“Would you like me to…” He jerks his thumb at the other side of the room.
“I’ll take it in my box,” I tell him and then lead the way there.
The men have all seen my box. It stands on the far side of Master’s massive bedroom suite. I know they have questions. I think they believe it’s for some sort of sex ritual or erotic demonstration. Master and I have never had sex in the box. It’s my safe space and sometimes it’s my punishment, but the point is that it’s always mine. Master only enters to make sure I haven’t hidden any contraband inside, and if it needs to be cleaned, I’m the one who does it.
I climb the platform and step inside, shutting the door behind me. It locks from the outside but that’s not necessary today. Anthony can see me through the glass, but the sound is muffled, which also comes in handy for Master when the demons take over.
“Giovanni,” Rebekah says when I call her.
“Hello, Rebekah.”
“So nice to hear from you. I missed you last week.”
Last week we were still dealing with the fallout from Salvatore Tagliarini’s unexpected demise. Master won’t let me miss two weeks in a row.
“It’s been a difficult couple of weeks,” I tell her.
“Has it? What’s your stress level right now?”
This is how Rebekah refers to my demons. She doesn’t like “voices” because she feels it shifts the responsibility away from me. She also doesn’t believe in demonic possession. Well, beliefs are like opinions and assholes.
“I’m at about a seven,” I tell her honestly.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s been going on?” she says casually. “Start at the beginning.”
I’ve never met Rebekah in person, but I know she has a miniature poodle named Judicious who recently celebrated his Bark-mitzvah because they’re Jewish and he was turning thirteen years old. I had Master send Rebekah a basket of extravagant dog treats shaped like gelt, which she said she had to parse out because Judicious overindulged the first night and puked all over her nice Persian rug. These are the kinds of details she shares with me, while I tell her about the poisonous things my mother used to say to me during my kidnapping like calling me a dirty little faggot and accusing me of seducing her rapist boyfriend.
Master insisted that I talk to Rebekah as a condition of adopting our lifestyle, and even though our sessions sometimes trigger a tantrum or depressive episode, I know that she’s helping me process my trauma and survive day-to-day. Master is good but he’s not a miracle worker. Rebekah also has an excellent understanding of BDSM and our particular lifestyle, so my only conclusion is that she knows Master through that avenue as opposed to his professional one, though her grasp of mob politics isn’t bad either. Even still, I’m careful to leave out any incriminating details.
“There was a death in the family,” I tell her, “the extended family, that is, very unexpected. And Master was injured, pretty severely.”
“That must have been terrible,” she says sympathetically. “Is your Master okay?”
“Yes, he’s fine. He’s at a very important meeting today.” I pause and take a deep breath because if he doesn’t come home…
“Is this meeting the cause of your stress?” she asks.
“That’s part of it. There are also a lot of people coming in and out of the house. To help take care of Master and keep us safe.”
“That’s a lot of disruptions to your rituals and routines, not to mention your Master probably hasn’t been able to enforce his rules much, has he?”
“No, not really. I’m trying very hard to be good.”
“I’m sure you are, Giovanni. That sounds like a lot to manage. Can you tell me some of the ways in which you’ve served your Master these past two weeks?”
I recline back on my foam mattress to recount them. The most obvious one is that I shot Salvatore Tagliarini in the face. Again, there is this nagging feeling that I should feel worse about taking a man’s life, but I have no regrets. I’d do anything to protect my Master.
“When Master was injured, I was very quick to react. He says that I saved his life.”
I hear the astonishment in Rebekah’s voice, “Wow, Giovanni, that’s quite an achievement. I’m sure your Master is very grateful to you for your quick thinking.”
I probably don’t give myself enough credit, so I take a moment to congratulate myself for doing the exact right thing at the exact right time.
“I’ve also been taking care of him while he recovers, making sure he stays in bed and preparing his food for him. You know, the usual things.”
“But with a lot of added stressors,” she says.
“Yes,” I admit readily.
