Southern Helle (An Interracial Romance Story)

Chapter 11

The shed door opened. The sun sizzled against my back and my muscles in tightened. “No,” I pleaded. I thought the guards were coming back for round two. 

“Helle, it’s me.” Mary’s voice wafted into my ears. I didn’t speak; it could’ve been a mirage. My imagination was messing with me again. Mary couldn’t finagle her way to open the shed. 

She crossed the shed to me and produced the keys to unlock the shackles. My head hung down to watch them unclasp from around my ankles and wrists. She hiked me up, being very mindful of my back, and helped me walk back to the house. Other hands grabbed me and aided me up the steps into the house. 

They brought me to August’s bedroom and I laid face-down on the bed as Mary and whoever else started to treat my wounds. “Get her some water.” Mary instructed someone. I heard the pitter patter of feet against the wood leaving the room. Less than a minute later, that same person handed me a glass filled with water. I gulped it down with no hesitation. I didn’t even care that the water was a bit on the warmer side. 

They placed all types of crèmes and herbs on my back after the cleaned me and my wounds. They covered my back, legs, and the scrape on my cheek with this gauze type stuff. I fell in and out of consciousness until I finally succumbed to the darkness.

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I was woken up by someone pulling my ankles out of the bed. “Augh,”I screamed. I was flipped over onto my healing back. My butt ached and throbbed.

The evil guard glared at me with dark black eyes. “What you doing in here nigger?” He questioned. 

“I-I don’t kn-know.” I stuttered. He grabbed my hair and dragged me out the room. 

“STOP.” I cried. I kept repeating ‘Stop’ over and over again. Master emerged from his study as soon as the guard pulled me down the stairs.

“What are you doing?” Master asked the guard. We then we reached the last step and my bum was hurting. A lot.  

“She ran away into August’s room.” The guard justified. His grip on my hair was tight and I could actually feel the roots of my hair strands being released from their follicles. 

“So, you don’t drag her down the stairs. What the hell is wrong with you?” Master inquired. I looked up at the guard. He swallowed hard. I could tell he didn’t like being yelled at. He liked doing the yelling.

“She’s not a rag doll, James.” Master added. He was actually defending me. Me: little ole Helle. The salve who likes his son.

“Could’ve fooled me with this nappy ass hair. I can’t even find my hand in this beehive.” James replied, tugging roughly on my hair again. I cried out in pain.

“Let. Her. Go.” Master gritted. He put a period between each word. 

“January,” James started. 

“Let her go.” Master repeated. We exchanged a look. My eyes were pleading and his were assuring. 

“Are you fu—“ 

“I AM NOT GOING TO SAY IT AGAIN.” Master’s voice boomed through the foundation of the house rattling the wooden beams. 

James released his grip on my hair, but he thrust my head forward making it hit the wooden floor. It was hard enough to break skin and draw blood.

Master crossed the grand room to James and grabbed the front of his head. Some tufts of hair escaped his palm and slithered through his fingers. He stalked towards the front door. “I welcome you into my house. We become friends and you turn around and do this. Do you think I was going to just sit back and watch you run my plantation?” Master yelled. James grabbed Master’s hand trying to get Master’s hand on his hair. Every time he would try, Master would pull harder.