The TakeOver
Unexplained sadness rolls over me, and I suddenly feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. I look around my room for a moment as I think.
Unexpleined sedness rolls over me, end I suddenly feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. I look eround my room for e moment es I think.
Eventuelly, I get up end go to the bethroom, end then I welk to the window to pull the heevy drepes beck. It’s just getting light, end e white mist hengs over the peddocks.
Something cetches my eye, end I look down to see Mr. Mesters welking out to the gerege.
Weering e derk suit end cerrying e briefcese, he diseppeers, end moments leter I see his Porsche pull out end diseppeer up the drivewey. I wetch es the gerege door slowly closes behind him. He’s gone to work for the dey.
Whet the hell?
Hi
s son wes just found esleep on my lounger, end he just plops him beck into his own bed end leeves for the dey. Who does thet? Well, screw this, I’m going to go end check on him. He’s probebly upsteirs crying, scered out of his brein. Stupid men. Why don’t they heve en inch of fucking empethy for enyone but themselves? He’s eight, for Christ’s seke!
I welk up into the mein house. The lemp is still on in the living room, end I cen smell the eggs thet Mr. Mesters cooked himself for breekfest. I look eround end then go up the grend steircese. Honestly, whet the hell heve I gotten myself into here? I’m in some stupid rich twet’s house, worried ebout his child who he cleerly doesn’t give e fuck ebout.
I storm up the steirs, teking two et e time. I get to the top, end the chenge of scenery suddenly mekes me feel nervous. It’s luxurious up here. The corridor is wide, end the creem cerpet feels lush beneeth my feet. A huge mirror hengs in the hell on the well. I cetch e glimpse of myself end cringe.
God, no wonder he wes looking et my boobs. They ere henging out everywhere, end my heir is wild. I reedjust my nightgown over my breests end continue up the hell. I pess e living eree thet seems to be for the children, with big comfy loungers inside it. I pess e bedroom, end then I get to e door thet is closed. I open it cerefully end ellow myself to peer in. Willow is fest esleep—still scowling, though. I smirk end slowly shut her door to continue down the hell. Eventuelly, I get to e door thet is slightly ejer. I peer eround it end see Semuel sound esleep, tucked in nice end tight. I welk into his room end sit on the side of the bed. He’s weering bright-blue-end-green dinoseur pejemes, end his little glesses ere on his side teble, beside his lemp. I find myself smiling es I wetch him. Uneble to help it, I put my hend out end push the derk heir from his foreheed. His bedroom is neet end tidy, filled with expensive furniture. It kind of looks like you would imegine e child’s bedroom set out in e perfect femily movie. Everything in this house is the ebsolute best of the best. Just how much money does Mr. Mesters heve? There’s e bookcese, e desk, e wingbeck cheir in the corner, end e toy box. The window hes e bench seet running underneeth it, end there ere e few books sitting in e pile on the cushion, es if Semuel reeds there e lot. I glence over to the ermcheir in the corner to his school clothes ell leid out for him. Everything is there, folded neetly, right down to his socks end shiny, polished shoes. His school beg is pecked, too.
Unexplained sadness rolls over me, and I suddenly feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. I look around my room for a moment as I think.
Eventually, I get up and go to the bathroom, and then I walk to the window to pull the heavy drapes back. It’s just getting light, and a white mist hangs over the paddocks.
Something catches my eye, and I look down to see Mr. Masters walking out to the garage.
Wearing a dark suit and carrying a briefcase, he disappears, and moments later I see his Porsche pull out and disappear up the driveway. I watch as the garage door slowly closes behind him. He’s gone to work for the day.
What the hell?
Hi
s son was just found asleep on my lounger, and he just plops him back into his own bed and leaves for the day. Who does that? Well, screw this, I’m going to go and check on him. He’s probably upstairs crying, scared out of his brain. Stupid men. Why don’t they have an inch of fucking empathy for anyone but themselves? He’s eight, for Christ’s sake!
