Page 85 of Savage

“You’re doing well. I do need to work, but I know this is hard for you. We’re going to work to make you strong, Stef.”

I want that. I want to be strong for him. I don’t want to disappoint him, I don’t want to fuck up, and I just… I want someone to be proud of me. “Thank you,” I whisper. “Okay. Bye, Master.” I don’t want to let him off the phone, but I know I need to.

“Take care, Stef,” Hunter says.

The call ends, and I’m left with silence.

Or, not silence. The music is still going. The music that Hunter said I’m allowed to have, even though I hadn’t asked first.

I flip the phone closed, then look down at the list. I’m not hungry yet, but I am tired, so I crawl into his bed. After setting the alarm for exactly forty minutes, I curl up under the blankets and breathe in his scent, focusing on the music and imagining him stroking my hair until I fall asleep.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon is almost painless. I eat, take the medication he’s doled out for me, and settle in to work on the biggest task he’d left me. I don’t know what goals to set for myself. Everything seems impossibly hard, though I’m intrigued by the options he left me. I’m not good enough with computers to really consider coding, though photography… I’d love to take pictures of Hunter.

It still doesn’t appeal to me as much as cooking does, though, for all that I doubt he’s going to let me near the sharp knives any time soon. As it is, they’re neatly tucked away in a thick metal box with a combination lock that I couldn’t get into even if I tried. His forethought brings mixed feelings in me, but then, I haven’t really earned his trust yet.

And there’s a part of me that’s a little too fascinated with the idea of taking a blade to my skin again…

I shudder and close my eyes, leaning back on the couch.

It doesn’t take long for the obvious to strike me. I never fucking finished high school. How would I even take classes on anything without a diploma or even a GED? It seems necessary all of a sudden, but like an insurmountable task. I’m not stupid, but I’m not brilliant either. I don’t know if I could pass that test.

Hunter’s right.

Drugs are poison, and they’ve seeped into my brain and left me even more stupid than before.

I can’t help it. I call Hunter again, waiting anxiously for him to answer the phone.

He picks up after the third ring. “Hi, Stef. I have about five minutes before my next patient.”

Five minutes. Five whole minutes.

“Hi, Master,” I reply awkwardly. I realize I don’t know what to say to him now that he’s on the phone. I’m quiet for a moment, long enough for the silence to drag on. “I’m sorry to keep calling. I’m just… I’m lonely.”

“I understand,” Hunter answers. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or not. “It’s your first day on your own since… well. It’s something to work up to.”

I nod even though he can’t see me. “I’ve done everything on the list. I’m… going to sit down and watch TV for a little bit until you get home.” I wish I could use some of the knowledge I’m gaining from the cooking shows and fix a meal for him, but everything would require the knives I’m not allowed to even look at, let alone touch. “Are you having a good day?” I ask feebly.

“Better, knowing that you’re trying so hard.”

I wish I could see him. He’s usually not very expressive, but sometimes I can see small hints of smiles, and they reassure me so much. All I have now is his usual flat tone of voice, no matter that the words themselves are gentle.

“I’m glad.” I’m quiet again. “I guess I’ll… let you go. I just wanted to check in.”

I just wanted to hear your voice.

God, what is fucking wrong with me?

We end the call, and I struggle to put the phone down and get on with my day.

I need to figure out what I want to learn. I need to be able to tell him what I need so I can learn and improve myself and stop being such a fucking failure and—

I sob and sink to the floor, wrapping my arms around myself. I stay that for a long time, wallowing in my self-pity.

Fuck, I’m pathetic.

After what seems like an eternity, I slowly get up, going to the couch and sagging down onto it. My hand is throbbing, so I can’t write down my list. I end up thinking it through in my head instead.

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