Reyna: Enslaved

The beginning...

Reyna was sitting at the dinner table, head in her hands. Her chestnut-dye hair flowed down her back, chaotic and loose rather than the tied-back ponytail she typically sported while working. I had just entered my apartment from the doorway; her back was to me. Her shoulders shook with barely disguised sobs, and those shoulders were bare and tanned where her faded blue vest top ended. The cascading confusion of her hair tickled that same smooth skin. I opened my mouth to speak. She beat me to it.

"Oh, hello Sir." She kept her back to me as she spoke, though she stood up as she did so. Her right hand went to her face; I assumed she was rubbing her eyes. When she turned to look at me there was, as I expected, a ring of red around her shining coffee-brown irises.

"Are you okay?"

It was a stupid question made even more ridiculous by the fact I was standing with one foot in the apartment and the other still in the corridor. I entered the room fully and closed the door behind me.

"I was just taking a break, Sir."

Reyna looked at the floor. She sniffed. When she raised her head and spoke again, she appeared to have gained some composure. She pulled at the bottom of her top to straighten out the creases I had barely noticed. The top tightened over her chest. Now it was my turn to look away.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" I removed my backpack from my shoulders and placed it by a table leg. The bag was heavy with my laptop computer and a stack of student's work to mark over the summer break; I'm a teacher and I had just finished the final day of the academic year.

"No, Sir, I'm fine. I will cook dinner now."

"If you're sure..."

"Yes, Sir."

She turned her back to me and stepped into the open kitchen. With the living and dining area expanding into the open kitchen, and the balcony fronting it, my apartment feels more spacious than many in Hong Kong. Of course, when Louise and Dylan were around, it didn't quite feel as open. But that was in the past now. I watched Reyna open the fridge, then retreated to my bedroom to get changed. Whatever had been troubling my domestic helper was probably not too serious; anyway, in just over a week it would not be my problem.

Or so I thought. Hindsight can be a funny thing. And life? That can turn into the biggest joke.

#

Sorry to send you this message so late, Sir. I know that tomorrow is my last day working for you and that I told you I would leave and move out my things straight away. As I mentioned, I planned to stay at the boarding house until my contract with my next employer begins. However, Sir, I am sorry to tell you that the bed in the boarding house is now not available until Monday. I feel very stressed about this as I had to send money back to my sister in the Philippines yesterday which means I cannot pay for a hotel for the weekend. It was why I was upset when you returned home from work. So, Sir, I feel embarrassed to ask, but may I stay in my room here until Monday morning? I promise I will not be a bother to you after I finish my last day of work, and on Sunday I plan to stay outside as usual with my friends, anyway. Thank you, Sir, for your consideration.

That was the message I woke up to on Saturday morning. While it was somewhat surprising, I had no problem with the plan; Reyna had been employed by Louise and me for the four years since we had moved to Hong Kong. Originally we had employed her to keep Dylan, our golden retriever, company while we were at work; the cleaning, shopping, and cooking she had done for us was a welcome bonus. Following my recent separation from my wife (and her move back to Bristol in the UK with our beloved pet), I provided Reyna with her one-month notice. She had continued without fuss and had secured work with a young family, scheduled to begin in a week.

I sighed (a new habit) as I put my phone down and let my head rest on the pillow. I would let Reyna know in person that she could stay the extra two days. I closed my eyes and snatched another thirty minutes of light sleep before getting up to face the day.

#

Fried sausages and bacon sizzling in a pan, spitting and crackling. The pop of the toaster as two slices of wholemeal bread sprang forth. The rich smell of freshly brewed coffee. I sat at the table scrolling through the sports news as Reyna served me breakfast. As it was her final day of work, it would be the last one she would prepare for me.

She had outdone herself. A full English fry-up fit for any Brit located halfway across the globe from my current home of Hong Kong.

"Thank you, Reyna. It looks great."

And it did. In fact, at that moment, it was the best-looking meal I had seen for months; I almost regretted giving my domestic helper her notice. But, of course, with just me here now, there was little need to keep her on.

"My pleasure, Sir."

I took my first sip of coffee. It was black and bitter, but velvety. I felt my eyes widen and my mind sharpen. When Reyna spoke again, her words were as clear and rich as the hot drink.

