Grandmama's Mansion

Lines of Blood

"Oh, my god. What happened?" he asked. He sounded frightened. I, dispirited, didn't want to talk about it.

"Can I go to my room?" I asked.

He looked shocked as if I said something ridiculous, and sternly said "No, come with me," and he started to walk down the hallway. I followed, walking slowly as the cuts stung my skin from the pressure of my clothes, not to mention the whips naturally agonizing pain. Every movement pulled at a muscle, moving the skin along with it, and each movement manages to tug at my wound, reopening the scabs.

"If you just went to your room with all those wounds, you would die," he said expressively. How did he know I had cuts on my body? He seemed to know everything.

"How did you-"

"The blood is soaking through your clothes. I can tell you have open wounds just from the amount of blood," he said intelligently. I tried to look down, but I stumbled and almost screamed due to the pain the movements of catching myself caused. I decided not to look just yet.

He led us to a bathroom like the one in my room, but with a medical cabinet. I honestly didn't expect Grandmama to provide any medical attention to anyone in the mansion besides herself. I assumed it was just so no one died, because I doubt she would like losing a servant. Not because she would miss them, but she would have to either do some work herself or hire another servant.

He closed the door and I slowly sat on the closed toilet seat. Walking over, he turned the bath water on. I just sat there hoping it wasn't for me. I knew he wasn't going to take a bath himself, but I just didn't want to think about anything. After the tub had been filled, he said, "Get in."

I shook my head no, and he replied, "We have to clean the wounds."

I painfully stood up and he sat on the closed toilet seat facing away from the tub, signaling he wasn't looking. I quickly, and might I add painfully, slipped my clothes off and noticed just how bloody they had become. I slowly and painfully slipped my foot in the water, the whips on my leg burning worse from the movement. My other foot followed, and I slowly crouched down, lower and lower until the warm water hit one of the cuts. It felt like someone was holding a lighter to my skin. I quickly stood up, the water splashing, and whimpered at the pain of the sudden extreme movement. Lance jerked, wanting to make sure I was okay, but after he realized I wasn't making any more sound, he calmed down. I wanted to leave, but I realized Lance wouldn't let me leave until I washed them. So I closed my eyes, held my breath, and painfully submerged myself into the water.

I sat there a moment before he asked, "What did she do to you?"

"Whipped me, seventeen times," I replied. Speaking made the cuts on my face sting, so I spoke as little as I could.

"Only whipping, that's good. I'm not saying that what happened to you isn't horrible, because it is, but she has done a lot worse. You have to start listening to her, no matter how horrible she is. I can't sit here and watch her slowly kill you. I used to be like you, rebellious. But now I have had hundreds of whippings and I was paralyzed for a year." I was shocked. How could he have been paralyzed and then fully healed in a year? I had a feeling it had to do with her unnatural talents, but I didn't want to bring it up, or any painful memories that he might associate with it. Also, I really didn't want to talk.

"From now on I get one whip per day. And trust me; I won't be disobeying her anytime soon. I can't, and I know that now. I only have one question. Do you know why she killed my parents?" I needed to know, and going through the pain was worth knowing. I had a feeling he knew, and I wished I had asked before I rampaged off to attack her. I hope it had a wonderful explanation that would make perfect sense, I really did, but I had no doubt that that wasn't the case.