Page 88 of Savage

I walk toward the next display, which includes a controller not dissimilar to the one we’ve been using at home. “I don’t listen to that much music. It’s mostly a distraction. But I don’t dislike hearing it.” I pick up the controller and read the explanation next to the display. “It says this is a… rhythm game? What’s that?”

She smiles at me. “It’s a music-based game. They play the music, and you hit the buttons in time with it. There are versions like… dancing games where you actually use your feet and dance in time with the music. I loved those,” she says wistfully.

I make a mental note of that. Maybe I can find a version of those games for her to play at home, although it’ll have to wait until she’s more healed. I don’t want her doing anything too rigorous and opening up her stitches.

I try the game and fail miserably. We wander over to the next few displays, and I don’t think I’m learning anything about video games, but Stef is clearly amused at how terribly I’m failing at all of them.

Normally I’d be irritated to have somebody derive amusement from my failures, but I enjoy her relaxed attitude, and I don’t actually care about video games. The point is simply to do something together.

When we reach the end of the exhibit, Stef looks at me and sighs wistfully. “So many memories,” she murmurs, and she leans against me. I wrap my arms around her, and she says, “Thank you for bringing me here. I really enjoyed this.” She offers a small, almost mischievous smile at me. “I’d say I’m sorry for laughing at you, but I’m really not. You need more practice.”

“I’m only playing until you’re healed,” I inform her. “Then you can take charge of the controller.” I check my phone and note the time. “It’s about 1:15. Let’s go grab lunch. The gallery has a nice café on the other side of the sculpture garden.”

She nods to me. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her this relaxed before, but I like being the reason she’s happy.

Drake and Chase would howl with laughter at me for being so indulgent with her, but there’s something about having complete control over a submissive woman that simply appeals to me.

I lead her through the garden, and she takes her time marveling at the beauty of it all. I don’t entirely see the appeal of it, but she does seem to take pleasure from simple things. I file that away as well. Stef walks alongside me, still glowing with contentment after the museum visit and the stroll through the garden.

It’s a weekday in late fall, so the cafe isn’t too busy. There are no tourists or school groups, just some local office workers who have popped over for a quick lunch. Stef is quiet at my side, seeming content to let me lead her along to a table by the window.

I order for both of us, and Stef doesn’t seem surprised or offended like other women might’ve been.

“The portions might be a bit large,” I say. “Eat as much as you can, and I’ll have the rest.”

I look out the window too, wondering what the point of that strange jumble of metal just outside is supposed to be. I’m sure the title of the piece will be Industrial Revolution or The State of Man or some other pretentious nonsense. My sister would give me a whole monologue about the meaning of art and how deep it is, while my mother would simply look at the artist’s name and decide whether that meant it was a good piece or not.

“It looks like a collapsed house,” Stef says after a while. “Like somebody pulled out a load-bearing beam and everything crumbled. Everything looks fine, then you just remove one piece and suddenly it’s a huge mess.”

I wonder if she’s hinting at something. “Or it’s simply a collection of beams the artist threw together because they had leftover scraps from another project.”

“It could be both, I guess,” she replies, tilting her head as she regards it. “I—” She cuts herself off as a group of four men enters the room, talking and laughing to themselves, and the color drains from her face. She hurries to duck her head, staring down at the table.

I glance at the men, trying to figure out what spooked her. They look completely ordinary in suits and ties that could almost pass for high quality. The tailoring is off for most of them, which tells me they buy the suits off the rack.

Stef squirms, taking a deep breath, and she offers a forced smile as the waiter returns with our food. Her breathing has quickened, though, and I can see the way her hands tremble. She spears a piece of salmon from her salad, but she doesn’t eat it.

One of the men breaks off from the group, grinning at me as he approaches.

Stef slumps more in her chair, hunching back like she’s trying to make herself appear invisible.

“Hey, Stef!” he greets her as cheerfully as if they were old friends.

He tries to touch her arm, but I grab his wrist before he can.

“Excuse me,” I say coldly. “You’re interrupting my lunch.”

He pulls his wrist back, looking surprised. “Hey, sorry, man. No offense meant. I was just saying hello. Never would’ve expected Ntimacy to let her out and about. How much did it cost for a day with her?”

My vision flares red at the edges. I have to remind myself that we’re out in public, and making a scene here would likely get us banned.

“It’s out of your price range,” I say. “Now go away.”

Stef is so low in her chair that I’d chastise her for her posture if it wasn’t for the situation.

“I doubt that.” He sneers at her. “She’s the cheapest whore they have.” He’s at least keeping his voice down, but that doesn’t help keep my temper in check. “That’s fine. I’ll just call and ask for her myself.”

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