Crawling Back Ch 03

My dress is all sweaty...

What a silly thing to worry about. It's just a dress. Compared to my clearly insane domestic position, what's a dress? Nothing, just a piece of cloth, a thing, a...

Symbol.

Somehow, I'm numb to everything else that's happening to me... but the idea of my dress getting so stained with maid-sweat is the thing that pierces through the fog of dissociation. It almost brings a tear to my eye...

I sniff. Stupid girl, Marina. Just do your job well, and everything is going to be alright. I refocus on scrubbing furiously away at a particularly stubborn stain on Lucy's bedroom floor. Whatever it is, it's sticky.

Lucy's never really been one for washing floors.

I must be such a pathetic sight in my evening finery, reduced to a mere cleaning lady. I'm sure the makeup I applied so lovingly is starting to smudge, and maybe it's my imagination, but -- is the fabric of my stockings getting thinner around my knees?

Maybe it's not the nylon that's fraying, it's just my sanity. I wish I could be calmer about where this is all going, calm like... well... her.

Lucy lounges on her bed, propped up by a mound of pillows. She's wearing one of those oversized t-shirts she likes so much. Her unwashed hair is a tousled mess, her glasses perched crookedly on her nose.

The soft tapping of her fingers on her phone screen and the occasional chuckle at something she's reading are the only sounds aside from my labored breathing and the slosh of dirty water. She hasn't even glanced my way once, as if I'm not even worthy of acknowledgment.

I risk a peek over my shoulder at her, hoping to catch her eye, to see some glimmer of appreciation or affection. But she's completely absorbed in her phone, a small smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

I turn back to my task, blinking back the tears that threaten to fall. She's right not to pay any attention to me. I've been awful to her. I just have to win her trust back.

On some level, I know what I am here. A servant. No, that's too generous. A slave. I do all the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry. Lucy hasn't lifted a finger since I moved back in. The "girlfriend" topic has not been revisited, and I don't dare bring it up. We're in a strange limbo where I'm more than a maid but less than a partner.

This is just a phase, I tell myself. It'll pass, all things do. I just need to try harder.

My back and arms scream in protest as I scrub with more energy, determined to remove every last speck of dirt from the floor. Maybe if I do an exceptional job, if I make everything spotless and perfect, she'll finally look at me. Maybe she'll smile, tell me I've done well. Maybe she'll even invite me onto the bed, let me curl up next to her like we used to...

"Marina, come here for a second."

My head snaps up, my heart leaping into my throat. She wants me? She actually wants my attention? I scramble to my feet, nearly tripping over myself in my haste to obey. The cleaning rag falls forgotten to the floor as I hurry to her bedside, hands clasped demurely in front of me.

"Yes, Lucy?" I ask, my voice breathy with a pathetic mixture of hope and trepidation. "What can I do for you?"

She looks up from her phone just enough to give me one brief, appraising look. "You're tired. This is a lot for you, isn't it?"

I open my mouth to speak, but I don't know what to say. Yes, it's a lot. It's everything. But I chose this, didn't I? I chose to come back, to subject myself to her will.

Lucy's response to my silence is to shrug, as if it's all the same to her. "You're free to go, you know. If it's too much."

I stiffen. Is she testing me? Daring me to walk out? The thought of leaving rips me in two. To feel the crushing loneliness again, the endless nights crying myself to sleep... as bad as this is, as hopeless as it seems, it's still better than accepting a life without Lucy in it.

"No," I say firmly. "I want to be here. With you."

Lucy studies me for a long moment, her eyes unreadable behind her glasses. Then she nods. "Finish the floor," she says, lying back down and turning to her phone, away from me.

I go back to my hands and knees, picking up the brush.

The mind-numbing monotony of my work is suddenly interrupted by a sharp, chiming sound. My heart skips a beat as I realize it's my smartphone. I left it on Lucy's nightstand, well within her reach. I hold my breath, waiting to see if she'll snatch it up and read the notification. She's done that before. Instead, she stretches lazily and makes no move for the phone. I let out a silent sigh of relief.

I sit back on my heels, wiping my hands on the hem of my dress -- it's already ruined, so what does it matter? -- and reach for the phone. The screen lights up, and my heart gives another little flutter when I see the message. It's from Sarah, a close friend. We went to high school together, then college. She's one of the few who stuck around, even through the worst of my depression.

