by C. E. Wilson
“I allowed you to eat,” Shawn says, still keeping one hand in my hair and making sure I can’t look away. “It is my duty as your owner. That’s what we do for the Potentials, Grace. We’re not monsters. We only want to help.”
“Yes, Shawn,” I say. “And you’ve been nice to me.”
He hums softly, pursing his full lips together in a line. He’s planning his next move and as he does, I take a chance and try to clean my lips with my tongue. He yanks on my hair and I stop immediately, looking at him with frightened eyes.
“Let me,” he says, leaning in close and lapping at my messy face with his tongue. He smells like my seller, apples and spice, as almost all men did who were Beauties. I hold completely still as he works, only focusing on the sound of his tongue bringing the food to his lips and swallowing. I’m hypnotized. After a few moments, he pulls away. “Tastes good,” he says. “And my wife’s cooking isn’t terrible.” He finishes off with a chuckle and glances over his shoulder.
“Everything all right, Shawn?” I ask, trying to sound concerned.
“I should probably go back to the daughter and wife,” he says, looking a bit pouty. “Though, I think I’ll leave the bowl with you.”
“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “Thank you, Shawn.”
“Pace yourself,” he warns. “If I come back before tomorrow morning, I don’t want to see an empty bowl. If there is…” He trails off, allowing his unsaid threat to hang in the air. I nod hard in hopes he knows his point is made loudly and clearly. Relieved, he stands up without pulling on my hair and leaves.
Once the door shuts, I greedily reach for the bowl and pick at it, enjoying the richness of the butter and chicken together. I make sure food remains; I don’t want to be on Shawn’s bad side. I make sure my face is clean after I’m finished. Despite Shawn being attractive, I don’t want him to lick my face. I don’t want to be cleaned and cared for like a dog. His treatment is cold, but he’s always smiling warmly. Softly. I’m unsure what to make of him, but I respect him. Hearing him raise his voice to his wife and child makes me wonder how harsh he would be to me if I upset him.
I don’t want to think about it.
Instead, I try to focus on spreading out what’s left of the chicken and potatoes so Shawn won’t think I stuffed myself like a prized Christmas turkey. Sliding the bowl away, I pat my full stomach and lean up against the wall, satisfied for the first time in months, before reaching up to my face and running my fingertips over where Shawn cleaned me. His touch left a strange sensitivity in those spots.
I don’t like it. I don’t want to be seen as an animal to be feared or pitied, but what choice do I have?
***
Most people don’t have clocks in the garage so I rarely know the time. There’s no way to tell how much time has passed or if any time has passed at all. The one window in the garage is dark, but I can’t tell if it’s eight or midnight. There’s nothing to do. I find games to play with the food, counting chunks of potatoes in the mash and betting against myself. Shredding chicken with my fingers until they fall apart. Forming patterns with the congealed pools of fat in the butter.
I’m still bored.
“Will you shut up? Do you want to wake up Celia’s dad?” a voice hisses from outside. It’s loud and surprisingly clear. Easily heard in the silence of the cell-like garage and I sit up, trying to catch the voice. It’s familiar. “If he wakes up and sees we’re trying to look at her, he’ll kill us.”
“You worry too much,” another voice said, much lower than the first. “He isn’t going to do anything. He wants you to be with Celia.”
“That’s a laugh. He hates me because I’m not a born Beauty. Now will you shut up? I can’t see!”
I sit up straighter and shove the bowl of food away, hiding it behind a box. To think, the most important thing is not the food even though I was still hungry, but that I promised Shawn I wouldn’t finish it. I am an animal. Still, I strain my ears and try to catch the voices.
“Can you see it?” the unfamiliar voice asks.
“Griff, I said shut up,” the familiar voice shoots back. “It’s dark in there. Maybe they finally took her in the house…”
“I think Celia would have called you, then. She’s all about keeping you away from it though, isn’t she?”
