The whole house smelled like sugar and spice. Christmas music was flowing from the radio. Fairy lights in the hall twinkled merrily. Lauren pulled the last batch of colorful swirl cookies out of the oven and let out a happy sigh.
"Okay, we're done. Now all that's left is to enjoy our Christmas Eve. Would you like a cookie?"
Camila shook her head, her cheeks pink from the heat. "No, thank you. I'm still full from dinner. Do you need me to help you with anything else tonight?"
Lauren scooped a small pile of cookies onto a plate. "If you could just take these to the living room. I'll be there in a moment. We've definitely earned the rest of the night off."
Camila carefully picked up the plate and walked out of the kitchen.
Lauren followed her a few minutes later, five cups of hot chocolate steaming on the tray. When she entered the living room, her family was busy trying to pick movies to watch for the evening.
"Lauren, back me up," Clara exclaimed from her place on the sofa where she was tucked against her husband's side. "It's two against one here."
Lauren grinned. "Let me guess, dad and Chris want Die Hard and Home Alone again?"
"Yes!" Clara groaned. "I proposed Love, Actually and Mamma Mia."
"I'm with you, obviously," Lauren said immediately.
"Oh but see, it's still two against two." Her dad smirked with amused satisfaction. "We're at a stalemate, looks like we'll have to compromise."
Lauren arched her eyebrows over the cups he was setting on their Christmas coasters.
"Ah, not so fast. I'm sure Camila will agree that love, singing and dancing are much more fun to watch on Christmas Eve than terrorists or clumsy robbers with a fixation. Won't you, Camila?"
When there was no answer, she straightened up and actually looked around the room, frowning.
"Where's Camila?"
Chris shrugged with his mouth full of crunchy goodness. "She brought the cookies and left."
"Why?"
"Dunno. She didn't, like, say anything."
The tray forgotten on the table, Lauren rushed to Camila's room. The door was closed, but there was light visible underneath. She knocked.
"Camila? Are you in there?"
There was a whisper of paper and a startled, "Yes, of course. Please come in."
Camila was sitting on the edge of her bed, straight-backed and alert, a book on the sheets beside her.
"What are you doing in here?" Lauren asked.
"Oh, I haven't finished today's chapter in my book yet, so I'm doing it now before I go to bed. Did you need me for anything else?"
Lauren frowned. "Well, I hoped you would come sit with us, watch a movie, drink some hot chocolate. It's Christmas Eve after all."
"Oh, I couldn't." Camila looked down at her hands.
"Why not?"
"It's not my place to be there," Camila said simply. "Christmas is family time."
"And you're family now, Camila."
Lauren jumped at her dad's voice right by her side. She hadn't even noticed Mike follow her.
Camila's head snapped up. She was on her feet instantly and Lauren could see the way her legs buckled slightly with a lifelong instinct to fall to her knees when spoken to. In the end, she simply looked down in deference.
"Sir?"
"Sit down, kid."
Camila perched on the very edge of the bed again as Mike walked into the room and settled on the chair opposite, his elbows on his knees. Lauren stayed in the doorway, watching.
"Camila, was this how you spent Christmas before?" Mike asked gently. "Out of sight, out of the way?"
Camila nodded. "Yes, Sir. I helped with the preparations when I was told to, but Christmas itself was usually quiet time alone for us slaves."
"Have you ever truly celebrated it since you left home?"
Camila smiled shyly, her face lighting up with a sweet memory. "Once, Sir. There was a group of us one year, and our master went away with his parents for Christmas. There was food left for us and everything, it was wonderful."
Lauren remembered. "Was it when you were with Taylor?"
Camila nodded, her smile growing. "Yes, Lauren."
Seeing her dad's questioning gaze, Lauren explained. "Taylor is a slave we met when we went to see Doctor Holland. Turns out she and Camila were friends for a while when they shared a master. She and her owner, Selena, are coming over in a couple of days so the girls can spend some time together. Sorry, I meant to tell you."
Her dad looked at her thoughtfully. "Okay," he said eventually. "If you met them at Doctor Holland's, I'm sure it's alright."
Then he looked back at Camila. "You see kid, we don't treat our slaves the way most owners do."
Camila nodded fervently. "Oh, I know, Sir! You are really good to me, Sir."
"We are just decent people, Camila. Our slaves become part of our family the moment they cross our threshold. And family means caring about each other and spending time together."
