“You don’t like it, do you?”
“The squares are strange, but I quite enjoy the milk.”
She rolled her eyes, took the bowl from in front of him, and dumped it in the sink. She flipped a switch and a loud grinding noise began. His translation chip informed him the noise was caused by a garbage disposal.
Ten minutes later, he’d learned he was a huge fan of steel cut oats. His body rejoiced as he put down three bowls, two glasses of milk, and a delicious red fruit called an apple. Satisfied he stood, took the bowl to the sink, rinsed it out, and placed it into the dishwasher.
“You won’t be single long, Xanthus.”
He shook his head. “Single, what do you mean?”
“You won’t be without a significant other. You have more manners than most men I know.”
Her words saddened him. She didn’t want to keep him? He enjoyed being her slave. She’d allowed him more freedom than any Mistress before. The connection they shared felt deeper and more meaningful. Xanthus understood things worked differently here. People here were allowed to choose for themselves but what if she was his choice?
“Are you okay?”
Her concern warmed his heart.
“Yes, M- Violet, I am fine. I was just wondering about what would happen if I make it through the twelve days.”
“Hey, don’t say if. I‘m an O’Shea, we make things happen.”
Her face went stern and serious. The look was so at odds with her musical voice and small stature that he laughed out loud.
“Are you laughing at me, alien man?” She placed her hands on her hips and he swallowed. He shook his head back and forth and lowered his eyes.
“No.”
A gentle weight settled on to his shoulder and a floral scent surrounded him.
“It’s okay, Xan. I was just kidding with you. You know a joke, funny ha-ha. I know things were different where you’re from but it’s not like that here. Look at me.” She placed a finger underneath his chin and tilted his head up to meet her gaze from where he sat. Her voice was soft and her touch was gentle. It was more kindness and concern than he’d ever been shown by any woman. As he peered into her eyes, he began to believe the things she said. He could be a different person here. No one knew about his past, he could make the future whatever he wished.
“I’m different and as long as I have anything to say about it, you won’t be answering to anyone but yourself ever again, I promise.” She paused. “Okay, and maybe your boss, and the woman you’ll be with but never in the master-slave role… unless you like that kind of thing.”
Her eyebrow curved up into an arch and the chip in his head showed him that usually meant the person was making a query.
“I would like to be able to decide my own fate.”
“Good, then we’ll need to work on that backbone. You’ll get eaten alive out there if we don’t.”
His heart began to race. They ate the weak here? His eyes darted back and forth as he scanned his translation chip for instances of cannibalism.
“Relax; it’s a phrase, not literal. It means people will take advantage of you.”
“I understand now.” He breathed a sigh of relief.
She chuckled. “You should have seen your face. First thing we have to do is get you dressed. That towel is distracting and on Earth, we don’t walk around in only a loin cloth. Here we keep things very covered up, unless we’re going for a swim or in the privacy of your home.” She removed her hand and he felt bereft. He wanted the contact but he didn’t think she’d appreciate him saying so.
He followed her into one of the rooms where she pulled out one of the dresser drawers. She rummaged through and pulled out an outfit that looked similar to the pajamas she wore. A cream colored long sleeve shirt accompanied black, grey, and white plaid pants. It was more clothing than he’d ever worn in his life, but appropriate for the weather.
“These are called pant legs; they go on your legs.”
“I understand. Things aren’t so very different where I’m from.”
Her face reddened. “Sorry. I don’t mean to insult your intelligence. This is the kind of situation I write about, not actually live through.”
“You are a scribe, Violet?”