“I don’t know,” he mutters. I hear more shifting outside. Were they trying to spy on me? They want to look at the freak, did they? Despite the familiar one’s kind voice, I remember he is no better than the others. He wants to gawk at me. Doesn’t he remember the humiliation of being a Potential? Locked up and chained down because society doesn’t find you attractive? My face reddens with shame and I crawl out of their sight. I’m not about to be a show for them.
“What’s its number anyway?” the unfamiliar voice asks. I suppose he’s the one named Griff. I wonder if it’s short for something. Beauties often change their name after they change their status. Griff… Griff… Griffin? “I heard Paulson picked up a low-baller.”
“She’s not a low-baller,” non-Griff says in response. “None of them are. High and Mighty, why is it none of you people remember I was once a Potential?”
“Do you see anything?” Griff asks, changing the subject.
“I’m serious, Griff. First Celia and now you. You guys know I can’t stand Potential bashing. I wasn’t always a Beauty.”
“That’s dangerous talk, man. You might want to chill. Don’t want to be reported, do you?”
“I don’t care,” he snaps back. “I don’t see anything. I bet she’s in the house.”
“Let me take a look,” Griff says, grunting as the two of them shift from outside the window. I lift up my head and notice shadows, but no faces. There’s only one large light in the garage and there’s no way I can reach the switch. I shudder, half-wanting Celia or Shawn to show up.
Of course no one comes.
“Oi!” Griff’s voice hisses after a moment. “I think I see it.”
“You do?” the familiar voice asks. “Where? I didn’t see anything.”
“I think it’s hiding… I think it knows we’re here!” I hear Griff’s laugh. “Frightened thing, isn’t it?”
“They’re not its,” non-Griff says. “Where is she?”
“I think she-it’s hiding in the corner,” he says. I hear tapping on the glass and quickly I lower my head and duck behind the box.
“I don’t see anything,” non-Griff says.
“It was there! I saw it! Brown hair… or black… I’m not sure.”
Their voices grow silent for a moment. Had they given up? The silence is deafening after a few moments. I’m still cowering behind the box. The boy… the same one from before is back. I’d recognize the voice anywhere. Though many male Beauties sound similar, his voice reminds me of ordeals and determination rather than entitlement. His voice is different somehow. Maybe because he used to be a Potential his voice isn’t perfect?
Catching a shallow breath, I move as silently as I can… placing my hands over the edge of the box to steady myself as I rise up into a crouching position. They must have gone. The moonlight fills the garage and with a calming breath, I stand up, straighten my back, and look towards the window.
Eyes.
A pair of eyes are looking straight at me! They haven’t left! One of them remains in the window. I can’t see the color of his eyes, but hair almost completely covers them as he takes me in. I freeze like a deer trapped in headlights. I’m too terrified to shift and, to my relief, he faces the same dilemma. We stand there silently. I can barely breathe. My lungs work shallowly and, though the eyes shift, he doesn’t call for his friend.
Which one is this? Griff? The one with the voice? Both of us are too frightened to move. Would he call for his friend? Is he worried I’ll scream? His lips part and a finger reaches towards the glass.
My eyes widened.
“Eleven…” he said. “Eleven? Gr—”
I panic when I hear another voice whispering. “It�
�s looking at you? You see it?”
His eyes glance away and before the other one can join in the gawking, without thinking I pick up the bowl from dinner and heave it at the window, causing an explosion of food and white ceramic. Griff and the voice flee before the shards of the bowl clatter to the floor, and in the silence that follows I can hear sounds in the house above.
“High and Mighty!” a voice roars from overhead. “What the!”
I look towards the garage door. This voice is terrifyingly familiar and only then do I realize what I’ve done. I damaged the bowl. Shards of pure white ceramic lay scattered across the floor. The food’s wasted and mixed in with the pieces of the bowl. In my panic over being seen, I had forgotten what I had promised to Shawn. Don’t waste the food. Don’t… don’t waste it!