"Sir, I'm sorry about the message I sent to you last night. If it is too much trouble, please ignore it. I shouldn't be so forward asking you like that. It's just that I wasn't sure where I could stay and I suddenly felt helpless. But maybe I can ask some friends if they know anyone who--"

"It's okay. You can stay."

Even though I had spoken the words, I only heard them as if they were an echo. This was because, being so focused on the breakfast, I hadn't properly given Reyna's appearance that morning my full attention.

My domestic helper is a year younger than me: thirty-eight to my thirty-nine. Typically, she would perform her duties in comfortable attire; the Hong Kong summer in late June would have her wearing a loose-fit t-shirt or vest-top along with leggings or shorts.

Not today.

Reyna's hair was tied back, and her face was made-up; burst-cherry lipstick and eyelashes as rich and dark as the coffee. But I wasn't looking at her face. To counter the glamour of her face, she was dressed as if bound for the gym. A pair of black lycra shorts grasped at her thighs, and those thighs were thick, but in a healthy, toned way. A ring of tanned flesh surrounded her belly, and for the first time in her four years of employment, I noted that she had a pierced navel--a single gold stud. Again, full and fleshy, but hinting at taut muscle beneath the layer of soft skin. Above, a sports bra-white-with the Nike swoosh extended across her chest. Louise had been relatively well-endowed in that area, but only now did I note that Reyna was similarly proportioned. A hint of cleavage peeked out from the top.

"Thank you, Sir," she said, but so lost was I in the profile she offered I momentarily forgot what she was thanking me for.

Clarity hit me as I took another sip of the coffee. I hoped it was the heat of the drink that engendered the burn in my cheeks rather than any embarrassment on my part due to the fear my eyes had lingered longer than they should have.

"No problem. Really. It's the least I can do. You've been a big help."

Reyna smiled. Her lips were slick and glossy. I moved my focus to my plate and hoped she would return to the kitchen. Mercifully, she turned and made for that area, though not without my peripheral vision catching sight of the rounded curves of her buttocks dancing as she walked. I scrolled through more news on my phone as I ate; Reyna sang as I did so.

#

"How are you holding up, mate? I mean, I don't want to pry, but it's gotta be a little strange just being on your lonesome now, right?"

"I'm okay. Really."

"As long as you're sure. Do reach out if you ever need anything, though."

"I will. Appreciated."

Alan raised his glass. I reciprocated. The coming together of the two pints gave a clear ringing that was audible above the hum of the Saturday night crowd gathered in the harbour-side cafe. The cloudy beers--local-brewed IPA--sloshed around the inside of the glasses. My friend and I both took a sip. Fruity. Relatively strong.

"Always a good view here, huh?" Alan was looking out across the water. From our vantage point in the open-air portion of the establishment, you could see the Star Ferry chugging across the water to Hong Kong Island, the iconic skyline of neon-lit skyscrapers backed by the shadowy hills and mountains behind. Both Alan and I lived Island-side, but we sometimes frequented this cafe on the Kowloon side of Victoria Harbour just to enjoy the vista alongside our beers.

"The best view," I said.

Alan smiled, and the expression drew a multitude of lines across his tanned face. Now the wrong side of fifty, my friend formally worked as a PE teacher at my school; since then he has branched out into personal training and runs private fitness classes on the Island. For a man his age, he's in impressive physical shape; despite the fact I maintain a reasonable level of fitness, his efforts to keep in top condition leave me lagging. Beneath his greying hair and thick eyebrows, I saw his cobalt eyes sparkle.

"You'll be alright, mate. Life's not so bloody bad, yeah?"

"Yeah."

At that moment, life didn't feel so bad. Divorce ongoing; beloved pet thousands of miles away; uncertain future--but hope there, too. We drank. We chatted. The beers flowed. I felt myself loosen up. Then I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pulled it out. Message. Reyna.

"Why the wide eyes, Davey?"

I didn't respond to him right away. I was staring at the image. It was my domestic helper, standing in front of the mirrored doors of the wardrobe in my bedroom. She was holding a plum-coloured miniskirt of barely any length. I recognised it: Louise's. My soon-to-be ex-wife had left a few things at the apartment to be shipped later, some clothes included. The message that came with the image read:

I found some of Ma'am's things when tidying. Should I move them to my room for when I leave, or keep them where they are? Sorry to bother you.

