Page 30 of Servitude to Serpents

It’s not so much that I actually tried to fall asleep, but that my adrenaline-worn body demanded it of me, a sensation I got used to in those early days, the ones where I still had the energy to fight, when I was still under the delusion it would do any good. When I wake, it’s because a cool, tacky substance tickles my cheek and palm. The hardwood feels unforgiving underneath me as I sleepily push myself away from the offending substance. I try to open my eyes, but they remain unwilling, my legs crossing underneath myself as I rise to a sit, rubbing them. I quickly stop when instead of the resistance of skin on skin, my hand slips, something wet and cold smearing across my eyes. They snap open, staring down at the thing in front of me. I take longer than I care to admit to realize what it is: the remnants of a human skull, its face obliterated beyond comprehension, all sludge, mangled flesh, and bits of shattered bone.

A bizarre, damn near animalistic sound escapes me as I fail, scooting away from it, vomit hurling up my throat, when a heavy sigh grabs my attention.

Master is leaning on the far wall, my wide eyes meeting his bored ones. “Goodmorning, pet.”

“I-it’s on me,” is all I get out before I vomit.

It takes a treacherously long time after upending my guts, leaving me there to panic in the muck, before Master unhooks my leash, gathering me in his arms. “He was not given permission to touch you.”

I’m trembling violently as his words sink in. I stare in horror over his shoulder, finally recognizing the heap of flesh as the man who tried to take me last night. Tears crest my eyes, leaking down my cheeks when I turn to face him again. “I-I’m so sorry, Master. I tried to stop him. I wanted to—” I hiccup, all my thoughts snapping out of my brain in the light of a single, jarring revelation.

He…defended me. Killed for me.

Master frowns, noting the change in my expression before roughly depositing me in front of the bathroom across the hall from my room. “We have a code. He broke it. Don’t waste your tears on trash like him, Pup.”

His auburn hair is ruffled as he leads us in, jerking off his suit jacket before turning on the shower. But I’m not crying over that man—I’m crying because of this one, the one who gingerly strips my bloody clothes off, keeping them off my skin as much as possible despite it being just as bloody underneath.

I cry because he’s gentle as he bends me over, checking the damage on my bottom.

I sob because I think my master might be kind after all.

I had almost forgotten what that felt like.

Chloe Age 14

Renee watches quietly from my bed as I rub the salve over the backs of my hands, resisting the urge to check the clock again. Mom and Dad were supposed to be back from their trip hours ago, and yet we all knew that wouldn’t be the case. One week always seems to mean two, and sometimes two means a month. Grandma would throw a fit if I was away for that long. My sister feels too guilty to leave me alone with her, as if her silent viewing of my constant failing and punishment doesn’t serve to rub salt into wounds that never seem to heal.

Renee seems lost in her thoughts, and I immediately hate myself for mine. Her mobility has worsened significantly over the last year. Her legs are no longer able to support her slight weight, and her spine’s curve now makes most things agonizing, everything except the water.

Renee loves the ocean. I can see the question in her eyes long before she asks.

There isn’t a time I remember hearing the wordsmuscular dystrophyfor the first time. I was either too young to notice or care when our family got the news. Her only being a year older than me, I don’t remember seeing my sister as different, only in the ways she was treated, hovered around and doted on. I even remember being angry with her. Mom and Dad’s attention was always spread thin by the time it reached me, but not Grandma’s. When the signs of Renee’s disability became more noticeable, Grandma had already concluded that she wasn’t going to give her what she wanted. While the woman still dotes on and loves Renee, she doesn’t pay her much mind at all. That leaves me.

The prodigy.

I used to be…jealous of my sister, of the doting, the attention, and the way her life seemed to be devoid of the pressure that always made it hard to breathe. I didn’t understand then, not until recently. Why everyone doted on her, why she wasn’t held to the same unreachable expectations I was. Why grandma saved her ruler for me. I’d never seen her differences for what they were. She was just Renee to me.

Renee is dying slowly, her days filled with much more pain than mine, trapped and caged in a body that spites and betrays her at every turn.

That’s why, when she turns to me, a small smile on her face, I can’t tell her no. To be honest, I love the ocean just as much as she does. The vast emptiness of it calms something always buzzing in my chest.

“Just a little swim? My float should still be at the boathouse.”

“Doesn’t look like Mom and Dad are coming anyway.”

It’s half-past eleven. Everyone in the manor is long asleep by the time I push her wheelchair to where the private walkway gives way to sand. I never take her past the swallow waters, where she can lay on her back as I swim and pull us aroundthe beach line. It’s some of the only fun I get to have. It’s a long process, getting her out of the chair and onto my back, onto the ground and into her float, but it’s one we practice with quiet fluidity. When we slip into the chilly saltwater, Renee frowns, her arms resting on top of the float. “There’s no stars.”

I adjust the tether string I tied to the back of her float’s handle, ignoring the stinging in my hands. “Yeah, it got dark quick.”

Anxiety builds in my chest for a moment before the hum of a nearby boat and the deep lull of the ocean balm it. We aren’t entirely alone. My blonde hair dips and flows onto my shoulders as I stare out at the two figures night fishing a little ways out. “Grandma would have a fit if she knew they were this close to the private beach.”

“Grandma would have a fit if she found us out here again,” Renee chuckles.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” I call quietly to the men in the boat, sticking out my tongue for good measure as I swim us around.

Chapter fourteen

To own is to… Desire

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