Camila was looking at him with wide eyes, silent. Mike leaned forward to lay his hand on the girl's shoulder.
"You're family now, Camila. Tomorrow, we're having Christmas dinner with all the other slaves at the garage, and you are coming with us. No hiding in your room, okay?"
Camila nodded, a hint of a smile raising the corners of her lips.
"Good," Mike said. "And now, I'd like you to come have a nice family night with us."
"Yes Sir," Camila breathed.
Lauren couldn't hold in a grin at how adorable Camila looked, stunned and bright-eyed like a child on a Christmas morning. Which wasn't that far from the truth. She couldn't wait to see Camila's face when she opened her presents tomorrow.
They ended up watching Mamma Mia and then Home Alone, an unavoidable compromise, but Lauren didn't even care. She was too busy sneaking glances at Camila's reactions anyway.
Christmas gifts in the Jauregui's household were usually exchanged late in the morning, after a leisurely breakfast. This year, it was almost noon before they were done cleaning up after the meal and gathered in the living room. Camila was hovering uncertainly in the doorway, unsure if she was really welcome here. She was taking in the sparkling Christmas tree with the colorful gifts underneath like it was the most beautiful view she'd ever seen. Lauren took her by the hand and pulled her into the room, sitting her down on the floor by her side as Chris reached for the first packages to distribute.
Lauren loved giving gifts. She enjoyed receiving them too, of course, but there was definitely much more pleasure in watching the reactions to her carefully chosen presents. Now, with her parents focused on unwrapping their gifts for each other on the couch, and Chris already trying out his newest handheld console, Lauren's full attention was on Camila.
Camila, who was watching the two gold-wrapped packages in front of her with a disbelieving frown.
"Yes, they are for you," Lauren assured her again. "Look, they have your name." She pointed to the little cards she penned herself.
"But Lauren, it's too much, I don't deserve all this. And I don't even have anything for anyone."
"Of course you don't, no one expects you to have presents for us," Lauren scoffed. "But we can give something to you. Come on, open this one first." She pushed the bigger box towards her. "It's from all of us. The other one is from me."
Camila unwrapped the package with trembling fingers, careful not to tear the shiny paper. By the time the box inside was revealed, Lauren could barely refrain from bouncing in excitement. Camila stared at the picture with wide eyes.
"Is it–"
"It's a CD player. I've noticed how much you enjoy music, so now you can listen to it in your room, too. I didn't pick any CDs for you yet, you can use mine. And if you find something else you like on the radio – there's a radio, too, see? – then we can start building your own music library. Do you like it?"
Camila didn't answer. She was sitting very still, her mouth slightly open. Two tears rolled silently down her cheeks.
"Camila?" Lauren asked uncertainly. "What's wrong?"
Camila's breath hitched. "And it's really... for me?" She asked quietly.
"Yes," Lauren stressed.
"I just–" Camila whispered. "I've never really had anything before. Nothing that was... really mine."
Lauren's throat tightened painfully. She hadn't even thought about it.
"Well, now you do," she said softly. "It's entirely yours."
"Thank you," Camila choked out.
Lauren handed her the second, smaller package. "Now this. I picked it myself, I hope you like it," she said, feeling suddenly shy. "I mean, you need to have one of those so I thought– Oh, you'll see."
She watched Camila fumble slowly with the tape, hindered by the box in her lap that she didn't want to let go of even for a minute.
The slim, shiny black box inside finally opened, revealing a simple red bowtie tucked neatly against the white interior.
"It's your collar," Lauren hurried to explain. "Well, kind of. The law only says that the collar needs to go around your neck and contain the owner's information. I wanted it to look cute, so I researched it a bit and–" She took the bowtie out and lay it flat on her knee. "A lot of people do that in big cities, you know – bowties or jewelry instead of classic collars. They want their slaves fashionable, it's quite popular there."
SHe'd been through these arguments already, in a conversation with her dad when the package arrived a few days ago. Convincing him it was a good idea hadn't been easy, but in the end he had grudgingly agreed. Clara didn't raise any of the objections Mike had, though. Instead, she reached out to stroke the soft fabric with reverent fingers, her eyes wide.
"It's beautiful."
"It's easy to put on and take off, too," Lauren pointed out, showing her the snap closure at the back. "I know that traditionally collars are locked, but it just seems so inhuman. And my information goes here." She revealed a tiny pocket hidden in the folds of the bow and pulled out a small metal rectangle with her name and address embossed in minuscule script. There, as required by law, but as discreet as possible.
