Page 84 of Savage

He doesn’t, not for the five whole minutes I stand there staring at it.

I brush my hair out of my face and turn around, going back to the kitchen to stare at the pretty pink paper with my to-do list for the day. It won’t take me long, maybe half the day, but I don’t mind. The afternoon programming on my favorite cooking network has the best shows after around two. I can get everything else done, and that’ll be my reward for behaving.

For being good for Hunter.

I decide to start in the order of the list, going to the room with exercise equipment. I’d wondered how he stayed in such good shape before, especially because he doesn’t seem like the type to enjoy going to a public gym. Now I can see why. There’s a treadmill, and there are some weights, and other things I don’t quite recognize. I’ll have to get him to show me how to use some of it when I heal.

My wrists throb at the thought of healing, and I’m not sure if it’s real or if it’s just a phantom effect that comes from thinking about them. Part of me wants to rip the bandages off, to stare at the deep wounds I’d left behind… to reopen them so Hunter has to come back and save me again.

I shudder.

No. I can’t think like that. I have to think more positively. It’s up to me and my pathetic willpower to keep going without thoughts like this.

But it’s so fucking hard, especially when I’m lonely and miserable and—

I shut my thoughts down hard, going to the treadmill. I gingerly stop onto it, and with his note still emblazoned into my mind, I set the speed and the timer. For half an hour, I walk, focusing on my steps instead of all the ways this could go wrong today.

All the ways I could fuck up and disappoint Hunter.

But I’m not thinking about that. I’m thinking about walking and staying at a pace Hunter would be satisfied with.

When the timer chirps at me and the treadmill comes to a stop, it startles me. I’d gotten so caught up in the movements of my feet that I’d forgotten to think for a whole half hour. Now that I’m done, the morbid thoughts threaten to return.

God, I need to stop fucking thinking.

The second item on the list makes me a little queasy. Ever since I tried to slit my wrists, showers make me nervous. A bath is better, I think, but I don’t want to bathe in “my” room.

Instead, I go to Hunter’s, feeling a little bit like an intruder as I creep into the bathroom and start to run the tap. Clumsily, I wrap my hands and wrists with the waterproof film he’d shown me how to put on, but I wish he was there to re-wrap them for me and make sure everything stays sterile.

I stay in the bath until the water gets cold, then I bathe with his soap. It makes me feel a little better, like he’s there with me, but I realize in dismay that I got the bandages wet despite my attempts not to. It threatens to destroy my improved mood because I just know he’ll be disappointed in me.

He’ll change again. He’ll go back to being that terrible, cold person who acts like he hates me unless I’m perfect. He’ll…

I tamp down those thoughts as firmly as I can.

God, I need… something.

Even though I’m not supposed to watch TV or listen to music until I’m finished with my list of chores, I gingerly flip the TV to a music station so I can have something in the background to keep my thoughts occupied. I’ll confess it first thing, as soon as I talk to him, and…

I go to the phone, wanting to admit to my infractions, and I call the number he’d programmed into the archaic piece of technology. It rings a few times, and my breath hitches. What if he doesn’t answer? What if I have to live with this terrible guilt? I pace as I wait, glancing at the TV. I should turn the music off, but my thoughts are driving me crazy.

“Stef?” Hunter says as soon as he answers. “Is everything all right?”

“I…” I have to swallow hard to keep from crying. “I messed up. I’m sorry, Master.”

“What happened?” he asks, his voice stern. “Are you hurt?”

“N-no,” I say quickly. “No. I didn’t hurt myself. I just… I took a bath, and I got my bandages wet even though I tried not to, and I even wrapped them with the… the stuff you showed me how to use. And…” I don’t have to admit to the music. But the guilt is gnawing at me, and I continue in a burst, “And I put on music because I can’t stop thinking.”

Hunter doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and I brace myself for his rebuke.

I startle when he lets out a soft chuckle. “Thank you for telling me, Stef. Those are fine. Try to dry the bandages, but I’m going to change them tonight anyway. And the list was only in a loose order. You may listen to music while doing other things.”

I let out a breath, relief racing through me. “Th-thank you, Master. I’m sorry. I just… It was… I used your bathroom, too, and your soap. I… I miss you,” I admit in a whisper.

“Good girl,” Hunter says. “You’re allowed those things. I’m glad I bring you comfort.”

“You do,” I reply quietly. “I… I won’t keep you. I know you’re working. I just didn’t want to disappoint you, and I thought you should know I’d… deviated from the list and messed up a little.”

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