“What do you think?” he replies, looking at my chest, smirking in an obnoxious way.
“I don’t know. I can’t decide whether to say thank you or knee you in the junk.”
The smile vanishes from his face.
I’m ready to head back after that, secure in the knowledge that they’re happy and content in humiliating me so they’ll leave me alone now.
But I guess they still have more in them. Because suddenly, I hear a slow puddle forming at my feet. I look up to find the source. Ashley is sneering at me as she pours down her drink on the floor.
“Oops. I’m clumsy, remember?” She shrugs with wide eyes.
“Yeah and bit of a one-trick pony, too.”
“It’s okay, Ash. I think we can have it cleaned up?” It’s Samantha’s turn to shrug and make her eyes bigger.
“Right? I mean, I’m sure it’s included in your job description?” Ashley adds.
I glance at her and then at the puddle at our feet. It’s spreading, touching my borrowed Mary Janes and Zach’s black leather shoes. Polished and crisp, like the rest of him.
Swallowing, I fish out a napkin from the small apron tied around my waist for just these emergencies.
Okay, Cleo, you can do this. This is just like mopping up any regular mess.
Biting my lip, I come down to my knees. The floor hits me hard even though I was anticipating it. My tray’s empty now so I leave it next to me and get to work.
I spread the napkin over the puddle and hear chuckles from up above.
But I don’t focus on that. It was never about their chuckles or insults or sneering. It was always about him.
The guy who wouldn’t do anything to stop it. Like now.
I get the napkin to soak up the worst of it and then mop off the rest with the dry corner of it. My knuckles hit the pointed end of his shoes and I’m thrown back to the day when I found my books torn up and scattered in the hallway.
A twelve-year-old Zach came up to me on that day as well. I saw him, shoes first. He stepped on the pages and when I looked up, he smirked down at me.
He was so cruel that day, the boy I’d fallen in love with at first sight.
Tonight too, as I look up, I find him staring at me. But instead of smirking, his face is blank, and his gaze is burning.
Maybe he’s remembering that day from long ago, too. Or maybe he’s thinking about how I bathed him yesterday and how I sat on my heels and took him in my mouth, loving him.
He looked like a prince then, and he looks like one now.
I probably look the same too.
The lowly maid who serves him.
Slowly, I stand up, leaving the soiled napkin on the tray. “You were lying.”
There’s no indication on his face that he heard me but I know he did. I also know that he can hear my broken heartbeats.
“You’re not mine, are you? You never were.”
At this, his jaw clenches.
His eyes blaze and I’m doused with so much heat that I feel steam rising from my skin. I don’t expect an answer from him. But he gives me one anyway.
“But you’re mine, aren’t you?”