“Thank you, sir.” This only happened if I was conscious after they were done with me. Most times, I wasn’t.
“Remember, you live to serve me, kitten. You earn your keep. If you want food, I expect perfection,” he reminded me, something he did after every visit before he turned and walked away.
I stared at the ceiling, my lips quivering and tears threatening to pour. Did I want to die? Yes. Did I know how to? No. I lived in a small green and black room with not much. He took no chances and gave me no opportunities to try. And if by some chance he forgot, he made sure I was watched all the time. I waited, though. For the day, my master no longer needed me. For the day, he would end me, and I’d go willingly. I didn’t fear death as much as I feared my tormentor. As Mama said, if hell was the cruelest place, he was surely their king.
I once read it was a coward’s way out to take your life. But death in any form was so much calmer on a soul that shattered a long time ago.
I turned my head at the sound of footsteps. Luke, the man who watched me, stood at the door.
Luke came into this room when I was a child, but he never spoke, not then or now. While I wouldn’t call him friendly, he was the only company I had. Mama taught me how to read, and I had no one after she left. As I grew, I’d practice reading aloud to Luke. He had two different facial expressions when I did. One when I got a word wrong and the other when I got the same word right.
It’s how I learned to understand most things, even though I had no idea what the rest of the world looked like outside my little green and black room.
If I read it correctly, his look now said he was sorry. With a soft sigh, he drew closer, uncuffed my legs, and lifted me into his arms. He was so used to seeing my naked body, battered and beaten, I felt no embarrassment.
He set me down at the little enclosure that served as my bathroom. While I filled the bucket with water, he went to fetch the tray, and after I accepted it, he returned to his chair.
Sometimes, when he carried me back from the red room, bleeding or in pain, I would ask him why he did this job and how he could let Master hurt me. I never got an answer, no matter how many times I asked. Over time, I’d accepted he was mute by choice.
Still, he was there, my silent companion in my lonely world.
Part 1: Upeksa
(The desire to accept everything with equanimity and not to discriminate)
