"Erin," someone calls gently, pulling me from sleep.
"Hmmm," I murmur, snuggling deeper into the chair.
"Erin," they call again, shaking me a little.
I force my eyes open to find James standing over me. "Anna said you've been asleep for a while," he says as he takes the seat next to me.
"What time is it?" I ask sleepily, sitting up as I rub the sleep from my eyes.
"Almost six," James replies, his words laced with concern.
"I slept for three hours?" I ask in disbelief, stretching my arms above my head. My back protests, reminding me of the punishment I received earlier.
"You probably needed it after the night you had," he says with a laugh.
Or after you beat the hell out of me earlier, I think. But I don't dare say those words out loud. It was probably a mix of both.
"Are you hungry?" James asks me and I think about his question for a minute before nodding.
"Maybe a little," I reply.
James nods, standing up and holding his hand out to me. "Come on. Let's go get dinner," he says.
I take his hand, letting him pull me up. "Okay," I agree, still trying to wake up.
We head down to the small dining room off the kitchen on the first floor. James takes the seat at the head of the table and I take the seat to his right, yawning. "How were the business matters you had to tend to?" I ask, making conversation to keep me awake.
James gets visibly frustrated. "Absolute bullshit. Some president from a foreign country breached the Persona terms and conditions and used the DNA recognition scanner database to spy on other world leaders. Everyone is freaking out about it," he says, his words drenched with irritation.
"That sounds like a pretty big problem, Master," I reply.
"It is. They shouldn't even have access to those databases - each country has access to their own Persona database, and even then it can only be used for particular things. It is highly illegal for anyone to try and gain access to another country's information. And there are thousands of firewalls and protocols in place to make sure things like this don't happen. So, it's very likely that this president has spies operating within Persona headquarters in different countries to obtain this information," he explains.
"That's terrible," I reply because I don't know what else to say.
James nods. "My mother isn't gone two weeks before something like this happens," he remarks, sounding exasperated. "And only certain people are given access to the databases, so they're likely working with individuals of very high standing," he adds, running his fingers through his hair.
"Why do you think they're spying on other countries?" I ask as the cook brings two salads, setting them on the table before hurrying out of the dining room. I can tell that my presence here has made her uncomfortable.
"We're not sure, but we need to get this issue under control quickly. The perpetrator has been put under house arrest and is awaiting trial, but that doesn't mean their operatives aren't still hacking the system and spying on these people," he explains.
"I was talking with Anna earlier. She said Persona can't be hacked or else it notifies the police," I reply.
James laughs. "She told you about her little escapade, did she?" He asks, slightly amused.
"She did," I say, laughing a little.
James shakes his head. "Right. That's why we have reason to believe that whoever is doing this already has access to the database," he says.
I nod.
"And as far as anyone is concerned, I didn't tell you about any of this," he adds, violently stabbing his salad with his fork, shoving a bite in his mouth.
"Yes, Master," I reply, trying to stifle my laughter.
He quirks an eyebrow at me as he swallows his food. "Why are you laughing?" He asks, sounding just a little indignant.
"It's just... the way you stabbed your salad," I reply, another giggle escaping my throat.
James narrows his eyes at me but he's smirking. "You find that funny, slave?" He asks me.
"Yes, Master, I do," I reply.
James repeats his action, more dramatically this time, and I burst into laughter, unable to control myself.
"Someone's easily amused," he says, shaking his head at me as he takes another bite of his salad.
It takes me a moment to compose myself. "I suppose I am," I reply. We continue to eat the rest of the meal in silence.
When we're done James stands up. "Come on, Erin. I need to check your back and make sure I didn't do too much damage," he tells me.
I nod, getting up from the table. James offers me his hand and I take it as we head up the stairs. We enter his room and he guides me over to the sleek black sofa.
"Lay down on your stomach," he instructs and I do as I'm told. "I'll be right back," he tells me before heading into his bathroom.
He comes back a moment later with a bottle of lotion, pulling the chair from his desk over to the sofa. He sits down, pulling my shirt up. I tense at his touch.
"Relax, Erin," James coaxes and I do, using my arms as a pillow as he tenderly runs his fingers over my back. He applies a little more pressure on a specific spot and I suck in a sharp breath from the pain.
