Binding Scars

  Binding Scars

  MAYA ROSSI

  Dedication

  To every domestic slave, and the day death and betrayal becomes life goals.

  Copyright © 2020 Maya Rossi

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

  Book design by thecovercollections

  Fire. Mangled flesh. Permanent scars.

  They hold us together….until a chance encounter one fateful night pulls us apart.

  There are two types of maids. The paid ones. They wear uniforms…or not. They look their employers in the eye when they are given orders. At the close of the workday, they go home to their friends and family. With their payments in full.

  Then they are the unpaid ones. We’re slaves. We kneel before our masters. At the close of the workday, we go to sleep at the foot of our master’s bed, ready to spring to action when our services are needed. Our hearts are full of gratitude. We’re loyal in our service.

  I’m one of many.

  No, I’m the best. The most sought after.

  One punishment changes everything. It should have been routine. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except I met a boy. He’s tall, lean, tattooed. He has witch eyes. A rebel. He’s the opposite of everything I stand for. But I’m drawn to him. I should stay away. But I keep coming back. His name is Merrick.

  Fall in love.

  It’s the one thing we’re taught to never do. The consequences will leave eternal scars, sever relationships, destroy lives.

  But it might just be worth it.

  Binding Scars

  MAYA ROSSI

  Dedication

  Bound

  Chapter one

  Chapter two

  Chapter three

  Chapter four

  Chapter five

  Chapter six

  Chapter seven

  Tight

  Chapter eight

  Chapter nine

  Chapter ten

  Chapter eleven

  Tighter

  Chapter twelve

  Chapter thirteen

  Chapter fourteen

  Chapter fifteen

  Chapter sixteen

  Chapter seventeen

  Chapter eighteen

  Chapter nineteen

  Chapter twenty

  Chapter twenty-one

  Tightest

  Chapter twenty-two

  Chapter twenty-three

  Bound

  Chapter one

  Should I be embarrassed?

  I shouldn’t be.

  Two days to my eighteenth birthday. Ten years and seven months of service.

  I watched the windows in Madam’s room flutter. My heart echoed the movement. Maybe he had reconsidered and someone would come let me back in. I stretched out my legs, eyes fixed on the window. My road to freedom. Like the last of my hopes, the curtains fluttered for the last time and stilled. Grainy sands dug into my palms and a stone in the courtyard wiggled between my butt cheeks.

  But that wasn’t the worst.

  I was used to sleeping out as punishment. At home. In familiar surroundings. Where I had my friends. If we found ourselves outside on the same night, it became a hangout. It was fun.

  But here? The night was the darkest I had ever seen. Darker, sinister, demonic, terrifying.

  Back home, when I was eight up till twelve, I would cry all night, beg all night. By the morning I would be exhausted, hoarse and unconscious on my feet. Was that a thing? Like an aware drunk, drunk but not drunk.

  In my teens, I kind of grew. I stopped disturbing the neighborhood at night with my cries. After repeated warnings from the neighbors to keep my voice down, I finally succeeded. I would huddle against the pillars beside the gate, naked. Like Madam Gold used to, I would shove my dress or whatever I was wearing into my mouth to suppress the cries.

  Not that it worked.

  But the neighbors slept better after that.

  Then I grew breasts and going naked no longer became an option.

  Shivering, I struggled to my feet. The menstrual pad between my legs, soaked and sopping wet, made a smacking sound. I grimaced. I glanced back at the hotel, praying for a last minute rescue.

  It would never happen.

  With a broken sob, I staggered away from the hotel. I hated when we left the house for functions, weddings and anniversaries. Unfortunately, Madam was the ultimate social butterfly, keen to impress and show up her friends. The lights from the nearest buildings abated my fears somewhat, but not completely. A dog barked, and insects chirped. My mind magnified the sounds, pouring it out from invisible loudspeakers.

  The sidewalk was lined with short shrubs. The type rich people pay thousands to teenage boys with strange hair cuts to make into real bushes. Somewhere in the gutters something croaked. I broke out in a cold sweat. Unable to bear it any long, I ran. The stones, sharp and strong, were unforgiving against my bare feet. I didn’t stop. My lungs burned. I cried out as my right foot kicked against something hard. I kept my eyes on the sharp turn ahead leading to the main road.

  On the main road, the overhead lights were bright, loud and disorientating. I went past locked shops with owners sleeping peacefully at home. I half stumbled, half walked to an open stall. My feet skidded, wet and slimy against the ground, my nerve endings screamed in pain and I slumped to the ground.