I didn't reply immediately, or even fully comprehend the message as my eyes struggled to leave the picture. In it, Reyna still wore the workout clothes from earlier, and the angle at which she stood before the mirror was--I couldn't deny--tantalising. She was a silhouette of perfect curves.

"Earth to Davey."

Alan again. Realising I had become lost in the image, I turned my phone around to show him the picture.

"Reyna. Our--I mean my--helper. Final day of work. She found some of Louise's old things. Asking what to do with them."

Alan looked at the image and grinned. "Should be thinking about what to do with her, mate. She should be wearing that fucking miniskirt!"

I laughed. We toasted. I put my phone back in my pocket. Conversation and beer flowed. The lights across the harbour danced.

"I need a piss. Back in a minute."

Alan disappeared into the indoor section of the cafe. The overhead fan breezed above, striving to shift away the humid Hong Kong summer. An electronic beat vibrated through the metal table. Somewhere close, a woman's shrill laughter cut through the air. I downed a quarter of my pint. My mind was gripped in the warm hug of the alcohol. I took out my phone and typed a message.

Just leave her stuff there. Unless you want to try it on--from that photo, you'd look hot in that skirt.

I added a winking emoji and pressed send. I felt neither excitement nor regret; just the buzz of the booze. I put my phone back in my pocket. Alan returned, and we ordered a final beer. The night flowed over me.

#

I returned home to my freshly made bed sometime after midnight. Sleep came quickly. In my chemically dulled mind, I was blissfully unaware of the events my drunken actions had set in motion.

Saturday

The headache wasn't too bad. Still, I fancied a coffee--it was 8.20 am and, despite it being a Saturday, my early-riser tendencies told me I was wasting the day. I slipped out of bed and pulled on a t-shirt and gym shorts over my boxers. I hadn't heard anything outside, so I couldn't be sure whether Reyna was up and about.

No breakfast was prepared. No coffee. And why should I have expected it? Reyna's last day of employment had passed.

But there she was. Sitting at the table. She wore a long black skirt and white blouse--I vaguely recalled her wearing something similar when Louise and I interviewed her all those years back. Her hair was neatly tied back, and her fingernails were bright red: freshly painted. In front of her was a blue sheet of paper. She didn't look up when she spoke.

"I've been waiting for you to get up." A pause. A single long nail tapped on the table. "Contract."

It then made sense. Time to conclude the employment. Nothing strange there. But the tone of her voice. Something hard. New.

"I'll just make a coffee first."

She looked up at me. The tiniest sliver of a smile moulded her full lips.

"Just a second. I need you to sign this."

To be honest, I was a little taken aback by the way she had spoken to me just then; more direct. It was something I had never experienced from her before. I walked over to her.

"Sit."

I sat. My tiredness and the cut-glass clarity of her voice led me to do so. Her eyes, dark and hard, met mine.

"Davey, I appreciate you letting me stay here until Monday. It was kind of you." I failed to recognise the absence of the typical

Sir

. "However, as the situation has now changed, I will be living here for a full extra week."

"Perhaps there has been a misunderstanding..." I inwardly cursed the hesitation in my voice.

She pushed the paper towards me. I looked at it. I immediately recognised her joke and smiled.

"Pretty funny. Anyway, I hope you can--"

"No."

The coldness of that single word was enough to stop me. My words died on arrival.

She continued: "I will be staying here a week. As I have been working hard for the past few years, I would like this time between jobs to be relaxing. I need a domestic helper. I have decided you will do the job. Please sign this contract."

There was no hint of a lie in her face: every small feature was set.

"Look, Reyna, I know this might be funny to you, but I've been through a lot recently and I don't need--"

"You need to learn respect. Should I send that message you sent me last night to Louise? How about all her friend's domestic helpers? I have their details. Would you like your life to become that complicated?"

It was at that moment I remembered. I felt my face flush red.

"Look, Reyna, I've been under some pressure and it hasn't been easy. Last night I had a few beers and--"

"No bullshit excuses. You sign the contract. A week's work. It will be good for you. Help you learn. I did this job for four years. You can do a week."

