Am I finished?I don’t know. I hope so.
Silvio says something to Anthony, something I can’t hear, and Anthony leaves. I take a few deep breaths and inspect my arms, which are scratched all to hell but nothing so deep that I’ll need medical attention. Master makes me trim my nails for this reason. But then, Master isn’t here, so who really gives a shit?
Master will return,I tell myself. And he’ll want this slave to be in perfect condition. That is why we don’t mar one’s skin, because Master appreciates beautiful things. He demands excellence in every way. I try to conjure Master’s voice in my head.Remember your virtues, Giovanni, patience, humility, subservience, gratitude…
I whisper my mantras, the ones Master has taught me and others I’ve adopted as my own. The demons aren’t raging but they aren’t silent either. They are a low hum of discontent that could spike at any moment.
A movement across the room catches my attention. Anthony has returned, and in his thick fist is an ice cream cone, which he hands to Silvio. Silvio takes a long lick, collecting the drips with his tongue, and watches me closely.
“Unlock the door,” he says to Anthony.
“You sure about that?”
Silvio nods and Anthony approaches slowly, eying me like I’m a tiger in a cage. I won’t hurt Anthony. Iprobablywon’t hurt Anthony. The only reason I struck out against Silvio was that he tried to restrain me.
The lock is disengaged, and the door opens, silent on its oiled hinges. Anthony backs away like he doesn’t want to be held responsible for what happens next.
“Principessa,” Silvio calls amiably. “Look what I have for you here.”
He takes another long lick of ice cream, and the prospect entices me. I didn’t eat breakfast, which was probably hours ago, and my stomach is growling.
“Come, Giovanni,” he says and makes that kissing noise with his mouth.
I crawl toward the door and climb down the platform on hands and knees, feeling more animal than human. Silvio stays very still and nods at me to continue my trek across the marble floor. I glance over at Anthony with a warning glare, but he seems content to keep his distance.
“Yes, princess, there you are. Come to Silvio now. Have some nice ice cream. Your throat must be sore from all that screaming.”
That must be why my ears are ringing as well. I venture closer to Silvio, and he coaxes me to come right between his open legs. There’s a scratch across his cheek with a little bit of dried blood, but other than that, he looks okay.
“Are you going to hurt me?” I ask. This isn’t the kind of hurt I want.
“No, princess, I want to share my ice cream with you.” He holds it out to me, and I take a tentative lick. It’s as good as I remember, maybe even better. Silvio carefully takes hold of my knotted hair and pushes it away from my face, so it doesn’t get caught in the ice cream. “There you go,” Silvio prods. “But let me have some too.”
He draws the cone away from me momentarily to take a long lick himself. His movements are slow and deliberate, like he doesn’t want to spook me. I watch his tongue draw the cream into his mouth, then travel across his lips to collect the remainder before offering it to me again.
I don’t bother trying to reach for it with my hands. Instead, I let Silvio feed me. Like taming a wild animal with food, he pets my head and lets me eat most of it. The ice cream is soothing to my raw throat and the sweetness is pleasing to my senses. When it’s gone, I sit back on my heels and feel almost human again.
“How about a bath now, princess?” Silvio asks.
I nod with tears brimming in my eyes because I am grateful for this kindness.
Silvio drawsa bath in Master’s luxurious bathroom and, after digging through the cabinets, finds a bath bomb to add as well. I climb into the big porcelain tub and wish I could submerge myself and never resurface.
“May I join you?” Silvio asks.
I nod and watch as he strips off his clothing and climbs in to settle across from me. We eye each other warily, and neither of us makes a move.
“I’m sorry I did that to your face,” I say to him at last. My own abuse I can bear, but I don’t like to hurt others.
Silvio shrugs. “Doesn’t hurt too bad. Makes me look tough, no?”
I blink and study him and wonder why he isn’t more upset by it.
“Valentin told me you don’t like to be restrained,” he says and nods as if my mental breakdown is his fault.
“That’s true.”
“So, I’ll be more careful next time.”