  For a full minute, I concentrated on getting my heart rate down. In and out. In and out. In and out. When I calmed, the throbbing ache in my foot got my heart racing again. Wincing, I propped my right foot on my left thigh, ran my fingers over the spot, my fingers came away wet.

  The smell of blood rose sharp and metallic. I closed my eyes and sighed. No way I could catch some sleep after that. Maybe a little rest before I had to return for the morning chores. Hopefully, he would be gone. He wasn’t joining us for Aunty Yemi’s wedding.

  I must have drifted off. I came to when someone dropped a bag against the table. The woman squinted at me.

  “Wetin?” she asked.

  The question ripped a laugh out of me. And a little fear. I didn’t want to be recognized.

  “Go home, I want to open my shop.”

  I staggered out without a word. The gates would be open at seven when Oga left for home. I had nowhere to go. So I walked.

  My feet screamed with every contact with the unyielding ground.

  I kept walking.

  And walking.

  I turned a junction. Another stretch of main road. The tarred road was better. More people walked past me. Briefcases, handbags, elbows, muffled apologies struck my shoulders and hip as they brushed past on their way to work. I slowed down, allowing the stream of people to drag me along.

  Soon, I weaved into the bus stop. For a second, I stood there, blinking under the bright lights. The building everyone was talking about stood like some graceful Goliath. Hulking and princely. I heard a rich boy in America owned it. My legs were hurting badly. Everywhere was still dark, silent. I turned onto another road, even less aware of my surroundings.

  A few feet down the road, the silence knocked into the wall of pain holding me together. I stopped.

  “Every… whrr…. any… whrrr, shit.”

  The drunken song broke off and someone ran into my back, sending us sprawling to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs.
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  Pain. My right foot.

  I inhaled deeply, fighting to get much needed air and oxygen. My breath stuck somewhere in my throat. I coughed. Hands, firm, large and undeniably male, moved up my legs and over my buttocks. Outraged, I turned around, ready to unleash my displeasure.

  Hard lips mashed over mine. I sputtered, froze, and sputtered again. Then I went still, for an entirely different reason. Warm fingers, as light as a gentle breeze, danced over my face. It sent warmth fluttering like wings in the pit of my stomach. Strong teeth caught on my lower lip, tugging on the flesh. The pull left my legs weak, sent my pulse racing.

  “I’m… zorry. No.”

  More kisses, sharp bites along my lower lip and jaw. I pushed a hand between us, wiggled it really. With an unladylike grunt Madam would have frowned at, I created a few inches of space between us.

  “Wots wrong?” he asked.

  Alcoholic fumes assaulted my nostrils, and I shifted as far away as the hard ground would yield. Which was nothing. Something… or was it someone dropped from above, pressing the guy into me. With my breasts mashed up against his chest, I could barely breathe.

  Wheezing, I beat on his shoulders. “Let me up.”

  “Jer, geroff, you’re… the lary… lady.”

  “Jesus.” I resumed the assault on his shoulders.

  “Slop… stop.”

  They rolled off me. Somehow. I lay there gasping for breath, fighting the tingles on my skin and the odd flutters in my belly. On the far edges of my vision, I saw their silhouettes, stumbling about, struggling for basic coordination.

  “Blood, Jer? Is.. that bro.. blood?”

  I was smiling at his slurred words when I realized where the blood must have come from.

  “Shit.” The voice was stronger and harder than the first. Sober. Or soberer? Was that a word?

  “If you’ve injured yourself so help me, Aunty will come right--”

  “OK, OK, I’m… rine, fine.” A loud and wet hiccup. “But she’s not. I reek--”

  “That you do, dummy.”

  A slap. A guttural laugh. Another wet hiccup. “I… rink… think I killed her.”

  “No, no, she’s alive.”

  “Check.”

  I heard him walk towards me. I turned my head, and my breath caught in my throat. The guy who kissed me sat under the lights. Those eyes. Witch eyes, light, like silver. He was beautiful. Dark skin, slack mouth, dark eyes… and very drunk.

  His friend touched my shoulder. “Hey. You all right?”

  I wrinkled my nose and turned away. He laughed. “If you can notice my ripe smell, you’re definitely fine, think you can stand?”

  The kisser rose, using the stoop of a storefront for support. “How’s… he… she?”

  “Come see for yourself.”

