Chapter Seven
“What did you say Esteban?”Sebastian asks stalking toward me, his strides slow and calculated. I made the mistake of opening my mouth and letting something other than ‘yes, sir’ come out. “Do you think talking to me like that is a good idea,pet?” His new name for me makes my skin crawl. I hated Esteban enough as it is but when Sebastian started calling mepet,I knew there were worse things than being calledEsteban.
“Sorry, sir. It will not happen again.” I try and assure him but it’s too late. He has already been given a reason to become the monster he keeps stowed away. As he draws closer, I mentally kick myself for speaking. It has been two years now since I was given the job of cleanup and I’ve never seen the people kept in the cells nor have I seen my friend again, but that all changed today. The woman in front of me was naked except for the dirt she wore on her skin. Sebastian had her by the hair and was dragging her from her cell when she was able to get the best of him. She somehow got her feet under his and tripped him up. I stood by, watching, wide eyed as the whole thing went down. The woman was fearless as she fought for her freedom. Freedom she wouldn’tfind.
Sebastian regained his composure and once again caught her hair in his hand, this time forcing her face into the concrete floor. Over and over until the only thing left was a puddle of blood, brain matter and the clump of hair still in Sebastian’s hand. After witnessing the scene, my lips moved on their own accord. “And I had just moped that spot.” The fury in Sebastian’s eyes was now directed at me. I had gotten to know that fury all too well over the lastmonths.
“You will learn to keep your mouth shut unless it is needed,” he snaps, now close enough to reach out and grab me by the throat with his bloodied hand. “You don’t want to clean the spot again?” His grip is hard and hot around my neck, his body now pressing into mine. “Maybe I will clean it for you? Be a good little pet for me and I might forget you ever said anything.” The stench of his words pull at my ears, whispering along my spine the closer he gets. I hate it when he does this. He uses his closeness to draw something out of me, something I don’t know anything about, but I know deep down it’s wrong. It doesn’t help though. It never does, because I always find myself doing as he says. It may begin with a small tingle of pleasure, but it always ends inpain.