Morning in the Kitchen
The newly set fire in the kitchen hearth begins to warm the room. The scent
of blackwine hangs in the air as it brews. She opens a cupboard, reaching back
into the recesses and drawing out a leather bound book. It is the one thing she
removed before her bag was taken to the cabin. Her journal. Thick, dog-eared in
places, she adds to it with irregular regularity, as she has described her
writing habits.
Filling a mug with the hot blackwine, she sits at the table near the window,
sunlight, just beginning to light the kitchen, falls across her face...
illuminating a paleness to the skin, a coloring to her cheeks that was not there
before. She bites the end of the writing instrument in thought ..
i pretended to sleep last night, but knew it was not going to come soon, if at
all. i do not think he knew, though; he lay still. i did not. every turn, every
movement and the chain was there, pressed and laying heavy on my arm, across my
belly, dangling between my breasts. it is inescapable. every touch of the chain,
the tiniest sound of the links is almost like an echo of his simple statement,
"slave."
i trained girls for this house. their owners were pleased. yet, last night i
found i do not know even the most basic positions. each one in its own way made
me feel vulnerable. you can't hide from searching eyes on your back, legs apart
... hands to your side to remove the temptation to cover yourself.
and the whipping position ... i had a moment of fear then ... physical fear, not
the other. not the fear that makes me shake. he said there is no turning back
and that the pain inside is my acknowledgement of that and my fear of it.
it is not the postures that makes me feel truly vulnerable... it is that he is
insistent on knowing my thoughts. it is far easier to expose my body than my
mind. no one has asked that before ... i am joy. if joy smiles and teases and
prepares the blackwine on time and well ... if joy is a rowdy girl ... that is
expected and no one asks what joy is thinking. i am joy. i am not like the
others. so i thought.
Hearing sounds of movement, she quickly closes the book and replaces it deep
within the cupboard.