Page 188 of Everything Under the Sun

I sucked in a sharp breath, and fell to my knees in front of Drusilla, the ceramic tiles cool against my legs. “Where did they take him? Please, you have to help me. I-I know you don’t have any reason to, but I’m begging you.”

Drusilla looked up.

“I can’t help you,” she said, and then her gaze strayed. “Besides, even if I could, I wouldn’t.”

I blinked.

“I know you’re afraid, but—”

“I’m not afraid.” Drusilla chastened. “I have plans of my own, and helping you do anything that might interfere with those plans is completely out of the question.”

“Then just point me in the right direction,” I pleaded. “I’ll figure out the rest on my own.”

“No.” Drusilla gathered up the matched pieces of fabric, took them over to a table and set them down next to other stacks.

Getting angry, and running out of time, I stormed over to Drusilla and grabbed her arm.

“You are afraid!” I accused. “I’ve seen that face before—I used to wear it! You haven’t given up hope yet, but the fear is close to forcing you to!”

Drusilla jerked her arm out of my hand; her black eyebrows crumpled with insult.

“You don’t know anything,” she bit back. “Who are you to come in here and tell me about myself; to come in here and tell me I need to help you? You’re crazy.”

“I’m desperate,” I corrected her. “And so are you—look at you. You’re a prisoner. A slave.”

Drusilla flinched.

“I can come and go as I please,” she argued, but with less confidence. “I can do whatever I want, whenever I choose to do it.”

“Then why don’t you? Why don’t you leave? Why don’t you help me?”

Drusilla nearly smiled.

“You think I want to help you?” she said.

“I know you do.”

Now she did smile. And then she laughed.

“You really are crazy.” She shook her head and walked away.

“If I’m crazy,” I began, “then look me in the face and tell me you like being this man’s property. Tell me you enjoy running to stand at attention when he enters the room, faking the smiles, calling him sir, assuring him you’ll have the room cleaned before he comes back as though you’re a child. How old are you? Twenty?”

Drusilla went back over to her workspace on the floor.

“I’m not going to help you,” she said at last. “So stop badgering me about it. If you want to leave, the door is there. But what you do, or where you go beyond it, is all you.”

She sat back down cross-legged and went back to matching the fabric strips.

I clenched my fists down at my sides, gritted my teeth.

“Fine.”

I marched toward the door, intent on leaving, but stopped when I heard Drusilla’s voice.

“You can go,” she called out, “but I’m asking you to stay. Just…stay here with me.” The desperation in her voice was light but evident, different from the bold, unsympathetic girl just seconds ago—the change gave me whiplash.

I turned.

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