pick it up, and start digging the next ditch. I defiantly glare at him as I break up the soil. Abas glowers back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. I push the shovel deeper with my foot, refusing to blink, determined to be more stubborn than he.
It doesn’t take long before he strides back into his castle. While I continue to dig, I feel a little foolish and a little proud.
When I’m finally done with the last hole, evening has already fallen on the grounds. My stomach is thoroughly hollow, my legs shaky, and I’m drenched with sweat. Only when I step away to pick up the tools and head back inside do I notice the shape of the ditches. The edges are a bit wonky, but the familiar oblong form is still recognisable. They look like two perfectly placed graves.
When I pass through the kitchen on the way to my room, I see a heel of bread and a piece of cheese on the table. I’m not sure if this food is meant for me, but I sit down to eat it anyway. The bread is still dense, but the cheese tastes a bit fresher.
