Ceseth was proud of my work. It had been easier than I'd expected, too. Ebenezer had decided I was more appealing than he'd remembered and had taken me multiple times on the night Ceseth and I had received out payment. It was a "parting gift," he said. "To remember him by." I would never forget Ebenezer, that much was certain. He would not be remembered the way he wanted to be, but he was a wealthy man, and I was the least of his concerns now.
I didn't talk much anymore. Ceseth had grown accustomed to me listening but never speaking, and he beat me less for being nonresponsive. Sometimes he'd hit me still, but I didn't mind. I didn't mind much of anything anymore. Ever since that night I had lost myself to Ebenezer, whatever feeling parts of me I'd had had left me. I was no longer troubled by physical or mental or verbal abuse. It rolled off me almost as if it weren't happening.
But my life was far from easy; Ebenezer's constant usages of me had finally resulted in what I most feared. Ceseth had given me something akin to "health classes," teaching me how the world worked and how men and women interacted in every sense—in friendship, in hatred, and in romance. Ebenezer had far from romanced me, but everything Ceseth had taught me came rushing back the moment I realized how badly Ebenezer had (literally) screwed me over.
Almost unbelievably, I was more afraid of telling Ceseth than I was of telling Ebenezer. Ceseth was more likely to do something rash, to hit me or perhaps even kill me, due to what he would undoubtedly see as my ruination. I didn't blame him—I was fifteen, nearly sixteen. I was far too young to have a child. I thought of my mother. Had she felt the same way? She had been raped, but hadn't I? Perhaps I'd never fought Ebenezer, but... but it didn't mean I had wanted any moment of it. My fear was only worsened by how "proud" of Ceseth had been of me previously. What would he do, after this horrendous blunder? Would he blame me? Would he blame Ebenezer? Who would be punished?
In my heart, I knew it would be me.
At least I'll finally be free of this life, if he kills me, I thought morbidly. He'd miss his monster; I'd succumbed to it. Killing didn't bother me anymore. And that fact didn't even make me want to cry. Odd, I thought, looking back on the girl I had once been. I would have sobbed over killing Sol. I would have cried over killing anyone. But now? Now I didn't cry over anything. Not even this colossal mistake. Not even when my whole life was on the line. This useless life of mine, made even more useless by my current situation.
I took in a shuddering sigh. There was nothing more I could do but tell Ceseth.
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