The week that had passed since Nia had taken him away had been the happiest of Jules' life. She gave him enough food. A soft place to sleep. Clothes that covered his body and kept him warm. She never tied him up, never locked him outside. She let him sit next to her (on the couch!!) and watch movies.
And so he hadn't been too afraid when his trembling hands (still weak but stronger, getting stronger every day) spilled the coffee over the table, some of it splashing into her lap. Humiliated, certainly. Remorseful. But not afraid. He didn't like punishment, it would hurt, but she wouldn't be too cruel. And afterwards he would be better. He'd do better. He'd be closer to good enough.
So he stood very still as the coffee dripped, eyes apologetically lowered, and waited for a blow or for orders or for whatever she would do to him.
Or, well. Something happened. She jumped up, grabbed a towel, mopped up the spill. He could hear her voice, steady and cheerful, but he didn't - it didn't make sense. She wasn't telling him what he did wrong, wasn't ordering him to do anything to make up for it. She just said it was okay, that it didn't matter. Poured more coffee, two cups this time. Told him to sit.
That, he could do. He could obey orders. He sat. Maybe his punishment would be something complicated, something she needed to explain.
He kept waiting for her to tell him. But once he was sitting, she simply talked of everyday things. The birds outside the window. The errands she was going to run that day. The new movie she thought he might like.
The only thing she told him to do was drink the coffee. He did so immediately, wondering if there was something in it that would make him sick, or make him fall asleep. But that didn't make sense; she'd poured it from the same pot as hers.
It was delicious. Nia always had the nicest things.
And, very quietly, a tiny bloom of fear began to grow.
He tried to tell himself it was nothing. He didn't need to worry. But then, two days later... he slept in.
He didn't understand how. As long as he could remember, he'd woken up at 6 am, sharp. His body, his mind - they were trained. But it was after 7 when his eyes flew open, and he hurried downstairs, ready to be reprimanded.
Except it never came. Nia smiled when she saw him. Brought him breakfast, only slightly cold. Went back to working on a crossword puzzle.
Something cold settled in the pit of Jules's stomach.
Asher had stopped punishing him, once. You're worthless. Hopeless. Why should I bother teaching you anything?
You're not worth the effort. You're not worth keeping.
You'll never be good enough.
At first Jules had been relieved at the thought of Asher not keeping him. But as Asher had described all the people he could sell him to, and explained how much worse than him each one would be, Jules had gotten scared. In the end he'd begged Asher for punishment, begged him for one more chance to prove he could learn. That he could be better, be worth trying to fix. That he could be good enough.
Asher's punishments were always scary. Always painful, always humiliating. Sometimes they left marks. But Jules learned not to complain about them. If Asher were still taking the time to punish him, then he was still worth punishing. Asher hadn't given up on him.
...had Nia given up on him?
She couldn't have! He'd only been here a week...
And what did you do in that week? Have you been useful to her? Make her life better? What have you done to deserve keeping you? Why would she even bother to fix you when you mess up? She probably doesn't expect any better!
The eggs - the eggs she cooked for him - stuck in his throat. He was a fool. He'd been enjoying how much nicer life was here, instead of thinking about how to deserve staying in a place so nice. Who did he think he was? What did he think he was?
Of course she wouldn't want to keep him. Of course she wouldn't even bother to punish him. What would be the point?
He forced himself to finish what was on his plate. Then, with a surging, panicked need to prove her wrong, he jumped up and began cleaning up, gathering dishes and pans and filling the sink with soapy water. No sooner had he started, though, but she was right next to him, ready to rinse and dry.
He wanted to cry. Please. Please let me do this. Let me take care of you, let me show you I can! I can be so helpful, I swear!
He cleared his throat. Did he dare? But... she said she liked it when he talked, when he said what he wanted. She praised him for it. So. So maybe...
Very, very quietly, he said, "I can do it. All by myself."
She watched him for a long moment, dark eyes unreadable. Then she nodded. Left. Let him clean alone.
His heart sang with new hope.
After the dishes, he thought about what else he could do. She'd made dinner every night; she shouldn't have to do that. He knew how to cook. She liked chicken, and rice, and fiery spices; he took some time and prepared a dinner for later, something he could cook quickly for her.
Then he began deep-cleaning the kitchen. The baseboards. Behind the refrigerator. Scrubbing the floor, the walls. Organizing the clutter that had accumulated in one corner, and cleaning the space it had occupied.
It took almost the entire day. He was thorough. Throughout it, Nia didn't come back into the kitchen. He hoped she was relaxing. Enjoying a nice day, with someone to take care of this for her.
Finally he cooked the dinner he'd prepared, and went, proudly and shyly, to tell her it was ready.
Her face lit up when she saw it, and joy bubbled in his chest. She praised him, praised the food and the spotless kitchen, and the words sank in like rain in a desert. He was tired, but that was nothing. He'd pleased her! He'd done something good for her!
The next few days were a flurry of activity. He cleaned. He repaired things around the house. He did laundry, dishes, took out the garbage. Cooked for her, brought her snacks and drinks throughout the day. Every time, she thanked him, praised him. Sometimes he worried - there was an odd look in her eyes sometimes, as if she were holding back tears, and he wondered if he was doing it wrong somehow. But when she spoke, it was full of compliments about how beautiful the house was and how delicious the food, and he let himself relax. He was doing it! He was making himself worthy! She'd have to keep him now, surely!