"I got you good there," James says as he tenderly rubs the lotion into the spot. Almost immediately the pain begins to dissipate, a soothing sensation replacing it.
He finds the other places that make me gasp in pain, applying the lotion there too, until my pain is mostly gone.
"Is that better?" He asks me.
"Yes, Master," I murmur in response. He continues to massage my back with his fingertips, making me sleepy again.
"You're not falling asleep on me are you?" James asks playfully, running his thumb along the curve of my neck.
"Mmhmm," I reply drowsily, wanting nothing more than sleep right now.
"Come on, let's get you some coffee," he says, running his fingers through my hair.
"Isn't it a little late for coffee?" I ask, turning my head to meet his gaze.
"It's only seven," James replies with a shrug. "I don't normally go to bed until eleven."
I force myself to sit up, dropping my shirt back down over my torso.
James smirks at me deviously. "I marked you good earlier," he says, glancing down at my wrists where the rope marks are still prominent. "I left quite a few marks on you, actually," he adds, his words dripping with satisfaction.
I realize my back must be riddled with bruises also and I scowl at him. "You're cruel," I say matter-of-factly.
James' eyes glisten with sinister intentions. "Oh, my dear little slave," he breathes out, causing goose bumps to rise on my skin. "Whatever gave you the impression that I wasn't?" He asks me.
When I have no answer, James just shakes his head. "Let me see your wrists," he tells me, and I surrender my left wrist to him first. He applies a small amount of the lotion, rubbing it in before doing the same thing to the other one. Once he's done he pulls me to my feet and we head to his kitchen.
James takes a seat at the table and I walk over to the coffee maker, pouring six tablespoons of coffee into the basket, which is a lot for two people but James likes his coffee dark. He also has a very unique way that he likes his coffee.
Once the coffee is done brewing, I take one of the sleek, charcoal grey coffee cups from the cabinet, filling it up. Then I add a teaspoon of vanilla and a tablespoon of milk before mixing it together. I add a pinch of nutmeg and a pinch of cinnamon on top. Then I take the steaming hot cup in my hands, walking over to the table and presenting it to James. He nods approvingly, taking the cup from me. "Thank you, slave," he says.
"You're welcome, Master," I reply, going to pour my own cup. I heap several teaspoons worth of sugar into my coffee before stirring it.
"That's a lot," James observes, tsking at me. "Something just might have to be done about that sugar addiction of yours," he says disapprovingly.
"I don't have a sugar addiction!" I reply indignantly.
"Yes, you do," James replies smoothly while frowning at me. "And if you can't learn a little self control I am going to have to do something about it," he tells me, a little more seriously this time.
"Like what?" I ask as I join him at the table.
James only smirks at me knowingly. "Nothing yet, but we'll see," he replies vaguely, taking a sip of his coffee. He hums in satisfaction, letting me know he's pleased with how I made it.
That same strange feeling from earlier wells up inside me again and I try to ignore it as I take a sip of my own coffee, the sweetness of the added sugar outweighing the bitterness.
"Do you want to play a little game?" He asks me before taking a long sip from his coffee.
Oh god. I eye him suspiciously. "What kind of game?" I ask skeptically, almost dreading the answer.
"Nothing dirty," James replies, his words dripping with amusement. "Goodness, Erin. Is that always where your mind goes?" He asks me, that infamously sinister smile spread across his lips.
I can feel the heat rising on my cheeks. "No," I reply in embarrassment. "Of course not! I just never know with you," I add, making him laugh.
"Though I might not always act upon them, it would be safe for you to assume my thoughts always linger on the dirty side," he replies playfully, making my stomach turn. Or maybe it's a fluttering sensation? God, what is he doing to me?
"What game?" I ask, to distract myself from my own feelings and wishing I had a cookie or pastry to go with my coffee. Fuck. James is right. I am addicted to sugar. But I'll be damned if I ever admit it out loud.
"The game is called two truths and a lie. Ever played?" He asks me.
I shake my head. I haven't played any kind of game since I was seven. "I've never really had time to play games before," I admit though I'm not sure why I tell him this.
