Liana

 

 

 

I always have to smile when he brings me a sandwich. Somehow, that’s such a typical man-thing to do. Not that the cooked food he’s been bringing me has ever been bad, but I’d still say that sandwiches are where he really excels.

Today, he brings me a roasted chicken breast sandwich with avocado and crisp bacon strips, making it a rather heavy and savory variation. The smell of it almost lets me forget about the confusion he caused earlier.

I need to know why he called me Ruby. Was it a simple mistake because he just assumes that this must be my name based on the business card he took from the coat? Or is there more to it?

I took the time to take a shower and freshen up, while he was downstairs preparing my food. He’s just coming through the door when I walk through the bathroom door, instantly dropping down on my knees as I see him and taking my position.

“Good girl,” he praises.

I thought he’d tell me to get back on my feet right away, but instead he places the tray with the sandwich right in front of me on the carpet, beckoning me to eat right where I am.

Just like a pet.

It’s not the first time that he makes me eat like this, but I still don’t enjoy the humiliation that comes with it. I know he only does it to remind me of my place, but nevertheless, I’m not forbidden to speak.

“Ruby is not my name, you know,” I say, before I take the first bite of the delicious sandwich he brought me.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me while he finishes taking up the rope. His eyes flicker with anger when he looks at me.

“You’re my pet,” he says. “Nothing else.”

I sigh. Something that doesn’t go by him unnoticed. He casts me a warning look.

“Yes, sure,” I say. “But, I mean, it’s really not my name. My name is Liana Doy-”

“It doesn’t matter!” he barks at me. “You’re my pet. There’s no need for names, real or not.”

I wince at his loud voice, frightened by his sudden outburst, and continue to eat my sandwich, hunching my shoulders inward like a scared animal.

Why does it anger him so much when I talk about these things? It’s like he’s trying to block out that I’m a human being, a person with a name and a life.

Maybe this is my way out? If I make him confront all those things, the fact that he robbed a real person out of her life.

A life I don’t particularly miss. But that’s a minor detail that shouldn’t matter to him.

“It’s not even my fake name,” I add.

He looks at me, a silent question flickering in his eyes.

“Ruby, I mean,” I clarify. “I’ve never used that name. I’m Liana. Always.”

It’s as if an icy wind just traveled across the room, erasing all life and with it all noise from our environment. He stares at me, his expression frozen in angry confusion.

“Stop it,” he says, his voice tense. “Stop breaching. We have a deal.”

I reciprocate his gaze, seemingly calm from the outside, while my heart feels as if it’s about to burst with fear.

A deal? What is he talking about? When on Earth did we ever make a deal with each other? He acts as if I’m her on my own volition, with perfect knowledge about the scope and rules of this – whatever this is.

Wait. Does this mean he thinks he’s talking to someone who does know what’s going on? Someone else but me?

“Do you think I’m Ruby?” I ask him. “Because I’m not.”

Something in his expression changes. He no longer looks merely angry and confused. There’s something else in his demeanor, something I’ve never seen on him before.

Fear.

“Shut up,” he snaps at me. “Finish your goddamn sandwich.”

“Did you find that name on the card you took?” I ask. “The card that was in the coat’s pocket?”

He glares at me, his fists clenching around the rope.

“If you don’t shut up right this second,” he hisses. “You’re going back to the attic. All night. Understand?”

We freeze in an angry stare contest. I know I can’t get into any trouble as long as I keep my mouth shut, but I’m not done asking questions. I’m getting somewhere with this. I’m getting under his skin, which means that I’m moving in the right direction. There’s something there, something he’s terrified of.

What if he made another mistake? A mistake so big that it could destroy him?

“Do you understand?” he presses, locking me down with his intense eyes.

He’s already in the process of getting up from the bed. If I don’t give him the reply he seeks, he will drag me over to that horrible room in no time, leaving the half-eaten sandwich and the luxury of my gilded cage out of reach for an entire night.

Is it worth risking? Is there anything I can draw from him at this point that would make this sacrifice worth it?

No. I decide that it is not.

“Yes, Master,” I reply, obediently lowering my eyes as I finish eating my sandwich.

I think I may know enough to understand what’s going on here.