Camila looked at the metal plate with over-bright eyes. "This is where it says I'm yours."
"Yes."
"I will wear it with pride, Lauren. Thank you."
As much as Lauren despised the collar law, she couldn't deny the warmth that flooded her insides at Camila's words.
The garage was on the other side of Miami, a three-story building with the business downstairs and the slaves' quarters above it. Camila was silent during the drive over, tucked between Lauren and Chris in the backseat, visibly nervous. Lauren was trying to make her relax a little, rattling about the place and its occupants to let her know what to expect.
"There will be nine other people besides us there. I'm sure you will like them. I've known most of them for years now – I literally grew up playing with some of them"
Camila's eyes turned to him, big and earnest.
Some of the slaves there are like uncles and aunts to me. It's really like a big family, you'll see. There's nothing to be afraid of."
Camila nodded uncertainly and tugged at the collar of the button-up Lauren had put her in. She didn't have the bowtie on – slaves were only required to wear collars in public, and they were going from one private property to another tonight by car. Lauren had dressed her up in nice, crisp clothes though, and even trimmed and styled her shiny curls a little. The clothes didn't hang on her half as much as they had two weeks ago, but they were still too loose, the pants held up only by a wide belt, the shirt baggy over her skinny torso.
"Now that you have a collar, I will be able to take you out shopping. We need to get you some proper clothes," Lauren mused and Camila frowned, confused.
"But I do have proper clothes. They are very good clothes, Lauren."
"Oh, you have clothes, but I wouldn't call them proper. They don't fit you at all. You need things that you won't be drowning in, Camila. And I can't wait to play with some colors. You have lovely coloring, I already have some ideas –"
"Just remember you'll be on a budget," her dad piped up from the driver's seat. "Anything above that you're paying for yourself."
"I know, I know," Lauren rolled her eyes. "Spoilsport," she added under her breath.
"I heard that," her dad said dryly as he pulled over in front of the garage. "Okay, here we are. I'll call one of the guys to come out and help us with the packages."
Before she could take out her phone, though, the door at the side of the building opened and a huge, bald man appeared, his face split in a wide grin.
"That's Jim," Lauren told Camila, who tensed noticeably at the sight of the mountain of muscles trotting towards the car. "He looks scary, I know, but he's just a big teddy bear with a heart of gold. He was dad's first slave at the garage and–"
"The introductions can wait, boys." Mike said. "That trunk won't unload itself."
Lauren shrugged and squeezed Camila's hand. "Don't worry. Family, remember?"
Despite the reassurance, Camila was quiet and held close to Lauren's side as they unpacked the various containers and boxes from the car and carried them inside. As they were passing by the customer entrance to the garage, she suddenly stopped. Lauren followed her line of sight to the large, weathered sign by the door.
WE DON'T
SELL, RENT OUT, OR
ALLOW CUSTOMERS TO TOUCH
OUR SLAVES
"Oh, I almost forgot about this thing," she said. Camila looked at her questioningly. "It's been here for at least ten years. There was trouble with some people getting handsy, I think. I remember dad lost quite a few customers when he put that sign up." She shrugged. "Come on, let's get out of this cold."
Camila followed her inside, still wearing an astonished expression.
The slave quarters took up two floors, with five double bedrooms upstairs and a living area occupying the whole floor over the garage. The vast open space was bustling with activity tonight – people laughing and talking, carrying in food from the adjoining kitchen and moving chairs to accommodate everyone. A huge table took up most of the dining space, and it was already set with enough food for a small army. A small, very hungry army. The smells wafting from the steaming platters and saucers were amazing, just like the taste of everything would be, Lauren knew. Rob and Little John, the two slaves who always took over food preparation for special occasions like this, may look like a pair of aging wrestlers, but they cooked like gourmet chefs.
Lauren moved over to the smaller side table to help Clara unpack the desserts and sweets they brought, and a tall, spindly man that everyone called Hopper danced over immediately to give them a hand. He had the sweetest tooth Lauren had ever seen in an adult, and yet his limbs were so thin it seemed like a miracle they were able to hold him up at all. To her side, Lauren could hear the roaring laughter of Ugly Pete, a grizzly slave with a face covered in raised pink scars, courtesy of his old master and his whip. On the other side of the spacious room by the Christmas tree, she saw Fran, one of the two women at the garage, gesticulating wildly as she argued with the youngest of the lot, Andrew. In the kitchen, someone sang loudly and completely off-tune.