James nods, an unreadable emotion flashing across his face. "It's simple. We take turns and we have to state three things about ourselves, two that are true and one that is false. And the other person has to try and guess which of the facts is the lie," he explains.
Seems easy enough. "Okay," I agree.
"I'll go first," James says and I'm a little relieved. "I'm twenty years old," he starts, counting out his facts on his fingers. So he's three years older than me. I knew he wasn't old enough to be drinking! Not that anyone would dare tell James Harrington no to anything.
"I've been to all seven continents," he continues, eying me as he speaks. "And I graduated high school when I was fifteen and college just last spring," he finishes before taking a long, slow sip of his coffee.
"The last one is false," I reply but James shakes his head, smirking at me.
"Nope," he replies, seeming pleased that I got it wrong. "The second one is false. I've been to all the contents except for one," he says.
"Antarctica?" I ask since that's the least traveled-to continent.
"Europe," he corrects, getting a distant look in his eyes.
That's a surprise. Everyone travels to Europe. And someone in his standing probably has plenty of opportunities to go. I decide not to press him about it.
"You really graduated college at 19?" I ask in shock, pulling him from his thoughts.
He nods. "I hated everything to do with school, but I knew my mother would never, absolutely never let me drop out so I decided I was going to get out of it as quickly as possible. Didn't want to attend college either but she threatened to cut me off if I dishonored our family like that," he explains, rolling his eyes, before taking another sip from his coffee.
I laugh a little.
"Earned my master's in four years instead of six," he adds, his words dripping with pride.
"Wow. That takes some serious dedication to be twenty years old and you've already graduated college," I remark.
James shrugs. "I just hated school enough to push myself to get out of it quickly," he replies as if everyone could just graduate high school at fifteen. I didn't even go to high school. "Your turn," James says.
I have to think for a moment. "I love caramel," I start, feeling a little self conscious. "I like romance novels, and I want to see the world some day," I reply, a little embarrassed.
"Second one," James replies as he sips down the rest of his coffee.
"How did you know?!" I ask in surprise.
"The novel you were reading before you fell asleep was historical fiction," he replies simply. "And besides, nobody actually enjoys reading romance novels," he adds matter-of-factly.
I sniff a laugh. "Okay, your turn," I reply.
James smiles at me. "Make me another coffee first," he orders and I get up from the table, taking his cup from him as I walk back over to the kitchen. When I'm finished making up his second coffee I join him at the table again and our little game resumes.
"I like the color green, Summer is my least favorite season, and I think Christmas is a useless holiday," he says, smirking at me as he waits for me to guess which one isn't true.
I think for a moment, glancing to the leather jacket that I've rarely seen him without. That would be hot in the Summer, and he wouldn't want to ruin his delinquent reputation, so I'm assuming the second is true. Christmas is not a useless holiday, but someone like James probably would see it as useless.
And James doesn't love green. Everything he owns is black.
"The first one," I guess.
James nods, taking a sip from his second coffee. I catch him eying me, a hint of amusement in his eyes as I think about what to say next.
"I happen to like Christmas," I start just to contradict him. "Apples are my favorite food, and I got kicked out of an art museum once," I say, but the second the words leave my mouth I wish I wouldn't have said them. The thought of the art museum makes me remember just how much I miss Toby. Last night was the first night in my life that we weren't sleeping under the same roof.
"Second one," James replies. "Your favorite food is sugar," he adds, his words a little teasing.
I nod, having grown suddenly quiet.
"So, you got kicked out of an art museum?" James asks, wanting to know the story behind it.
"Yeah. It was that same day my brother and I ran into you at the coffee shop," I say, my smile faltering.
I can feel the tears behind my eyes, and I fight to hold them back. "So, as you know my brother and I snuck out while the Daltons were on vacation," I begin, a bit of guilt and embarrassment rising up inside me.
"And we decided to go to the art museum since we hadn't been since we were kids with our mother. And anyways, there was this painting, and I mean it was a godawful painting," I add, laughing as I recall the image in my mind.
"The background was painted this horrendous shade of green. Neither of us could figure out what shade of green it was, so my brother made up a new name for the color. He called it piss water green and for some reason I lost it," I say, shaking my head.
James laughs a little, amused by the story.