I sat in silence. Her eyes never left my face. Perhaps it was last night's beer, but I wanted to throw up. I read over the first page of the contract. My name. Date of birth. ID number. Reyna's details filled the employer section. There was my apartment's address. The normal helper duties. I turned it over. The pay was set at a single Hong Kong Dollar per day. Against my better judgement, I laughed.

"Take this seriously."

"I can't sign it."

Then it was Reyna laughing as she left the table and went to her room. Despite the situation, I still couldn't stop myself from checking out her backside in the tight skirt. She returned with her phone and a pen. She didn't sit.

"When you have finished reading it, you can sign. A standard helper contract. Mostly."

She placed the pen next to my hand. Her fingernails brushed my knuckles. I continued staring at the paper.

"I can't do this. It's insane. Reyna, perhaps you should leave today. Find a friend you can stay with."

"No." She pulled her shoulders back and stood at her full height; she was shorter than Louise, but from my seated position, she could have been a giant. She started tapping on her phone. "Then I send out to everyone the message you sent to me. It's a shame I have to do this."

I don't know why I did what I did next. Perhaps it was to combat the sinking feeling in my stomach; the tingling in my fingers. I ran my eyes over the contract again: the dates; details; the addition she had written about professional dress and taking responsibility for any mistakes I might make. I didn't even take a breath--I simply picked up the pen and signed. As soon as I did so, she snatched the paper away and signed her name.

Her voice was still cold when she next spoke, but the smile was now wider. Her eyes shone, and the richness returned to her voice.

"Thank you, Davey. As per the contract, you start work today. Your main task this day is to move your clothes and personal items to the helper's room after I have transferred my things to the main bedroom. My bedroom now. While I do that, cook me breakfast. Understand?"

I took a deep breath. It tasted stale from the previous night.

"Yes." I hesitated. Thought some more. No solution came. "Okay."

"Okay what? You know how to address your employer, right?"

The sinkhole in my stomach widened further. I thought about grabbing the paper from her. Her eyes met mine, and I knew she could read my intention. She started tapping on her phone again. She didn't need to say anything. I was stuck. All I could do was say what I knew was expected of me: "Yes, Ma'am."

Her laughter was mocking birdsong. Her chest shook and the buttons on her blouse drew tight. I gained no pleasure from the vision.

"Perfect. Make it something healthy. The breakfast. Have some yourself. Coffee, too. Get to work."

The same words again. Like an echo, but my familiar diction. "Yes, Ma'am."

With numb limbs, I got to work.

#

I prepared Greek yoghurt with avocado. Black coffee. Reyna smiled as I placed it on the table.

"Thank you, Davey. You may eat now, too."

"Yes, Ma'am." I remembered how Reyna was expected to address us when she had been under my and Louise's employ. And I silently swore at myself when I said it. "Thank you, Ma'am."

She didn't even look at me when she started eating. Meanwhile, I retreated to the kitchen counter and stood while I ate from my bowl and drank my coffee. Reyna had always eaten standing. In that same spot. Louise and I had never even invited her to sit. It had been... normal.

This did not feel normal.

There was just the clinking of cutlery as we both ate and drank. And the tapping of nails on glass as she scrolled through her phone. When she had finished, I walked over to her.

"Are you finished, Ma'am?" It's what she would have asked us. Louise, and I.

"Yes. You can take the things and wash them up."

"Yes, Ma'am."

While I washed up, Reyna went back to moving her things into the bedroom. I assumed she was also removing my clothes and personal items from the drawers, shelves and wardrobes as she did so. After she told me she was finished, I checked. She had taken out everything.

"You can start moving your things to the helper's room. Once you have finished, please clean the apartment. Fully. I will go out today to meet a friend; her employer is away on vacation so she has some free time. We will eat dinner together so there is no need to cook for me tonight. Just make sure the place is clean. As it is your first day working for me, and I am sure you will work hard, you may rest when you have finished. Okay?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

I felt at least a tiny morsel of relief that Reyna would be out all day. I held out hope that when she returned, she would say I had learned my lesson and we could forget this whole ludicrous situation.

A fool's hope.

#

Reyna remained in her smart attire until she left. I wondered whether she would feel too hot in the summer's heat; that was none of my concern. She barely looked at me before she left. When the door closed and she had left, I felt a rush of freedom. I entertained the thought of changing the locks; of rustling through her things and finding the contract and destroying it; of sending her a message and asking if this was all a joke.