The message is short and sweet: "Hey babe, it's my bday this Sat. Having a little get-together. Would love to see you! Hope life's been treating you well. xx"

I stare at the screen, my eyes tracing the words over and over. During the worst of my post-breakup depression, I'd withdrawn from my friends almost entirely. I didn't have the energy to pretend I was okay, and I knew they'd disapprove of my continued obsession with Lucy. They still don't know that I'm back with her... much less the conditions I've come back under.

I can't imagine explaining any of this to them. How could they possibly understand?

Still, it almost makes me cry to see that my friends still remember me.

Lucy puts down her phone, stretching her arms above her head. She's noticed my reaction, of course. She notices everything. A sly smile creeps across her face, and my stomach twists with sudden dread. I know that look. It's the look she gets when she's about to toy with me.

"What's the message?" she asks, feigning disinterest.

There really isn't any room for hesitation here. She could just grab my phone and read the text herself if she wanted to, it's not like I could stop her...

--Your acceptance is unconditional

--Things will be the way they were, and then some,

"It's from Sarah," I say, my voice small. "She's inviting me to her birthday party on Saturday."

Lucy raises an eyebrow. "Is that so? How nice of her."

She swings her legs over the side of the bed, sitting up straight. "Come here," she says, snapping her fingers.

Somehow, for some reason, some deep nonverbal instinct within me pushes me to not stand up, because this beckoning is not like the previous one. There's an odd edge to Lucy's voice, and so I approach her bed while staying down on the ground, my phone still clutched in one hand.

The odd glint in Lucy's eyes as she takes in my approach tells me that she approves.

I reach the side of the bed and sit back on my heels, my head bowed, waiting for further instruction. Lucy leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees, and looks down at me. She extends her hand, and I know better than to resist. I place the smartphone in her palm, my fingers lingering a moment longer than they should. She notices, of course, and her smile grows wider.

Lucy starts casually browsing through my phone, swiping through screens and tapping on apps with an air of nonchalance that makes my heart pound. My most private conversations, my photos, my search history - it's all laid bare before her prying eyes. I feel like I've been thrust in the middle of a minefield. What's she going to think of what she'll see? If she gets angry with me about something, anything, how am I going to calm her down?

As these anxious thoughts swirl through my mind, Lucy swings her socked feet up and plants them firmly on my face. I let out a muffled yelp of surprise as she pushes my head down to the floor, pinning me in place. The pungent scent of her feet, unwashed for days, fills my nostrils and makes my eyes water.

She does it so easily, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, as if resistance to the act would be unthinkable. That's so humiliating.

I find myself in the all-too-familiar position of a human footrest, my face serving as a convenient resting place for Lucy's reeking soles while she idly peruses my phone above me, out of sight. I can only imagine the smug look on her face as she violates my privacy so casually, so completely.

The floor presses against my cheekbone as Lucy grinds her heel into my other cheek, smooshing my face into the floor. I can feel the grime and sweat from her sock transferring onto my skin, no doubt smearing my carefully applied makeup. But the thing truly looming large in my mind right now is what Lucy could find on my phone.

The cringey online dating subreddits I frequented after the breakup. The self-loathing, referential, cryptic social media posts with a linked song and some admittedly melodramatic quote out of context. The photos from happier times that I couldn't bring myself to delete, even though looking at them feels like twisting a knife in my own heart.

Worst of all, I think of the text conversations with my friends, the ones where they express their concern over my mental state, their dislike of Lucy, their fears that she's manipulating me. If Lucy sees those messages, if she knows how my friends really feel about her...

A cold sweat breaks out on my brow at the thought. She'll be furious.

"Oh, Marina," Lucy says, with a tone that seems to say poor puppy dog. "You really were a mess without me, weren't you? Listen to this one you sent Sarah: 'I don't know how to function without her. It's like she took a piece of me with her when she left. I know it wasn't healthy, but I miss her so much it physically hurts.'"

Lucy rubs my hair with one socked foot. "But we've made it all better, haven't we? You're back where you belong, now."

I squeeze my eyes shut, my face burning with humiliation beneath her soles. She's right, of course. I was a wreck after we broke up, barely able to get out of bed most days. I leaned on my friends heavily during that time, spilling all my doubts and fears about the relationship.