My heart quickens when I realize what this means. Shawn isn’t planning to see me. He must have been sleeping and I woke him up. And when he takes one look at what I’ve done… oh High and Mighty what have I done? I strain against the collar and leash, desperately trying to get at the mess so I have a chance to clean it up.
The rumblings start overhead and heavy footsteps follow, alerting me that someone’s coming down the stairs.
“Animals,” Shawn growls. Does he know? Or is there some chance he thought actual animals broke into the house?
Tears escape from fear and pain as I continue to try to clean up the mess, but I can only grab a few larger pieces of bowl and shove them under my shirt. “No… no… no,” I whisper in a panic, glancing up and down at the door as the steps continue.
The door opens and Shawn’s silhouette fills the frame. I stop and scramble back to my spot near the wall and fall to my knees. I don’t dare look at him, but rather his shadow as the cool darkness falls over me.
“What… what happened?” Shawn asks after a few moments. His voice is maddeningly calm, but his fist twitches. “What’s this?”
I have no choice but to tell him the truth. Or part of it. “People,” I say breathlessly. “People were looking into the house.”
“People?” He takes a step and immediately he’s in the garage, closing the door behind him with a look of skepticism on his face. “What kind of people? Collectors?”
“I don’t know, Shawn. I heard voices talking about me… I thought they were breaking into the house. I panicked…”
“I see,” he says, still coming closer. I flinch and focus on the floor, practically touching my chin to my chest as his bare legs fill my vision. He is wearing a robe, and it had fallen open slightly and I could see his expensive boxers. I swallow, but my throat is dry. “So you threw your dinner at them?”
“Shawn, I’m sorry—”
“Answer me.” I flinch, nodding. “Dammit, I want you to speak! Not nod!” he roars. He steps around and the chain loosens, but he’s still holding it in a tight fist. He yanks violently. “Did you throw your bowl at them, Grace?”
“Yes,” I say softly.
“Come,” he says, jerking on the chain and pulling me towards the mess I’d created. I follow on hands and knees. “Do you see this? Do you see what you’ve done?”
“Yes.”
“I asked you specifically not to waste your food. Do you think messes are acceptable?” he asks. When I don’t answer right away, he yanks on the chain, practically knocking the air from my lungs. “Answer me. Do you think messes are acceptable or not?”
“No. No, I do not.”
“Not to mention you almost woke up my wife and child.”
“I’m sorry, Shawn—”
“Clean it up,” he says as though I hadn’t spoken.
“Of course… of course,” I say, immediately stooping over and gathering the food and pieces of bowl in my hands. The yank returns and I gasp for air.
“What are you doing?” he hisses. “It’s your dinner. Eat it!”
“S-sir?”
“Eat it!” he roars. “You’ve disobeyed me, and I’ll not have you wasting food on top of it. Clean up your mess with your mouth.”
I glance down at the floor. It’s a kaleidoscope of butter and potatoes and shards of bowl and chicken and unknown gray bits from the garage floor. Surely, he doesn’t expect me…
“Now, Grace,” he says in a calm voice which gives me goosebumps. “Otherwise you will see me upset.”
I lower my face to the floor and touch a piece of potato with my tongue before taking it between my lips. The taste is strange, but I swallow, relieved it’s only potato… or so I can only hope.
“Keep going,” Shawn says calmly. “While I appreciate you possibly scaring Collectors away, your insubordination will not stand. I gave you a command and, as my property, it is yours to obey. This will be cleaned up and you will not receive breakfast tomorrow.”
“I understand,” I say through watering eyes as a sharp piece of bowl scrapes against my throat as I swallow. “I understand.”
“See that you do,” Shawn says, circling around me. “Your shock collar will be here tomorrow and you will start working with Celia. You will not mention a word of this to her or my wife, or else you’ll leave me no choice but to truly test the power of your collar, Grace. I know what you want and I can give it to you. Let’s not make simple mistakes.”
“O-of course,” I say, licking up the butter on the floor. The punishment could be worse. I have not been beaten. I have not been hurt. And though the small shards cut my throat, the pain will not be like the shock collar. In his own sick way, I want to believe Shawn is kind. Shawn might sponsor me. I cannot make mistakes like these if I want to have a chance.