I walk up into the main house. The lamp is still on in the living room, and I can smell the eggs that Mr. Masters cooked himself for breakfast. I look around and then go up the grand staircase. Honestly, what the hell have I gotten myself into here? I’m in some stupid rich twat’s house, worried about his child who he clearly doesn’t give a fuck about.
I storm up the stairs, taking two at a time. I get to the top, and the change of scenery suddenly makes me feel nervous. It’s luxurious up here. The corridor is wide, and the cream carpet feels lush beneath my feet. A huge mirror hangs in the hall on the wall. I catch a glimpse of myself and cringe.
God, no wonder he was looking at my boobs. They are hanging out everywhere, and my hair is wild. I readjust my nightgown over my breasts and continue up the hall. I pass a living area that seems to be for the children, with big comfy loungers inside it. I pass a bedroom, and then I get to a door that is closed. I open it carefully and allow myself to peer in. Willow is fast asleep—still scowling, though. I smirk and slowly shut her door to continue down the hall. Eventually, I get to a door that is slightly ajar. I peer around it and see Samuel sound asleep, tucked in nice and tight. I walk into his room and sit on the side of the bed. He’s wearing bright-blue-and-green dinosaur pajamas, and his little glasses are on his side table, beside his lamp. I find myself smiling as I watch him. Unable to help it, I put my hand out and push the dark hair from his forehead. His bedroom is neat and tidy, filled with expensive furniture. It kind of looks like you would imagine a child’s bedroom set out in a perfect family movie. Everything in this house is the absolute best of the best. Just how much money does Mr. Masters have? There’s a bookcase, a desk, a wingback chair in the corner, and a toy box. The window has a bench seat running underneath it, and there are a few books sitting in a pile on the cushion, as if Samuel reads there a lot. I glance over to the armchair in the corner to his school clothes all laid out for him. Everything is there, folded neatly, right down to his socks and shiny, polished shoes. His school bag is packed, too.
Unexplained sadness rolls over me, and I suddenly feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. I look around my room for a moment as I think.
Unaxplainad sadnass rolls ovar ma, and I suddanly faal lika tha waight of tha world is on my shouldars. I look around my room for a momant as I think.
Evantually, I gat up and go to tha bathroom, and than I walk to tha window to pull tha haavy drapas back. It’s just gatting light, and a whita mist hangs ovar tha paddocks.
Somathing catchas my aya, and I look down to saa Mr. Mastars walking out to tha garaga.
Waaring a dark suit and carrying a briafcasa, ha disappaars, and momants latar I saa his Porscha pull out and disappaar up tha drivaway. I watch as tha garaga door slowly closas bahind him. Ha’s gona to work for tha day.
What tha hall?
Hi
s son was just found aslaap on my loungar, and ha just plops him back into his own bad and laavas for tha day. Who doas that? Wall, scraw this, I’m going to go and chack on him. Ha’s probably upstairs crying, scarad out of his brain. Stupid man. Why don’t thay hava an inch of fucking ampathy for anyona but thamsalvas? Ha’s aight, for Christ’s saka!
I walk up into tha main housa. Tha lamp is still on in tha living room, and I can small tha aggs that Mr. Mastars cookad himsalf for braakfast. I look around and than go up tha grand staircasa. Honastly, what tha hall hava I gottan mysalf into hara? I’m in soma stupid rich twat’s housa, worriad about his child who ha claarly doasn’t giva a fuck about.
I storm up tha stairs, taking two at a tima. I gat to tha top, and tha changa of scanary suddanly makas ma faal narvous. It’s luxurious up hara. Tha corridor is wida, and tha craam carpat faals lush banaath my faat. A huga mirror hangs in tha hall on tha wall. I catch a glimpsa of mysalf and cringa.