  I sat up, embarrassed to be the center of attention. Cheap sandals, wrap around, like the type worn on a farm. The last time I saw these sandals was Uncle Femi in our village. Right next to the old sandals, expensive loafers appeared in my line of sight. It was so surprising; it held my attention. Like a madwoman on a church altar. I flinched internally.

  “She… rost… lost… shoes.”

  “Must have lost it when she fell. I will find it soon. Let me call Seyi to pick you up.”

  I grabbed the hem of my gown and let it rip. The sound zanged in the silence and both men turned to me. The kisser blinked.

  I could almost feel dawn breaking through the night. I had to be back before anyone noticed my absence. I took the piece of cloth to my foot. I brought it to my lap and winced.

  A gash as long as it was wide decorated my underfoot. Kisser took one look, blanched, and promptly vomited.

  Oh, God.

  Oh, Jesus.

  The smell. The slime. The fumes. I couldn’t breathe. Now, he wasn’t so handsome. Kisser continued to gag all over me. His friend sat with his mouth open, frozen in comic disbelief. He shook his head.

  “This didn’t happen.” He nodded vigorously. “It did not.”

  I burst into tears.

  He shrank back in horror. “Oh, fuck. It’s really happening.”

  I continued to cry. I couldn’t even recall when I cried last. Years. I only did that in my sleep. And it was silent, and I imagine beautiful. Not this shameless bawl. But I couldn’t stop. It was suddenly too much.

  “I can’t,” I drew in a shuddering breath, “I can’t go home like this. He will kill me.”

  “Who?” Kisser asked, looking embarrassed and annoyed at the same time. He didn’t wait for a reply as he turned to his friend. “Jerry, get Seyi.”

  Jerry shook his head. “See--”

  “Call him.”

  Now, his words were clipped and commanding. Then he ruined it with a loud burp. He didn’t even look embarrassed, just wiped his mouth and stared hard at his friend until he got his phone out to make the call.

  I pulled my sticky dress away from my skin, alternating between holding and releasing my breath to stave off the overpowering smell of alcohol laced vomit. “I can’t go home like this. He’ll--”

  Kisser ran scrambling for the gutter where he went all out again. Just how much had he drunk? He returned to my side, grimacing.

  “I can’t even tell you how sorry--”

  “Can you have me home, on a bike? Before day break, with my clothes clean and on me, my body clean, before daybreak? Can you do that, do all that, before daybreak?”

  With every word, my voice rose until I ended on a hysterical note. I caught my breath, swallowing back my anger and rage. Our eyes met. His were wide but inscrutable. He didn’t move, and neither did Jerry.

  I shook my head. Bitter, angry and afraid. “Why did I think you’ll help? I know what I am, I don’t expect any help. I would have accepted it but don’t just. Make. Life. More. Difficult. Than. It. Already. Is. For. Me.”

  Briskly, I tied the cloth around my foot. I pushed to my feet, channeling the pain from my foot to a part of my brain where it mattered less. Mentally, I calculated how long it would take to get home. Fresh tears stung my eyes when I realized I might not make it in time.

  “Great, just great.”

  “No maid is too old for discipline.” Madam Gold twined the koboko around her fingers. “No maid.”

  As always, any memory of Madam Gold knocked sense into me.

  A low-slung car pulled by our side. I looked at Kisser in question. It couldn’t be his, not with those sandals. But what did I know, rich people could be strange.

  “I can do everything you said,” he confirmed.

  “And I won’t ever see you again?” I pressed.

  He frowned like it was the last thing he expected to hear. “You never want to see me again?”

  And have my Madam or worse, Oga know what I’ve been up to? “Yes, I never want to see you again.”

  We didn’t go far. His home was somewhere around the bus stop. A woman met us at the door. She eyed the scar on my left cheek for a second. Dressed simply in white shorts and a red shirt, she was so fair skinned she was almost white. Her skin contrasted nicely with her dark hair, setting off her beautiful eyes to effect. She looked, acted and smelled expensive.

  She spread her arms in exasperation. “What--”

  Kisser must have given her some kind of signal because she broke off, gave me a bland smile — the type you reserved for someone you didn’t know — and led me inside. I was impressed at her extraordinary powers of hiding her true feelings. Not even a flinch at the smell of vomit clinging to me like a well-tailored suit.

  I hobbled after her as she led the way down a long hallway. The walls were wide; the ground littered with toys and the unique smell of a newborn drifted off out from one room. We stopped before a door at the very end. She opened the door and bade me enter.