As I work, I can’t get that voice out of my mind. The same voice from before who had spoken with Celia. He came back to see me. Granted he came with a friend, but he was the one who spoke kindly about me. He even spoke kindly about Potentials. He had been one. Perhaps he understands my struggles. Who did I look at before I threw the bowl? I try to recall his face but all I can remember are eyes of uncertain color and long, floppy hair that shone in the moonlight.
Despite the shadows, I knew that he was beautiful and not only because of his title.
I hope the one with floppy hair is the owner of the kind voice.
“Faster,” Shawn grunts, yanking on the chain. “I want this cleaned up now.”
“Yes,” I say, lapping up faster. “I’m sorry.”
Chapter Four
My shock collar arrived. The black leather strap isn’t much and, in fact, it looks similar to the one he removed other than the weight. The new collar is heavier against my collarbone and as Shawn steps back to observe his work, he smiles.
“It’s not bad, Grace,” he says, keeping his voice low and calm. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were helping Celia by next week.”
“Next week?” I ask as I reach up to touch the strange new appendage. My face falls with worry. I can’t spend another week in this hole. It’s cold and already I feel so much like an animal. “I thought you said—”
“You will be moved out from here,” he says, still keeping his tone low. “With the change in weather it’s been recommended on the news that all Potentials are to be moved to warmer locations. It’s only temporary, however, if you misbehave.”
“I’m going to leave the house?”
“The basement’s finished,” Shawn says, looking over his shoulder. “We have a small spare room set up so that’s where you will stay. It is warm down there. I think you will find it much more accommodating than the garage while this winter storm passes. Not to mention all this nonsense on the news about Collectors trying to steal Potentials for profit. Whatever happened to the old days when the words gated community actually meant something?”
“I don’t know, Shawn.”
“Regardless, we can’t have you freeze to death because Celia’s terrified of you.”
Terrified. The girl is only a year or two younger than I am and yet she’s terrified because of my title. If I had been declared a Beauty on my fifth birthday then Celia and I
might have been friends. I bite my lower lip as this statement washes over me.
“When will I go there, Shawn?” I ask quietly.
“I would take you myself, but I have to go to work. A doctor’s life is always hell.”
“A doctor?” I repeat. I don’t want to let any excitement show, but doctors are prime sponsors. They’re always looking to show off their work. Perhaps Shawn wants to prove an Eleven can be physically altered to be a Beauty. Shawn’s eyebrows rise up as he catches me thinking.
“I can see this news pleases you,” he says with a chuckle. “Didn’t your seller tell you I was a doctor?”
“No. He did not.”
“Regardless, I don’t want you to think your future is for certain. You still have a lot to prove, Grace. And what you did last night… did not work in your favor.”
“I cannot thank you enough for not punishing me for my terrible lack of judgment,” I say, lowering my head in respect. I catch him smirking lightly. He’s pleased with this response and my face warms knowing I received his mercy and understanding. I think about how much worse his response could have been.
“You need to be moved,” Shawn says, interrupting my thoughts. “But I do not trust you on your own and I certainly do not trust Celia or my wife to be alone with you, yet.”
“Sooo…”
“I talked to a few of Celia’s friends and as it turns out, two of them are willing to help out with the task while I’m gone.”
My face blanches. Friends of Celia’s.
“Who… who are they?” I ask in a hesitant tone.
“You don’t need to worry; they don’t matter to you. As I said, they are Celia’s friends. You are not to forget your place, Grace. Does a smart beast like you understand what I’m implying?”
I nod before sputtering out a yes to his question. He doesn’t want me to speak to them. As far as others are concerned I’m a mindless animal, and I can’t help wondering who would volunteer for such work. Most Beauties wouldn’t dare move around a Potential unless there’s money or a reward. Were they the same two from last night? That would make sense. They were both intrigued.