She asked him to watch a movie with her again that night. He made the popcorn himself, brought it to her in a big bowl. Brought her a blanket, a glass of wine. Made sure to sit close enough for her to lean in if she wanted warmth, but not too close in case she wanted space.
When it ended, he reached for the bowl, but-
"Hey, Jules? Can we talk?"
It startled him. Jerking up to look at her, his hand hit the edge of the bowl and it tipped, spilling a few unpopped kernels onto the table. She didn't seem to notice. "So... you've done so much work these last few days." Her voice was warm. Warm and very, very careful.
Jules listened, frantically scooping the kernels up. Maybe this was it, maybe she was going to tell him she'd decided to keep him? Set down rules, a schedule, something to show she'd realized he could be useful after all?
"And I really appreciate it!" she continued. "This house has never been cleaner. I'm proud of you, and I'm grateful." She paused, her eyes giving away nothing but approval as she chose her next words. "I'm just a little worried that... well, you know you don't have to cook and clean and do all the chores all the time, right?"
Jules blinked as the cold feeling returned.
She was still talking. "You've done an amazing job, don't get me wrong! But Jules, you know I didn't bring you here to be my servant? I don't need that."
His heart pounded in his ears. He panicked.
He knocked over the entire bowl.
Kernels clattered onto the floor as his slid off the couch and knelt, head bowed, waiting.
"I mean if you just really enjoy cooking and cleaning, maybe we could- Jules?" A moment later she was kneeling next to him. "Hey. What's wrong?"
"Punish me." The words ripped out of his throat, soft and anguished.
Without looking up, he felt her hand on his shoulder. "Jules, why on earth would I do that?" Why on earth would I bother?
"I knocked it over." He blinked back tears. "I did it on purpose. I was bad." He swallowed. "But I can be better, I swear I can. Just. Punish me, please, you'll see."
There was a soft rustling. "Jules, no. I'm not going to punish you."
"Please!" The tears slipped out now. He grabbed at her, grabbed at her shirt, buried his face in the bunched-up fabric, knowing it was bad but doing it anyway because maybe this will be what she punishes? "I. I did it wrong, I know, you don't need a servant, I did it wrong, I'm sorry, but I can be useful, I swear! Please, please punish me, let me learn, let me get better for you! Beat me, take away my food-"
"Put my hand on a stove, make me stand at attention for three days, something, anything, just give me a chance, let me show you I can be good enough, please-"
Her tone - authoritative, almost angry - cut through his panic. He gulped air and sags, defeated. He hasn't convinced her. He's not worth it.
Is she going to throw him out now? Oh. Maybe that was what this talk was leading up to. Maybe she'd already sold him away. Maybe she was going to give him to his new owner.
He's helpless to ignore the order. Slowly, head bowed, he unclenches one hand and holds it out to her.
A blow on the hand - not painful, not really, but sharp enough to carry a mild sting. The sensation grounded him, braced him like a cold wind.
"There. You've been punished. Now get on the couch."
Numb, confused, he complied. Nia sat next to him again, rubbing the back of the hand she'd just slapped with gentle fingers. "Now." She turned her gaze, dark and falcon-sharp, onto him. "In words. Tell me, clearly, what you're afraid will happen if I don't punish you."
He swallowed. Isn't it obvious? "You'll get rid of me."
Her eyebrows went up. "Okay. Why do you think I would do that?"
He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Faltered. How could he explain something so basic? Stammering, he tried. "Well. If... if I'm bad... then... then you have to fix me. You have to make me better. Make me good enough for you. Unless... unless you already decided I'm not." The tears threatened again. "Unless you already decided I'm not worth even trying to fix. So you're just going to get rid of me instead."
She stares for a long moment. Then, without warning, she leans in and wraps her arms around him, pulling him in tight.
It wasn't the first time she'd hugged him, but he still wasn't used to it. It was a strange sensation, but... nice. Her arms were strong, and soft, and even though he's actually bigger than her he always felt small and safe when she did this. "Okay, so, literally none of that is true," she said softly.
He could feel himself relaxing into her, but the words made him shake his head. "But Asher said-"
"Asher was an idiot and a liar," she interrupted, tone fierce. "He can say anything he wants to, it doesn't make it true. "Jules, I don't punish you because I don't need to or want to. Because you're already good enough."
It was a lovely idea. He wished it were true. "I'm not."
"You are. Jules, I like you. I want you to stay here however long you want to. I'm never going to decide you're not worth it. I'm never going to get rid of you. Even if you do something bad. Okay? So there's no need to punish you."
He closed his eyes, feeling the tears sting. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. Life didn't work like that. But he could pretend to believe her. "...Okay."
She kissed his forehead, then slowly let him go. "Okay. So. No punishments. You don't need to be punished. Agreed?"
It was a lie, he knew. Because he wouldn't be good enough, not in the end. And Nia would either change her mind and punish him... or change her mind and get rid of him.
He hated this. Hated having it hanging over his head. He wished she would just punish him, just get it over with, and let him know for sure she still thought he was worth keeping.
But she'd already said no. So there was nothing to do but just... wait. And wait. And keep waiting. Never knowing if today would be the day she got tired of him.
Giving her his best smile, he grabbed the bowl and started cleaning up the spill.
