His Slave

22. Grief

Anna thinks on my words for a moment. "Yeah but you wouldn't be a debtor any more, right?" She asks.

"No, I'd still be a debtor. Just a fugitive of the state, which would be much worse. And that's how they keep the people they "free" working for them; they lord your freedom over you," I tell her.

"Sounds like you know a lot about this," she remarks.

"My friend Martin back at my old... job had worked with one of those groups for a time. He only mentioned his time with them to me once," I explain. "But I got the sense that it wasn't a good time in his life."

"So, they caught him then or," Anna drops her sentence, waiting for me to explain more.

"From what I understand he turned himself in. Didn't want to deal with the rebels anymore," I reply.

Anna nods. "How are you feeling?" She asks, picking up the coffee cup from the table and setting it back on the tray.

I think about that for a minute. My headache is gone and my stomach no longer feels like it's sloshing around. I still feel exhausted, but at least I don't feel sick anymore. "Holy shit, this stuff works," I remark in surprise.

Anna nods. "Told you it would do the trick," she says. "If you want you can join the rest of us for lunch in about twenty minutes," she says.

I shake my head. "That's okay. I just want some time to myself right now," I tell her.

"We'll be in the grand dining room if you change your mind," she tells me before leaving.

After she's gone I sigh, wondering how I ended up on the sofa, or how I even got inside and up the stairs. I don't remember anything after getting in his car to go home.

I was pretty sleepy. James must've carried me inside. At least he had the common decency to let me sleep on the sofa instead of the floor.

I let my thoughts wander back to last night. Everything is a little fuzzy at the edges but I remember most of the evening. I remember what James did to me last night. What I let him do to me.

I wish I could blame it on the alcohol but I was still pretty coherent at that point in the evening. And god Did I really tell Kendra that I trust James? Because I definitely don't.

I finally push the blanket off of me, getting up and heading into the bathroom.

I notice the date on the screen in the shower.

February 17th.

Why does that seem so familiar? Nothing comes to mind so I start the shower, relishing in the hot water as it pours over my body.

When I finally get out, I dress in a pair of skinny jeans with the cuffs rolled at the ankles and a flowy, white button-down shirt, leaving the first couple buttons undone. Wow. James wasn't kidding. These clothes do fit me perfectly.

I go to hang the party dress back up in James' closet, finding the floor still covered in boxes and tissue paper. I sigh, and bend down, gathering the boxes into my hands, breaking them down. Then I collect all of the tissue paper, stuffing everything in the recycling before wandering down the hall to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee.

I take a seat at the dining table, slowly waking up as I drink my coffee. This is my fourth day here. Today is February 17th.

February 17th. Why is that so familiar to me? I raise the coffee cup to my lips to take another sip, but it slips from my fingers as the realization hits me.

Oh god. How could I have forgotten what today was? February 17th is the anniversary of my mother's death.

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