To Lauren, it felt like home. But in the middle of all this, Camila stood alone like a scared, lost child.
Lauren made sure Camila sat by her side when they finally took their places at the table, and just as she hoped, it seemed to relax the boy. Delicious food and festive atmosphere calmed her down further. Lauren was astonished how gentle everyone was with Camila, pulling her into conversations, but not prodding her to talk. Even loud Fran, whose lack of filter was so notorious she wasn't allowed to talk to customers at all, stayed sweet and almost swear-free. Burt must have told them all a little about the newest slave in the household because everyone carefully avoided any inquiries about her history, which would normally be the first topic of conversation. Each and every one of them had demons in their past, but hers were different. A pleasure slave's hell was paved with horrors the work slaves were not familiar with.
By the time desserts were served, Camila was smiling and talking animatedly with Celine, a middle-aged female slave with curly hair and a large, masculine body, whom the other slaves called "Beast" for some reason. They seemed to have found a common tongue, their connection easy and immediate. At one point, Camila laughed out loud, a short, startled sound that made Lauren freeze, surprised. It was the first time she'd heard Camila laugh.
Finally, the dinner was done and everyone gathered in the lounge area, chatting and laughing. Some sat on the sofas and armchairs scattered around the large space, others preferred to settle comfortably on the floor. When Lauren came back from helping in the kitchen, she found Camila standing to the side, watching the scene with awed eyes. To someone who had only experienced mistreatment and abuse from most of her previous masters, this must have seemed like another world, all these happy, relaxed slaves sharing the Christmas night with their owners.
"Okay, gentlemen," Mike called out, standing by the big box under the tree. "And ladies," he added.
"There ain't no ladies here, boss." Fran cackled and the men hooted in agreement. Lauren knew that both Fran and Shannon were as tough as the guys here. They had to be.
"Well good, because I'm not sure ladies would appreciate that foosball table I got you."
A cheer erupted among the slaves, two of them already opening the box, others moving a sofa aside, pushing it to the corner to make room for the new piece of furniture. Chris jumped up to help, almost as excited as the slaves.
Most of the party was now gathered around the foosball table in a happy chaos of bodies and voices. Lauren watched for a few minutes, but soon she got bored with the plastic players kicking the plastic ball, just like she always did with actual football. She stepped back and looked around the room, her eyes instinctively searching for Camila.
She found the girl on the sofa pushed into the quiet corner. She wasn't alone – Jim was sitting next to her, smiling as they talked quietly. Jim looked up just as Lauren started towards them.
"And here comes the best one of them all," he bellowed with a wide grin. Camila looked up, noticing Lauren for the first time, and maybe it was wishful thinking, but Lauren was sure she could see her shoulders relax.
"The best of what?" Lauren asked, approaching them.
"Oh, I was just telling Camila what a wonderful family she has found herself in." Jim turned back to Camila as Lauren perched on the empty coffee table opposite. "Believe me, kid, I know how scary it is to be thrown from place to place, each worse than the last. But with Miss Lauren taking care of you, you're in the best hands. You couldn't have gotten better owners than the Jaureguis."
Camila smiled shyly, looking up at Lauren. "I know."
"Look at Andrew there." Jim pointed out the boy leaning on his crutches, deep in a conversation with Mike. "He came here last year, a 16-year-old with his leg shredded by some harvester in the field mere days before. The dealers said he was patched up and healing nicely, but it turned out there was an infection. A bad one."
Camila was listening to Jim, transfixed. "And he survived?"
"Oh yes," Jim nodded gravely. "Only thanks to Mister Jauregui. A lesser man would have let the kid die once they learnt how bad it was. Not him. He paid for the doctors, medication, everything that could be done, even when they told him the leg had to be cut off. You would think a slave without a leg was useless. And yet here he is, alive and working just like every one of us. He's manning the reception at the garage now. He's damn brilliant at it, too, coming up with all those ads and organizing ideas. I admit I had my doubts, but Mister Jauregui said that no matter how broken a slave is, they're still human and with proper care, they can be fixed and have a long, useful life. And damn, he was right."
Camila looked at Andrew, her expression thoughtful.
Jim seemed to be on a roll. "And if you need any other proof of how good your new owners are – who else but the best would use all this time and effort to free their slaves, right?"
