Bunny Ch. 12

If you haven't read part 11, do so here. Or you can start from the beginning.

I do not awake until I am summoned for supper.

Mr. Hale sits at the head of the dining table no matter who is present or what we are eating. When I first arrived I sat on his right. I would nervously pick at my food while stealing glances at the handsome, intimidating man who savored his meal and ignored me.

During my mid-teens my tutors would sit on his right, I on Mr. Hale's left in an armless dining chair whose legs were an inch or so shorter than the others. I would attempt to make myself unobtrusive as Mr. Hale inquired after my studies and made suggestions. I did not speak. If the tutor revealed an insolent remark or a low grade, Mr. Hale would say, "I'll take care of it." He would not look at me again until it was time to punish me. In those days I was clothed, and the only contact he made was through a wooden paddle, and the withdrawal of any warmth was far more painful. However, if the tutor praised an intelligent comment or exceptional test score, Mr. Hale would turn to me. I would replay those moments in my mind; his blue eyes would meet mine, crinkle slightly at the corners, and Mr. Hale would gift me with a close-lipped smile and a soft pat on the cheek.

Through the past four years I have been kneeling to his right unless his business associates visit; any tutors are more likely to be Mr. Hale's "special friends." In the beginning it was a thrill every time his fingers presented a morsel of food. His hands were smooth and well-kept, and knowing that I alone had the privilege of feeding from them was a tranquilizer to any brain activity. The closeness of Mr. Hale's body intoxicated me. I could feel the heat radiating through his clothes and would breathe deeply, inhaling his warm masculinity. The first and only time I dared initiate bodily contact was after a long night. I was so exhausted that I let my head fall against his corded thigh. Mr. Hale's fingers in my hair startled me from sleepy comfort, and I tensed, my breath caught in my throat. Instead of punishing me for being lax in my abeyance he stroked my scalp briefly, sending pleased shivers tripping down my spine. Then he pushed my head so that I was sitting upright.

"Did you read the book I gave you?" Mr. Hale asks when I enter the dining room.

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