Page 77 of Servitude to Serpents

I think we do.

I think maybe, I neverstopped.

Back to Black by Amy Winehouse (Performed by Oscar and the Wolf)

It took an hour for the panic attack to subside, for my screaming and gasping to end. When I open the door, I’m careful to crack it, not wanting to get in trouble for trashing my room. Stuart is waiting, wearing the same smug expression, although now slightly perturbed. “Ready?”

My eyes dart to the doors down the hall, swallowing past the fist-sized lump in my throat as I nod, following him down the stairs. I hold my breath until I sway on my feet, listening for the sounds of pleasure, begging, pleading, but I hear none. The armed guards that escort me on my run pay me no mind, just like every other day, entrusted to keep a respectful distance. The ducks watch me longingly as I pass them, but I don’t bring bread anymore. My lungs burn by the time I’ve looped my path, slowing to a light, halfhearted jog as I hit the paved section of the driveway. I bow over, bracing myself on my knees, willing the sick feeling deep in my gut away as I pant. Even exhausting myself on the run barely took the edgeoff this ungodly feeling. Despite spending most of the run trying to reason with myself, I only came to one conclusion.

Master has always been honest with his stance, and I’ve never been anything but thedog.

My collar today is a medium-sized one, made from expensive brown leather. It chafes as I sweat. The doggy bone engraved with the house emblem dangles, catching the sun with each taunting swing. My tight, long-sleeved athletic wear jacket is sweltering today. I’ve got no idea what part of the US or world I’m in, but the usually foggy, mild climate is in the throes of a heatwave. The guards adjust their positions, pulling their guns around from their backs, getting my attention as the front doors of the estate pop open, the curvy woman stepping out, her watery eyes squinting at the sun.

I’m going to be sick.

She walks over to me, adjusting her makeup before giving me a smile I don’t return. “Is there any way you could let Stuart know I’m ready to go? I couldn’t find him; this place is like a maze.” Her soft chuckle grates at my ears like the drums are being run through by a blender.

I stand to my full height, ignoring her, stripping my jacket off and tying it around my waist. The woman shifts on her heels, clearing her throat uncomfortably. I follow her gaze as her eyes dip to my sports bra, the yellowish bruising that litters my flesh, then my collar for a moment. The silence drags on and on, but I can barely tell; my mind is buzzing. My pounding heart acts as percussion. I’m notme, more like a spectator. An uninterested audience member.

“He’s in the garage,” I offer, my voice calm as I nod my head toward the building. “You can tell him yourself,”

I don’t know why I lie.

She looks taken aback. She’spretty.

She has been crying too.

“Yeah.” She makes an annoyed sound. “Thanks.” Her eyes dip to my collar again, unlike everyone else in this world. They don’t notice them any more than they’d notice someone wearing a nose ring. She turns her round, plump assworking overtime in her fitted skirt as she heads toward the garage.

I follow her.

She notices, but she’s uncomfortable or annoyed enough not to say anything.

Of course, people rarely bat an eye when a family pet follows them.

My hands that never seem to stop shaking still just as she steps inside, looking around before spinning on her heels. She gasps as she almost runs into me, laughing it off, but I don’t. I don’t even think Icould. “He’s not in here.”

“Did he fuck you?”

She pauses, her smile dying. “What?”

My fingers skim one of the iron tools that leans up against the inner wall of the garage. Its porous texture is a lot like Remus the viper. “Master. Did he fuck you?”

She frowns, swallowing hard, taking a few steps back. Her eyes dip to my collar again. “….Master. You mean Warrick?”

Warrick.

“Did you sleep with him?”

She scoffs, indignation taking the place of shock. “Are you serious?”

I lean in, making her yelp as I inhale her. Looking for any traces of sage and oak, any traces ofhim, even the alcohol he’s been so fond of lately. She stumbles back as my hand tightens around the tire iron at my side. She turns toward the inside of the garage again, like Stuart will somehow magically be in there now.

Stupid.

You should never turn your back on an aggressivedog.

The tire iron feels so light in my hand as I swing it at the back of her head. The resulting crack echoes in the garage as she folds, falling to the ground, but I don’t stop, bringing it down on her head again as the guards around me erupt in a flurryof activity.

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