When Rodrigo closes the door, it's funny how in my mind I think of him as Rodrigo when he has clothes on and Master otherwise, I wait for the second or two it normally takes for him to throw the exterior lock on my door. When there's no rattle, no little metal on wood sound that I've gotten used to, I pause, wondering if maybe he's forgotten something he wants to tell me, something he wants me to do while he's gone. Then I hear the engine on his truck start up, and I look out the narrow window that gives me a view of the outside, shocked when he pulls away.

“Rodrigo?” I ask wonderingly before I go over to my door and knock. I try the knob, and it turns easily before the door pops back, startling me. I can see my lock just sitting there, freshly screwed into the wood to keep me secure, but for some reason the bolt was never shot this time. I look out, worried. “Master? Rodrigo?”

Silence greets me, and I step out of my room, my heart in my throat. I can hear a bird singing outside, and the sound of the wind against the north side of the house, but nothing else. I feel strange creeping around, checking each room, wondering what the hell is going on.

Then it dawns on me. He didn't lock me in.

He forgot.

This is my chance to run!

I blink, shocked for a second before I hurry to Rodrigo's room. I grab the duffel bag that he uses when he brings me gifts and carry it back to my room, grabbing things quickly. I don't have any ID, but if I can get out of this town, I can easily get over to Palermo. There's a United States consulate office there. They'll hear my accent, maybe they'll let me make a call to the States, where even if Rodrigo's threat that The Network's eliminated my ID is true, they can't have eliminated Mom.

I throw what I can think of quickly in the bag, a pair of jeans, a change of underpants, a couple of t-shirts. As I do I run through what else I know. I know I'm near Caccamo, I've heard Larissa and Rodrigo use that word before, and once there was some mail left on the counter of the kitchen. If I remember Sicily right, it's not far to the northern coast, where there's a big highway that goes straight to Palermo. I've got to be able to find a bus or something that can get me there.

Still, I'm going to need supplies, and I go into the kitchen, opening the fridge. Two bottles of water, a box of crackers, a nice block of Parmesan cheese, just in case. When I open the cabinet where Rodrigo keeps the sharp knives, I stop, surprised at the plastic sandwich bag that I see inside. I take it out, my eyes widening as I see the three rolls of euro bills inside. I quickly take them out of the bag, seeing that one's a roll of twenty euro notes, another of one hundreds, and then a roll of five hundreds. I don't have time to figure out exactly how much it is, I just take the rolls and throw them into the duffel bag.

“Call it severance pay,” I whisper as I close the cabinet and head to the door. I put my outdoor shoes on and reach for the doorknob to the outside. I know that the villa's surrounded by a wall, but there has to be a way around or through the gate, it's not that high or there have to be some sort of manual controls.

Wait.

My hand freezes, so close to the doorknob that I can feel the coolness of the metal radiating the short distance to my skin. What?

What if this is a trick?

What if it's not? What if this is my chance to get away from here? What if this is my one and only chance to not be a slave?

What if you don't want to go?

I stop, pulling my hand away and thinking. My internal voice has to be crazy, or maybe it's just afraid. I mean, I've been a captive here for a long time, over two months by my count. Rodrigo's been my Master for two weeks, and before that... yeah, I've been here over two months. Of course it's afraid.

I'm not afraid. Well, not totally. I'm being serious. What if you want to stay?

Stay? Stay for what? Being locked up at night, a pet in a cage?

Stay because of him. Not in fear of him. Because of him.

You're out of your fucking mind.

It's your fucking mind, remember.

I groan, grinding the heels of my hands into my eye sockets, the pain... delicious. Like the pain of Master when he's got me in the training room, my body on fire with intense sensations, pain and pleasure and ecstasy all mixing together and overloading my brain and my body.

No other man's ever given you anything like that.

That doesn't mean it can't happen. Just because I know I like it doesn't mean Rodrigo's the only man in the world who can do it for me. Fuck, I lived an hour from New York City. You can find anything in New York. You can probably find two of everything even.

Yeah, you're right. You can find someone to tie you up, whip you, spank you or whatever. But... it won't be Master.

Yeah... well, I'm not doing this because I'm afraid of him. Got it?

Got it.

I back up from the door and take the duffel bag, putting it in the middle of the small table that we were going to eat breakfast at. I go back to my room and retrieve my now cold breakfast, eating it quickly before I take it and the other plates to the kitchen in order to start washing up.

Rodrigo said that he'll be back in a few hours. Maybe he'll like it if I have lunch ready for him. The question is, what can I make that can keep just in case he takes longer than he said? There's nothing worse than cold pasta, and I have no clue how to make pizza dough.

I think, then decide on a panzanella salad. We've got some stale bread, I can toast that up.... yeah, I think that'll work just fine. I hope Rodrigo won't mind if I use one of the sharp kitchen knives, there's no way I can cut up the bread without one.