At that, Camila's eyes snapped back to Jim, uncomprehending. "Free?"
"Well yes!" Jim frowned. "You don't know?" He looked at Lauren. "But... I helped Mister Chris pack the books, I was sure–"
"I was waiting for the right moment to explain," Lauren stuttered, feeling as if she was caught lying.
"Oh damn, Miss Lauren, I'm sorry!" Jim's face fell. "I shouldn't have said anything."
"No, it's okay. I was going to tell Camila soon. And you know more than me anyway, how about you explain the process for both of us, Jim?"
Camila was glancing between Jim and Lauren, tense and confused. Lauren felt the blush rise on her cheeks. She should have found a way to tell Camila herself, explain it gently. It was too late now.
"Camila, Jim is a free man now," she started. "But he used to be a slave here."
"The first slave Mister Jauregui bought for his garage, thirteen years ago," Jim added proudly. "I worked for him for ten good years as a slave. Now I have a little apartment in town, but I still work here. I would never leave. No better boss than Mister Jauregui."
"But... slaves can really be freed?" Camila asked quietly, like the concept contradicted everything she knew about the world.
"Oh, we can," Jim said. "It just takes a lot of time and effort, and good people. But it happens. All of the slaves here are eventually going to be free. After me, two more were released – Hopper here, and one more who moved on to start his own family. Our Beastie is next. You will be free one day, too. You're already working on the books, aren't you? Sooner than most of us."
When Camila met Lauren's eyes, she looked scared – betrayed even. Lauren tried to smile apologetically.
"Well there's still a lot of time. It's mostly to give Camila something to do as she heals and gathers her strength," she said to Jim.
Camila seemed to consider it. "But I'm strong and healthy already. So... if I may ask. What happens next? Do I move here to work at the garage as well?"
Lauren knew that was the plan, but the thought of not having Camila under the same roof, not seeing her every day, was suddenly making her chest constrict. "I... let's focus on now, okay?" She found herself evading.
Jim glanced at her, surprised, then turned to Camila again. "It's still years till you can be free anyway, kid. The law makes sure slaves can't be released that easily."
"Ten years, right?" Lauren asked, if only to divert Camila's attention from herself.
Jim nodded. "Well, technically, the slave has to be in their last master's possession for at least five years, but it takes longer than that to gather the money required to declare him financially independent. Your father is paying every slave working here like he would regular employees, except he puts it in their accounts that they will have access to once they are free. It takes ten years to reach the required sum. And then there's still the test."
"What test?" Camila whispered, looking more overwhelmed by the second.
"Well, people like to believe that slaves are dumber than average free folk, so there's this exam we need to pass before we can be freed," Jim said with a hint of disdain in his voice. "That's what you're studying for, to prove you're smart enough to be a regular citizen. It's pretty big, but don't worry, it's years away."
"Not for me," said Celine, who had been listening to the conversation, standing silently behind the sofa for a while now. "Mine's in two months," she explained when Camila looked up at her.
"But... what if a slave doesn't want to be free?" Camila asked faintly, her face closing off, and Lauren's heart squeezed painfully for her. Maybe it was too early.
"Oh munchkin, of course you do." Celine walked around to sit on the sofa, squeezing herself between the two and laying a gentle hand on Camila's arm. "You don't want to be a slave all your life if you have a way out. But really, don't worry, they aren't going to put you though that ordeal and abandon you. The Jaureguis are the fucking best. You won't be alone."
Camila nodded, but she didn't look convinced, just putting on a brave face for the world to see. It was good enough for Jim and Celine, it seemed. They kept rattling about the change the Jauregui family was making, freeing the slaves, showing the world how they should be treated, setting an example.
Lauren stayed there, smiling and blushing and feeling like she didn't deserve all the praise at all.
They left the garage two hours later. Camila was quiet, had been for a while now, and Lauren kept looking at her, trying to make sure she was okay. It was hard to tell. She looked exhausted, that was certain. They squeezed into the backseat with Chrsi and the ride home passed in silence.
Halfway there, Lauren felt a pressure on her shoulder. She looked in time to see Camila's eyes snapping open, her head jerking up.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Lauren. I must have dozed off, I didn't mean to–"
"It's okay." All Lauren wanted was to lay her hand on Camila's to soothe the nervous shiver, tell her to lean against her if she wanted. "You must be tired. It's been a long day for you."
"It was. But a wonderful one," Camila said, softly.