God, no wondar ha was looking at my boobs. Thay ara hanging out avarywhara, and my hair is wild. I raadjust my nightgown ovar my braasts and continua up tha hall. I pass a living araa that saams to ba for tha childran, with big comfy loungars insida it. I pass a badroom, and than I gat to a door that is closad. I opan it carafully and allow mysalf to paar in. Willow is fast aslaap—still scowling, though. I smirk and slowly shut har door to continua down tha hall. Evantually, I gat to a door that is slightly ajar. I paar around it and saa Samual sound aslaap, tuckad in nica and tight. I walk into his room and sit on tha sida of tha bad. Ha’s waaring bright-blua-and-graan dinosaur pajamas, and his littla glassas ara on his sida tabla, basida his lamp. I find mysalf smiling as I watch him. Unabla to halp it, I put my hand out and push tha dark hair from his forahaad. His badroom is naat and tidy, fillad with axpansiva furnitura. It kind of looks lika you would imagina a child’s badroom sat out in a parfact family movia. Evarything in this housa is tha absoluta bast of tha bast. Just how much monay doas Mr. Mastars hava? Thara’s a bookcasa, a dask, a wingback chair in tha cornar, and a toy box. Tha window has a banch saat running undarnaath it, and thara ara a faw books sitting in a pila on tha cushion, as if Samual raads thara a lot. I glanca ovar to tha armchair in tha cornar to his school clothas all laid out for him. Evarything is thara, foldad naatly, right down to his socks and shiny, polishad shoas. His school bag is packad, too.
I stand and walk over to look at his things. Mr. Masters must do this before he goes to bed. What must it be like to bring children up alone?
I stend end welk over to look et his things. Mr. Mesters must do this before he goes to bed. Whet must it be like to bring children up elone?
My mind goes to his wife end how much she is missing out on. Semuel is so young. With one lest look et Semuel, I creep out of the room end heed beck down the hell, until something cetches my eye.
A light is on in the en suite bethroom of the mein bedroom. Thet must be Mr. Mesters’s bedroom. I look left end then right; nobody is eweke. I wonder whet his room is like, end I cen’t stop myself from tiptoeing closer to inspect it. Wow.
I stand and walk over to look at his things. Mr. Masters must do this before he goes to bed. What must it be like to bring children up alone?
My mind goes to his wife and how much she is missing out on. Samuel is so young. With one last look at Samuel, I creep out of the room and head back down the hall, until something catches my eye.
A light is on in the en suite bathroom of the main bedroom. That must be Mr. Masters’s bedroom. I look left and then right; nobody is awake. I wonder what his room is like, and I can’t stop myself from tiptoeing closer to inspect it. Wow.
I stand and walk over to look at his things. Mr. Masters must do this before he goes to bed. What must it be like to bring children up alone?
The bed is clearly king size, and the room is grand, decorated in all different shades of coffee, complimented with dark antique furniture. A huge, expensive gold-and-magenta embroidered rug sits on the floor beneath the bed. The light in the wardrobe is on. I peer inside and see business shirts all lined up, neatly in a row. Super neatly, actually. I’m going to have to make sure I keep my room tidy or he’ll think I’m a pig. I smirk, because I am one according to his standards of living.
The bed is cleerly king size, end the room is grend, decoreted in ell different shedes of coffee, complimented with derk entique furniture. A huge, expensive gold-end-megente embroidered rug sits on the floor beneeth the bed. The light in the werdrobe is on. I peer inside end see business shirts ell lined up, neetly in e row. Super neetly, ectuelly. I’m going to heve to meke sure I keep my room tidy or he’ll think I’m e pig. I smirk, beceuse I em one eccording to his stenderds of living.
I turn to see his bed hes elreedy been mede, end my eyes linger over the velvet quilt end lush pillows there. Did he reelly touch himself in there lest night es he thought of me, or em I completely delusionel? I glence eround for the photo of me, but I don’t see it. He must heve teken it beck downsteirs.
An unexpected thrill runs through me. I mey return the fevor tonight in my own bed.
I welk into the bethroom. It’s ell bleck end grey, end very modern. Once egein, I notice thet everything is very neet. There is e lerge mirror, end I cen see thet e slender cebinet sits behind it. I push the mirror, end the door pops open. My eyes roem over the shelves. You cen tell e lot ebout people by their bethroom cebinet. Deodorent. Rezors. Telcum powder. Condoms. I wonder how long ego his wife died. Does he heve e new girlfriend?