How I felt like Lucy was slowly eroding my self-esteem, isolating me from everyone else. How her constant need for validation and attention drained me dry. How I sometimes felt more like her caretaker than her girlfriend.

I told them everything - and now Lucy is reading it all, word for ugly word.

"Wow, you really painted me as quite the villain," Lucy muses as she continues scrolling. "Controlling, manipulative, emotionally abusive... I'm almost impressed. I didn't realize I could have such a big impact on the queen bee!"

"And here's another good one, from that uptight volleyball bitch, Jess," Lucy continues, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "'Babe, you know I love you, but I just don't get it. Lucy treated you like shit. She was manipulative and controlling. You're so out of her league, you could do so much better. I know breakups suck, but trust me, you dodged a bullet with that one.'"

Lucy grinds her foot harder into my face, smooshing my cheek against the hardwood. "Out of my league, are you?"

All I can do is whimper, pinned beneath her heel like a bug.

"Oh, here's an interesting one," Lucy says, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "You said, and I quote, 'Sometimes I felt like Lucy's slave rather than her girlfriend.' A slave, uh?"

I freeze, my blood turning to ice in my veins. Oh god, why did I have to use that word?

Lucy presses her feet even more firmly against my face. It hurts, and I let out a small little mewl, but she doesn't relent.

"Tell me, Marina. If I was so awful to you that you felt like a slave, what exactly are you doing here, caving in to every single one of my whims, hmm? Scrubbing my floors, doing my laundry, waiting on me hand and foot? If you thought I treated you like a slave then, surely it must be so much worse now. So what does that mean? Are you okay being my slave? Or are you so in love with me that you're fine being enslaved even if you don't enjoy it? Which is it, Marina?"

The humiliation burns through me, hot and sharp. My body trembles under Lucy's socked feet as her cruel words sink in, each one a dagger to my heart.

I want to protest, to deny it, but how can I? The evidence is right there in front of her, in my own words.

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, wishing I could disappear, sink through the floor and vanish. Anything to escape this excruciating moment, this brutal confrontation with the ugly truth of what I've become.

"I'm waiting for an answer."

I don't know what to say. I don't know how to explain the tangled knot of emotions in my chest, the way I crave Lucy's approval and affection and validation even when the cost is so high.

Maybe there is no explanation. Maybe I'm just broken, fundamentally damaged in some way that makes me cling to toxicity, that makes me beg for scraps from someone who sees me as nothing more than a plaything to be used and discarded.

"I... I don't know," I finally choke out, my voice small and thick with unshed tears. "I don't know why I'm like this, Lucy. I just...I just need you so much, even when you hurt me, even when you make me feel worthless. I can't help it. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I look up at her out of the corner of my eye as I spit out my grovelling confession. She looks... beautiful, from down here, larger than life, as she's smiling down at me with no mirth or warmth. It's a smile of ownership, because now that that evil word is out there, now that it's been spoken out loud, it can never be taken back.

Slave. I'm her slave.

"You know," Lucy says, softly, so softly, "a slave would not be allowed to go to Sarah's birthday party without her owner's permission..."

I feel a lump form in my throat at Lucy's words. The birthday party. In the emotional turmoil of the last few minutes, I had almost forgotten.

"Lucy, please," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I haven't seen Sarah in so long. She's one of my best friends. Can't I just go for a little while? I promise I'll come right back and do whatever you want."

Lucy's foot presses down harder, the arch digging painfully into my cheekbone. "Oh, Marina. Always so naive. You really think I'm going to let you out of my sight? After everything we've just been through?"

She lifts her foot slightly, allowing me to speak. I take a shuddering breath.

"But Lucy, I need this. I need to see my friends. I've been so isolated..." My voice breaks on the last word.

Lucy clicks her tongue disapprovingly. "That's exactly why you can't go. You're too fragile right now, too easily influenced. What if they try to turn you against me again? No, it's better for you to stay here, where I can keep an eye on you. Besides... you're far too busy to be gallivanting off to parties. Saturday is a laundry day, and well..."

She wiggles her toes, drawing my attention back to the socks encasing her feet. The fabric is stained and damp with sweat, clinging to her skin. The sour, musty smell is overpowering at this proximity, making my eyes water.

