Lucille sat, her back straight, hands on her knees and she stared straight ahead.
Her Master had returned to the room, sat in the armchair, and told her, "Go to your room Lucille." His voice was flat but stern.
She raised and went to the single room, not the one she ordinarily shared with him. She was shaking. She realised now that she had made a grave mistake. She had laid awake, only falling asleep in the early hours. When she awoke, her Master had already gone. A feeling of emptiness engulfed her. He had never left without saying goodbye before.
She tried to busy herself by doing chores and reading. She cried a lot. By the time her Master was due home, she was fatigued by her lack of sleep and appetite.
Upon hearing the motorcycle, Lucille ran into the room and took her position in the middle of the floor. He entered the room and walked past her and into the kitchen. She heard the coffee that she had prepared being poured.
Lucille stared straight ahead as he reentered the room and sat down. Unable to help it, she sniffled. He sighed, folding his paper and placing it on his knee.
"Lucille, you are excused for the evening. Please go to your room".
She slept a deep, exhausted sleep that night, woken by her own crying.
When she was ready, she took her position in the room, the one usually used only for greeting her Master when he arrived home. However, she did not know what else to do, as she was not used to waking up in these circumstances. She waited, and eventually, her Master's bedroom door opened. He walked past her to the kitchen. She heard the coffee pouring and his footsteps as he entered the dining room. She waited patiently, but he went straight to his office and closed the door.
By midday, Lucille was stiff but determined to stay straight. Every part of her body ached. Still, she knew that she must prove to her Master that she was sorry for her mistake and worthy of his trust. By the evening, her shoulders had started to sag, and her back and buttocks were sore.
Her Master had only returned to the other rooms to take his meals or refresh his coffee. Eventually, he entered the room and walked straight past her into his bedroom, turning off the light as he did so.
Lucille, in the dark, collapsed to the floor, where she fell into an uncomfortable, exhausted sleep. She only moved from her spot to use the bathroom usually reserved for guests and to prepare a small snack, which she vomited into the toilet during the night.
Waking bruised and cold, she just lay listening. On hearing her Master's movements, she resumed her seated position. Her Master, again ignoring her, made his coffee and seated himself in the armchair with his book. Lucille knew forgiveness was not coming.
She raised Stiffly. Her buttocks were black and blue with bruises. She stumbled towards her bedroom sobbing and finally fell onto the bed. Crying into the pillow until she finally fell asleep naked and cold. She'd had no energy nor inclination to get into the bed.
Waking when it was dark, she listened. Once she was sure that it was late enough that her Master had retired, she slowly made her way to the kitchen. She knew that she had to try and pull herself together. After eating a small portion and taking a water bottle, she returned to her room.
Not even knowing what the hour was, she dressed. Pulling on tight black jeans even though it hurt, a top, and then her leather bomber jacket. Every movement was painful, but the soft Leather of her Jacket and its unique smell soothed her.
Reaching into the drawer and pulling out her collar, she gripped it tightly, a sob escaping from her lips. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she stared vacantly until she heard her Master take his seat at the table.
Lucille walked steadily into the dining room and stood beside her Master. She held her hand flat, offering the collar to him. He looked, not at Lucille, but down, at the collar. He raised, picked up his plate and cup, and walked away into the kitchen.
Breathing heavily as she tried not to cry, she walked to the small table in the corner of the room and lifted the handset of the old-fashioned telephone. The telephone was answered immediately. She spoke briefly in a pained, shaky voice. Then returned to her bedroom, passing her Master sitting in his armchair reading yesterday's newspaper.
In her bedroom, Lucille lay on the bed, still in her jacket even though she was no longer cold, and she sobbed loud, breath-taking sobs. She did not hear the knock at the door or the raised voices, and she was only barely aware of the strong arms that lifted her and carried her away.
