become. Leonide consumes everything. He ruled my body, my mind, even my unconscious.
There was so little I knew about the man. And he knows so much about me. Rubbing my arm where the implant was buried, I remembered how he'd let slip he'd gotten my medical records. What else of mine did he have?
For that matter, what happened to all my stuff? I'd had a car, luggage, my purse. Did Leonide take everything? Maybe my car is still sitting at Caesar's. If it was, someone would notice. They'd investigate, check into where I'd vanished.
Wouldn't they?
On the top of the second floor stairs, a woman with curly hair—I had started calling her Ticked, for how she always 'ticked' her tongue at me in the kitchen—came to a halt. Her hands were buried in her thick skirts, eyes falling my way.
“Oh,” I said in surprise. “Um, hello.” I suspected the women working in the house understood some of my English, if not most of it. They just played dumb out of habit. Or because they don't want to get more involved.
Dusting off her shoulders, she pointed to me. I touched myself, blinking. Next she started to shuffle away, heading towards the upstairs restroom. Curiously I followed, wondering what was going on.
Inside, she jabbed a stubby finger at the sink. The stink of bleach hit me before I saw the bowl. Waving my hand by my nose, I stared from it, to her, then back. “What's this?”
Reaching out, Ticked scrubbed a strand of my hair between two fingers. Standing straight, I saw the knowing gleam in her grey eyes. “blondínka,” she said.
Warily, I peered in the mirror and stroked the roots on my scalp. “blondínka?”
Ticked gave a nod, gesturing again at the bleach. She spoke rapidly; I caught none of it, I didn't need to. She knows about my hair. Is she helping me? Lowering my hand to the bleach in the sink, the applicator brush, I smiled in defeat. “Blonde. Yes.”
She motioned me to sit. Without another thought, I did just that. Her fingers were gentle, peeling chunk after chunk of hair aside to douse the growing brunette. Bleach seared my nostrils. I was dizzy by the time Ticked was through with me.
Watching her empty the bucket down the drain, I brushed my damp hair, studied the bright, fresh color. Leonide won't know. Not unless I tell him. A knot snagged the brush; I yanked. He called training me in time a 'challenge.'
Ticked stood behind me, weaving my hair into a gentle plait.
A challenge. Opening my eyes, I looked at my reflection. Yes. At this rate, I think that means I'll be gone before this grows out far enough again.
Was there more risk in letting my new 'husband' find out before Leonide? Clutching my hands to my belly, I nodded after Ticked as she slipped away. How can I know what to do? I've never met this other man. Fuck, I've spent over a week with Leonide and I can't predict anything about him.
It was a bitter affirmation.
Rising, I walked with heavy steps into the hall. Unless Leonide pulled me aside, I still had many chores to fill my hours.
****
I was dragging my feet when I climbed to my room. I'd glimpsed Leonide briefly at breakfast. His eyes had burned into me, did things no mere look should do. Finishing a cup of coffee, he tossed on a jacket and strut out of the room. His passing words were a subtle—if unneeded—threat. “I'll be in town today. Behave.”
Then he was gone. I made a point to stay away from the front hallway all day.
Now, yawning, I brushed back my hair and turned my door knob. He went into town, I didn't even see him at lunch. I wasn't comfortable with how lonely the house felt when he wasn't around me.
The gossamer dress that hung from my bed post was fluid as rain. Purple, just a hint of sparkle, it was far out of place in my drab confines. Touching it was a joy. There wasn't a moment to ponder on why it was waiting for me.
His footfalls were sharp, expensive loafers poised in the doorway. “Do you like it?”
I swept fingers over the dress; peered back at
There was so little I knew about the man. And he knows so much about me. Rubbing my arm where the implant was buried, I remembered how he'd let slip he'd gotten my medical records. What else of mine did he have?
For that matter, what happened to all my stuff? I'd had a car, luggage, my purse. Did Leonide take everything? Maybe my car is still sitting at Caesar's. If it was, someone would notice. They'd investigate, check into where I'd vanished.
Wouldn't they?
On the top of the second floor stairs, a woman with curly hair—I had started calling her Ticked, for how she always 'ticked' her tongue at me in the kitchen—came to a halt. Her hands were buried in her thick skirts, eyes falling my way.
“Oh,” I said in surprise. “Um, hello.” I suspected the women working in the house understood some of my English, if not most of it. They just played dumb out of habit. Or because they don't want to get more involved.
Dusting off her shoulders, she pointed to me. I touched myself, blinking. Next she started to shuffle away, heading towards the upstairs restroom. Curiously I followed, wondering what was going on.
Inside, she jabbed a stubby finger at the sink. The stink of bleach hit me before I saw the bowl. Waving my hand by my nose, I stared from it, to her, then back. “What's this?”
Reaching out, Ticked scrubbed a strand of my hair between two fingers. Standing straight, I saw the knowing gleam in her grey eyes. “blondínka,” she said.
Warily, I peered in the mirror and stroked the roots on my scalp. “blondínka?”
Ticked gave a nod, gesturing again at the bleach. She spoke rapidly; I caught none of it, I didn't need to. She knows about my hair. Is she helping me? Lowering my hand to the bleach in the sink, the applicator brush, I smiled in defeat. “Blonde. Yes.”
She motioned me to sit. Without another thought, I did just that. Her fingers were gentle, peeling chunk after chunk of hair aside to douse the growing brunette. Bleach seared my nostrils. I was dizzy by the time Ticked was through with me.
Watching her empty the bucket down the drain, I brushed my damp hair, studied the bright, fresh color. Leonide won't know. Not unless I tell him. A knot snagged the brush; I yanked. He called training me in time a 'challenge.'
Ticked stood behind me, weaving my hair into a gentle plait.
A challenge. Opening my eyes, I looked at my reflection. Yes. At this rate, I think that means I'll be gone before this grows out far enough again.
Was there more risk in letting my new 'husband' find out before Leonide? Clutching my hands to my belly, I nodded after Ticked as she slipped away. How can I know what to do? I've never met this other man. Fuck, I've spent over a week with Leonide and I can't predict anything about him.
It was a bitter affirmation.
Rising, I walked with heavy steps into the hall. Unless Leonide pulled me aside, I still had many chores to fill my hours.
****
I was dragging my feet when I climbed to my room. I'd glimpsed Leonide briefly at breakfast. His eyes had burned into me, did things no mere look should do. Finishing a cup of coffee, he tossed on a jacket and strut out of the room. His passing words were a subtle—if unneeded—threat. “I'll be in town today. Behave.”
Then he was gone. I made a point to stay away from the front hallway all day.
Now, yawning, I brushed back my hair and turned my door knob. He went into town, I didn't even see him at lunch. I wasn't comfortable with how lonely the house felt when he wasn't around me.
The gossamer dress that hung from my bed post was fluid as rain. Purple, just a hint of sparkle, it was far out of place in my drab confines. Touching it was a joy. There wasn't a moment to ponder on why it was waiting for me.
His footfalls were sharp, expensive loafers poised in the doorway. “Do you like it?”
I swept fingers over the dress; peered back at
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