"You know how much I enjoy it when you spend the afternoon dutifully sucking every. Last. Drop of footsweat from my socks by sticking them in your mouth and sucking on them. Truly, no other form of laundry can compare. It takes hours for you to get all the sweat out, you know that. You couldn't possibly make it in time for the party."

I recoil instinctively, my stomach churning at the thought. But Lucy just smiles, and her socked foot adheres more closely and insistently to my face as she pushes.

"Breathe in, Marina," she says. "Breathe yourself stupid on my footsweat. You know it always calms you. Like a pacifier."

Almost against my will, I find myself obeying, inhaling deeply through my nose. The sharp, acrid stench of stale sweat and unwashed feet floods my senses, making my head swim. It's overwhelming, dizzying, yet somehow... comforting?

"That's it," Lucy says with a lilt in her voice, rubbing her foot back and forth across my face. "Now, about Sarah's party... I'm not a monster, you know. I think you should talk to her. Call her, in fact. Text is so impersonal."

My brow furrows at that, confusion momentarily piercing through the haze of submission. "But... but I thought you said I couldn't go...?"

"Oh, you can't," Lucy confirms, her tone light and casual. "But that doesn't mean that I want you to neglect your friendships. I'm not a monster, you know."

"I... I don't know what to say to her..." I admit, my voice small and hesitant.

Lucy hums thoughtfully, her toes flexing against my cheek. "Tell her the truth. You're going to tell her that yes, you'd love to come to her birthday party, but no, you can't go, because you're sadly so terribly busy. Swamped, really."

My eyes widen at that, shock jolting through me like an electric current. "W-what?"

"I think you should tell Sarah exactly why you can't make it to her party," she says casually.

I blink up at Lucy in disbelief, my stomach plummeting. "You want me to tell her... everything?" I whisper hoarsely.

Lucy shakes her head. "Not everything. Just what you're busy with this Saturday afternoon. Washing the sweat from my socks with your pretty mouth."

I feel dizzy, sick. This can't be happening. "Lucy, please," I plead desperately. "Don't make me do this. It will humiliate me. Sarah will never look at me the same way again."

"Exactly," Lucy says. "That's the point, silly girl. I want all your friends to know the truth. I'm doing this because I genuinely do care about you, Marina. You can't have friendships based on lies! You need to be honest with your friends. Why should you ever be scared of telling the truth? The truth is inherently good. It's like, what do ya call it... a terminal value."

I shake my head, dully. I'm trapped and I know it. If I refuse, Lucy will punish me, maybe even kick me out. And I can't bear the thought of losing her again, even if it means losing myself.

"Please, Lucy..." I try one last time, my voice breaking.

But she just shakes her head, unmoved by my distress.

"Alright..." I say, and it's like saying the word out loud deflates me. "I'll... I'll tell her."

Lucy's smile widens into a grin as she hands me back my phone. "Whenever you're ready, princess. I'll just be here, making myself comfortable."

With a shaking hand, I take the phone from her. Lucy's feet gently guide my face back to the floor. Looks like I'll be calling from under her soles. One foot is resting against the hollow of my throat, the other is perched on my forehead, allowing me an unimpeded view of Lucy, looming above me.

My thumb hovers over Sarah's contact, hesitating. I glance up at Lucy, silently begging her with my eyes to change her mind. But her expression is impassive, resolute.

I have no choice. Swallowing hard, I hit the call button and raise the phone to my ear. It rings once, twice. I pray fervently that Sarah won't pick up, that I'll get her voicemail.

But on the third ring, she answers. "Marina! Hey babe, I'm so glad you called! How are you doing?"

At the sound of her bright, cheery voice, so full of genuine happiness to hear from me, I nearly burst into tears right then and there. "H-hi Sarah," I manage to get out. Just listening to her again makes makes my chest ache with longing. For a moment, I'm transported back to simpler times - late night study sessions fueled by junk food and laughter, lazy summer days spent lounging by the pool.

Sarah was always there for me, through every breakup, every failed exam, every crisis of confidence. She was the one who held me while I cried after my grandmother passed away, the one who dragged me out dancing when I was wallowing in self-pity, the one who believed in me even when I didn't believe in myself.