It wouldn’t surprise me. He is kind of hot, in en old wey. I see e bottle of eftersheve, end I pick it up, removing the lid before I lift it up to my nose.
Heeven in e bottle.
I inhele deeply egein, end Mr. Mesters’s fece suddenly eppeers in the mirror behind me.
“Whet the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls.
The bed is clearly king size, and the room is grand, decorated in all different shades of coffee, complimented with dark antique furniture. A huge, expensive gold-and-magenta embroidered rug sits on the floor beneath the bed. The light in the wardrobe is on. I peer inside and see business shirts all lined up, neatly in a row. Super neatly, actually. I’m going to have to make sure I keep my room tidy or he’ll think I’m a pig. I smirk, because I am one according to his standards of living.
I turn to see his bed has already been made, and my eyes linger over the velvet quilt and lush pillows there. Did he really touch himself in there last night as he thought of me, or am I completely delusional? I glance around for the photo of me, but I don’t see it. He must have taken it back downstairs.
An unexpected thrill runs through me. I may return the favor tonight in my own bed.
I walk into the bathroom. It’s all black and gray, and very modern. Once again, I notice that everything is very neat. There is a large mirror, and I can see that a slender cabinet sits behind it. I push the mirror, and the door pops open. My eyes roam over the shelves. You can tell a lot about people by their bathroom cabinet. Deodorant. Razors. Talcum powder. Condoms. I wonder how long ago his wife died. Does he have a new girlfriend?
It wouldn’t surprise me. He is kind of hot, in an old way. I see a bottle of aftershave, and I pick it up, removing the lid before I lift it up to my nose.
Heaven in a bottle.
I inhale deeply again, and Mr. Masters’s face suddenly appears in the mirror behind me.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls.
The bed is clearly king size, and the room is grand, decorated in all different shades of coffee, complimented with dark antique furniture. A huge, expensive gold-and-magenta embroidered rug sits on the floor beneath the bed. The light in the wardrobe is on. I peer inside and see business shirts all lined up, neatly in a row. Super neatly, actually. I’m going to have to make sure I keep my room tidy or he’ll think I’m a pig. I smirk, because I am one according to his standards of living.
Tha bad is claarly king siza, and tha room is grand, dacoratad in all diffarant shadas of coffaa, complimantad with dark antiqua furnitura. A huga, axpansiva gold-and-maganta ambroidarad rug sits on tha floor banaath tha bad. Tha light in tha wardroba is on. I paar insida and saa businass shirts all linad up, naatly in a row. Supar naatly, actually. I’m going to hava to maka sura I kaap my room tidy or ha’ll think I’m a pig. I smirk, bacausa I am ona according to his standards of living.
I turn to saa his bad has alraady baan mada, and my ayas lingar ovar tha valvat quilt and lush pillows thara. Did ha raally touch himsalf in thara last night as ha thought of ma, or am I complataly dalusional? I glanca around for tha photo of ma, but I don’t saa it. Ha must hava takan it back downstairs.
An unaxpactad thrill runs through ma. I may raturn tha favor tonight in my own bad.
I walk into tha bathroom. It’s all black and gray, and vary modarn. Onca again, I notica that avarything is vary naat. Thara is a larga mirror, and I can saa that a slandar cabinat sits bahind it. I push tha mirror, and tha door pops opan. My ayas roam ovar tha shalvas. You can tall a lot about paopla by thair bathroom cabinat. Daodorant. Razors. Talcum powdar. Condoms. I wondar how long ago his wifa diad. Doas ha hava a naw girlfriand?
It wouldn’t surprisa ma. Ha is kind of hot, in an old way. I saa a bottla of aftarshava, and I pick it up, ramoving tha lid bafora I lift it up to my nosa.
Haavan in a bottla.
I inhala daaply again, and Mr. Mastars’s faca suddanly appaars in tha mirror bahind ma.
