Page 10 of To Hell

“Keep your mind on important things, Zoe,” he spurts. “I will be out.” He stomps out of my room, and I scramble after the parts of the camera strewn across the floor.

It was my mother’s, and he knows. But he threw it without even flinching, deliberately killing every part of her that could have kept him human.

I sniff, picking up the shards with tears blurring my vision. I gather as many parts as possible and crawl to my bed, not minding that I might be climbing on needles and pins. I crawl into a corner, pull my earphones out from inside my sweater, and plug them into my ears.

The classical music cloaks my eardrums and I let myself slip into the comfort of dreaming about a place different from this one.

I hug the broken parts of the camera to my chest as I stare blankly at my fashion magazine-covered wall, which is adorned with models that remind me of something good that happened today.

Virgilio.

I smile sadly, my tears burning down to wet my pillow.

He is something good. I can focus on that.

Chapter Six

ZOE

Something feels off.

The mattress is soft under my skin and different from the lean mattress I normally sleep on. The warmth from the comforter, the tenderness of the pillow, and the caressing feeling of the smooth sheets.

My eyes shoot open, and I spring up from the bed.

My eyes dart around, the subtle line of the morning sun through the tinted floor-to-ceiling window in front of me making me flinch and drop my head.

Oh.

It’s not a dream.

I continue to move my eyes around my room.

It’s not a dream at all. I’m here now. I have been bought by a new master who has allowed me to sleep the entire night.

He didn’t come banging on my door for sex. He didn’t ask me to be between his legs playing with his cock all night as he tried to sleep. He didn’t use my body.

He allowed me to sleep.

I drag the black comforter up my slightly naked body. I’m still wearing my costume. I stand carefully, as if the sound of my footsteps will end this dream. Like anything I do from now on will wake me from this dream.

I stride carefully to the sliding doors that seem to be mirrored but aren’t. They are as black as everything else in here, only showing shadows of my frame.

I read the white note on stuck on them.

Wear something and come down for breakfast.

With an arrow that is pointing in the direction of the wardrobe.

I spin and scuttle over to the wardrobe. I look through the clothes, letting the scent of new fabrics and better garments permeate my nostrils. They are so new that the price tags are still on them.

He got them for me.

I pick up a black dress that I’m sure he would love to see me in. I stroke the label on it. It’s a designer dress, something I will spend years slaving for and will still never be able to afford.

So are all the other clothes he has gotten me.

Does he have plans to keep me trapped because I need to pay for the luxury he is giving me?

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