"Well, we started searching the museum for the ugliest colors we could find in order to rename them, but I guess some snobby old lady complained about us. And I so tastefully dubbed this strange taupe color shit-stained concrete right as the curator came over to us. He was mortified," I add, unable to control my laughter as I recall the bewilderment on the curator's face as he escorted us out. James laughs too.
"I know it was a childish thing to do," I say, feeling just a little embarrassed about it.
"I think it's a hilarious story," he counters. "You're quite the little troublemaker," he remarks, shaking his head teasingly at me.
"Yeah I guess," I agree, taking another sip of my coffee, but it's not doing much to keep me awake anymore.
"Can we please go to bed?" I ask him, unable to fight off my exhaustion any longer. "I can barely keep my eyes open."
James glances to the time on his watch and a message flashes across the screen. "You can. I have an important phone call to make," he says, stretching.
"Okay," I agree, getting up from the table. I rinse out my coffee cup and set it in the sink before heading towards the door.
"Goodnight, Erin," James calls after me.
"Goodnight," I reply softly, hurrying out of the kitchen before he forces me to add a certain title to that.
I walk back to his room. The lights turn on when I enter and I saunter over to the bathroom, brushing my teeth before messing with the screen by James' bed until I find the off switch for the lights. I lay down on the floor beside his bed as the lights grow dim until I'm left in pitch black.
But even as exhausted as I am, I can't get to sleep. I have too much on my mind. I miss my brother. I miss his over-protective instincts and how we used to get into fights about it. I miss gossiping with Adelaide and how she and Thomas used to have the most comical married-couple fights. I miss when Thomas and I would complain about having to serve tea to Mrs. Dalton and her friends.
I miss Keary's childish antics. I miss the way Martin used to swear at everything, even the good things, and how he kept trying to get me to learn how to drive. Those people were my family. Are my family, and I'll be damned if I never see any of them again.
Here, alone in the dark I finally let all my emotions out. Tears sting my eyes and this time, I don't hold them back. I lay there on the floor, sobbing, overcome with a wave of insurmountable grief at everything I've lost.
When I've cried all the tears I can cry, I turn over on my back, wincing at the pain as I stare up at the ceiling.
I think about the deal James and I made, wondering how hard it would really be to win. To be free. To never have to serve anybody else ever again.
But these strange feelings I've been having make me wonder just exactly how difficult that will be. Am I starting to enjoy this lifestyle so soon?
No. I've just been too complacent, letting him touch me and tie me up and order me around. Why? Because it's easier to listen to him then to deal with his wrath? God, why does he have to be so cruel? So underhanded and dirty?!
I hate James Harrington. I hate James Harrington. I hate James Harrington!
Except, I don't hate him.
I used to. At least, I think I did. What is wrong with you, Erin? What is this? Fear? Happiness? Or is it just manipulation?
Yes, I decide finally. James has completely manipulated this entire arrangement. He antagonized me at the Dalton's party and then again at the coffee shop just so he could make me look worse; more unruly so the courts would have to honor his request.
He bought me all those fancy clothes earlier to make me feel guilty about acting out. Hell, maybe he even had them wax me so I'd get mad and he'd have a reason to punish me. He's a sick freak and there's not much he wouldn't be capable of.
He's manipulated me into obeying him. Coerced me into thinking that I'm enjoying this.
Right?
Yes.
Maybe.
Oh god, I wish I could untangle my thoughts and make sense of things. I don't know how I feel about all of this yet. But I do know that I can't continue to let him control my thoughts like this any longer. I have to be stronger and less compliant.
But fighting him means getting punished again and I can't do that.
No. I won't fight him. I'll listen to every goddamn thing he says. He wants to manipulate the situation? Well, two can play at that game.
I'll make him think he's winning our little bet. Make him think that I'm just going to admit that I'm madly in love and let him keep me here and fuck me for the rest of my life. Stroke his ego a little. Let him think he's getting exactly what he wants.
Instead of falling in love with him, I'll make him fall in love with me. And then, on the last day of our year long agreement, I'll shatter his fragile little bad boy heart into a million pieces. I'll tell him how I really feel about him. He'll be crestfallen.
And then, I'll be free. And no one will ever be able to manipulate me again.