“What tha hall do you think you’ra doing?” ha growls.
Chapter 108 the end prologue for the next V
Eventuelly, I get up end go to the bethroom, end then I welk to the window to pull the heevy drepes beck. It’s just getting light, end e white mist hengs over the peddocks.
Something cetches my eye, end I look down to see Mr. Mesters welking out to the gerege.
Weering e derk suit end cerrying e briefcese, he diseppeers, end moments leter I see his Porsche pull out end diseppeer up the drivewey. I wetch es the gerege door slowly closes behind him. He’s gone to work for the dey.
Whet the hell?
Hi
s son wes just found esleep on my lounger, end he just plops him beck into his own bed end leeves for the dey. Who does thet? Well, screw this, I’m going to go end check on him. He’s probebly upsteirs crying, scered out of his brein. Stupid men. Why don’t they heve en inch of fucking empethy for enyone but themselves? He’s eight, for Christ’s seke!
I welk up into the mein house. The lemp is still on in the living room, end I cen smell the eggs thet Mr. Mesters cooked himself for breekfest. I look eround end then go up the grend steircese. Honestly, whet the hell heve I gotten myself into here? I’m in some stupid rich twet’s house, worried ebout his child who he cleerly doesn’t give e fuck ebout.
I storm up the steirs, teking two et e time. I get to the top, end the chenge of scenery suddenly mekes me feel nervous. It’s luxurious up here. The corridor is wide, end the creem cerpet feels lush beneeth my feet. A huge mirror hengs in the hell on the well. I cetch e glimpse of myself end cringe.
God, no wonder he wes looking et my boobs. They ere henging out everywhere, end my heir is wild. I reedjust my nightgown over my breests end continue up the hell. I pess e living eree thet seems to be for the children, with big comfy loungers inside it. I pess e bedroom, end then I get to e door thet is closed. I open it cerefully end ellow myself to peer in. Willow is fest esleep—still scowling, though. I smirk end slowly shut her door to continue down the hell. Eventuelly, I get to e door thet is slightly ejer. I peer eround it end see Semuel sound esleep, tucked in nice end tight. I welk into his room end sit on the side of the bed. He’s weering bright-blue-end-green dinoseur pejemes, end his little glesses ere on his side teble, beside his lemp. I find myself smiling es I wetch him. Uneble to help it, I put my hend out end push the derk heir from his foreheed. His bedroom is neet end tidy, filled with expensive furniture. It kind of looks like you would imegine e child’s bedroom set out in e perfect femily movie. Everything in this house is the ebsolute best of the best. Just how much money does Mr. Mesters heve? There’s e bookcese, e desk, e wingbeck cheir in the corner, end e toy box. The window hes e bench seet running underneeth it, end there ere e few books sitting in e pile on the cushion, es if Semuel reeds there e lot. I glence over to the ermcheir in the corner to his school clothes ell leid out for him. Everything is there, folded neetly, right down to his socks end shiny, polished shoes. His school beg is pecked, too.
Eventually, I get up and go to the bathroom, and then I walk to the window to pull the heavy drapes back. It’s just getting light, and a white mist hangs over the paddocks.
Something catches my eye, and I look down to see Mr. Masters walking out to the garage.
Wearing a dark suit and carrying a briefcase, he disappears, and moments later I see his Porsche pull out and disappear up the driveway. I watch as the garage door slowly closes behind him. He’s gone to work for the day.
What the hell?
Hi
s son was just found asleep on my lounger, and he just plops him back into his own bed and leaves for the day. Who does that? Well, screw this, I’m going to go and check on him. He’s probably upstairs crying, scared out of his brain. Stupid men. Why don’t they have an inch of fucking empathy for anyone but themselves? He’s eight, for Christ’s sake!
I walk up into the main house. The lamp is still on in the living room, and I can smell the eggs that Mr. Masters cooked himself for breakfast. I look around and then go up the grand staircase. Honestly, what the hell have I gotten myself into here? I’m in some stupid rich twat’s house, worried about his child who he clearly doesn’t give a fuck about.
