Get up, baby.
Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, then slowly dragged myself to the edge of the counter Master stood at. I heard another soft tapping coming from the countertop, sharper this time. It went on for a bit before Master moved to the opposite side with his back to me, and I heard the water running. His whistling didn’t stop.
Now, Cinder.
Whether it was Mama’s guidance or the adrenaline boost Luke told me about, I gripped the counter edge and pulled myself up. I had no idea what I planned to do, but the moment I stood upright, my eyes jumped to the large silver knife lying on the counter next to a burning stove. A piece of meat sat in a pan on top of the flame.
The next few minutes happened so quickly, I was sure it was my dead body that took over my actions, not the weak me:
The water shut off. Master turned. His eyes were large and shocked, his whistle dying, leaving his lips in the shape of a silent o, his hands wrapped around a blue bowl.
I grabbed the handle of the pan in one hand, the weight dipping my hold a little, the other wrapped around the handle of the knife.
The pan flew to Master’s, “fuck,” as he tried to duck, the bowl dropping from his hand.
Me falling to my knees, lunging forward with the knife raised. My eyes closed. My hand struck.
Once. Hitting something firm. Tearing through the material of dark trousers and thick skin, drenching me with spurting blood.
Twice. My shoulders bore the brunt of resistance, giving me the strength to plunge deeper.
Master’s howls echoed in the kitchen among the clatter of the falling pan and bowl.
By the time Master’s cries receded into soft curses, I was shaking so badly, I couldn’t feel the knife I still held.
“What have you done, kitten,” Master’s voice was different. It sounded like mine when I was fighting to breathe.
I opened my eyes. My blood-soaked hands flew to cover my mouth, my head shaking from side to side, my eyes riveted to the blood pouring out of two wounds on Master’s thigh. One looked deeper than the other. Slowly, my eyes drifted upward—his hands wrapped around his thigh, covering the one wound, stopping at the patch of oil on his naked chest, now rising and falling quickly before moving up to shaking shoulders, finally settling on his face.
His eyes on me, his face twisted in pain, he shook his head. “What have you done?” he repeated. There was no anger, just tiredness. “Who’s going to take care of you now?”
Shaking my head, I slowly dragged myself backward.
“Who, kitten?” he asked, his voice louder. “Who?”
Scrambling to my feet, I limped down the stairs leading to my room. When I reached it, I stopped inside the door, my eyes flying around the room.
“What do I do,” I kept saying, over and over, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides.
Go, baby.
I turned to go and looked down at my naked body covered in my and Master’s blood. “No.”
Not sure what I planned to do, I moved quickly to the single shelf, grabbed a tunic, and pulled it on. My muscles cried for rest when I was climbing the stairs again. Unlike the cuts on my arms, thighs, and lower back, the top half of my back burned so much that it made me stop to breathe through the pain several times before I began moving again.
It all hurt. With each move, each tremble, the pain in every inch of skin and bone worsened. I shut it out, forcing every ounce of energy into my feet, pushing myself.
Back in the kitchen, I looked for the coffee machine Luke told me about. My gaze passed it a few times before I recognized the glass pot with the brown liquid. There were three drawers below it. I opened the first. Not sure what the silver things were, I opened the second and found bandages Luke gave me when Master was extra cruel.
Quickly I grabbed four, rolled them around the slashes on my arms and thighs, and used the tape to stick them in place. I couldn’t do anything about my back, so I left it. Then I saw the remote behind the rolls of bandages.
“Kitten,” Master called.
My gaze shifted to him—to the blood still bubbling from his thigh, to the now red patch on his chest. I wanted to smile. I didn’t. He wasn’t worthy of my first smile. His green eyes looked heavy with sleep, his expression sadness. So pathetic, nothing like my cruel Master. Strangely, I felt sorry for him.
You shouldn’t.
“Kitten,” he said softer this time, and I responded like I always did.
