Page 57 of The Puppetmaster

“That could work,” I say nonchalantly. “I’ll give it a try and see if she listens to it.”

“That cat doesn’t listen to anything,” he argues.

“Maybe not ifyousay it,” I tease him.

He meets my mocking with a sinister smile on his face, clearly making a note to punish me for it later. That’s fine with me, because I know it will be a sweet punishment. Or so I hope.

“Get yourself a coffee,” he says as he eases himself down from the chair. “I’ll make you some eggs.”

Chapter 35

Raad

I gave in too quickly. I was weak.

She made me weak.

I don’t want to let these thoughts get to me, but fuck they do, because I know it’s true. Alena is hiding something from me, she’s lying and she clams up while simultaneously asking me to open up to her. Neither of which I can or should tolerate, but for some reason I do. For some reason, I let her sassy remarks go by, I let her guide the conversation up until deliberating a name for that stupid cat that likes her so much.

Little Miss Solace rests on the window shelf, basking in a ray of autumn sun while Alena follows my order to clean up the kitchen. I’m still sitting on the high chair, watching her slave away for me.

I don’t enjoy turning my puppets into housemaids and usually refrain from issuing such kinds of demands, because watching them fulfill these tasks doesn’t give me any pleasure. If anything, it reminds me of Dorota doing her job, which is the least sexy thing I could imagine. I’ve never indulged in the fantasy of having a wife or even a girlfriend perform these tasks for or with me. That idea is just too detached from my own reality.

But I wanted to keep Alena busy. I know she becomes restless easily and needs something to focus her energy on. I’ve talked to her former boss on occasion and he always said the same thing about her: Alena tries very hard. She tries to please, she tries to achieve something. She thrives for recognition. I would lie if I said I didn’t feel guilty about taking that away from her, but I also know that Mr. Hammond’s firm was not the place for her to flourish. It was only meant to be a stepping stone, and while I was the one who took it away from her, I’m also the reason she got the job in the first place.

I wonder how much she would hate me if she knew all of this.

She’s wiping the counter clean, standing with her back to me, her perky ass exposed under the see-through kimono, her brown hair raining down her athletic back.

I want her so much that it hurts, physically and mentally. And it doesn’t help that I know I will have her, later today and then again tomorrow, and the day after that. Again and again. She’s my puppet and I can do whatever I want with her—but for how long?

For how long will she want to be here? I’ve never had to ask myself that question before, because all my former puppets wanted me more than I wanted them. I could see the fear in their eyes every time they thought I was done with them, and I was confronted with their desperate cries when the day finally came. Most, not all, pleaded for me to keep them, to marry them, to be mine forever. They didn’t want to leave even after spending more than a month with me.

Alena, on the other hand, speaks of needing solace and comfort after just being with me for a week.

Does she not want to be my puppet anymore?

Why do I fucking worry about this? Why does shemake meworry about this?

“You said that cat gives you comfort,” I say, deciding to confront her with my anguish. “Comfort for what? Do I make you suffer that much?”

She freezes in place for a second, but doesn’t turn around to me when she responds.

“That cat’s name is Salwa,” she simply says.

“Don’t change the subject again,” I warn her. “Answer the goddamn question.”

Alena sighs and puts down the cloth with which she cleaned the countertop. There’s nothing more for her to do, the kitchen is as clean as it can be and she stands there indecisively, her fingers idly tapping on the spotless surface in front of her.

“It’s like you said,” she utters, finally turning around to me. “No one said this was going to be easy.”

I nod. “Yes, but I’ve never had a puppet doubt me this early on.”

“Doubt you?” she repeats, her eyes widening as she looks at me. “Who said I doubt you?”

“Why else would you seek comfort from a cat? You obviously don’t want to be here anymore, but you’re too afraid to say it.”

She looks hurt now, slowly shaking her head as she approaches me and leans against the counter opposite where I’m sitting.

---