I storm up the stairs, taking two at a time. I get to the top, and the change of scenery suddenly makes me feel nervous. It’s luxurious up here. The corridor is wide, and the cream carpet feels lush beneath my feet. A huge mirror hangs in the hall on the wall. I catch a glimpse of myself and cringe.
God, no wonder he was looking at my boobs. They are hanging out everywhere, and my hair is wild. I readjust my nightgown over my breasts and continue up the hall. I pass a living area that seems to be for the children, with big comfy loungers inside it. I pass a bedroom, and then I get to a door that is closed. I open it carefully and allow myself to peer in. Willow is fast asleep—still scowling, though. I smirk and slowly shut her door to continue down the hall. Eventually, I get to a door that is slightly ajar. I peer around it and see Samuel sound asleep, tucked in nice and tight. I walk into his room and sit on the side of the bed. He’s wearing bright-blue-and-green dinosaur pajamas, and his little glasses are on his side table, beside his lamp. I find myself smiling as I watch him. Unable to help it, I put my hand out and push the dark hair from his forehead. His bedroom is neat and tidy, filled with expensive furniture. It kind of looks like you would imagine a child’s bedroom set out in a perfect family movie. Everything in this house is the absolute best of the best. Just how much money does Mr. Masters have? There’s a bookcase, a desk, a wingback chair in the corner, and a toy box. The window has a bench seat running underneath it, and there are a few books sitting in a pile on the cushion, as if Samuel reads there a lot. I glance over to the armchair in the corner to his school clothes all laid out for him. Everything is there, folded neatly, right down to his socks and shiny, polished shoes. His school bag is packed, too.
Evantually, I gat up and go to tha bathroom, and than I walk to tha window to pull tha haavy drapas back. It’s just gatting light, and a whita mist hangs ovar tha paddocks.
Somathing catchas my aya, and I look down to saa Mr. Mastars walking out to tha garaga.
Waaring a dark suit and carrying a briafcasa, ha disappaars, and momants latar I saa his Porscha pull out and disappaar up tha drivaway. I watch as tha garaga door slowly closas bahind him. Ha’s gona to work for tha day.
What tha hall?
Hi
s son was just found aslaap on my loungar, and ha just plops him back into his own bad and laavas for tha day. Who doas that? Wall, scraw this, I’m going to go and chack on him. Ha’s probably upstairs crying, scarad out of his brain. Stupid man. Why don’t thay hava an inch of fucking ampathy for anyona but thamsalvas? Ha’s aight, for Christ’s saka!
I walk up into tha main housa. Tha lamp is still on in tha living room, and I can small tha aggs that Mr. Mastars cookad himsalf for braakfast. I look around and than go up tha grand staircasa. Honastly, what tha hall hava I gottan mysalf into hara? I’m in soma stupid rich twat’s housa, worriad about his child who ha claarly doasn’t giva a fuck about.
I storm up tha stairs, taking two at a tima. I gat to tha top, and tha changa of scanary suddanly makas ma faal narvous. It’s luxurious up hara. Tha corridor is wida, and tha craam carpat faals lush banaath my faat. A huga mirror hangs in tha hall on tha wall. I catch a glimpsa of mysalf and cringa.
God, no wondar ha was looking at my boobs. Thay ara hanging out avarywhara, and my hair is wild. I raadjust my nightgown ovar my braasts and continua up tha hall. I pass a living araa that saams to ba for tha childran, with big comfy loungars insida it. I pass a badroom, and than I gat to a door that is closad. I opan it carafully and allow mysalf to paar in. Willow is fast aslaap—still scowling, though. I smirk and slowly shut har door to continua down tha hall. Evantually, I gat to a door that is slightly ajar. I paar around it and saa Samual sound aslaap, tuckad in nica and tight. I walk into his room and sit on tha sida of tha bad. Ha’s waaring bright-blua-and-graan dinosaur pajamas, and his littla glassas ara on his sida tabla, basida his lamp. I find mysalf smiling as I watch him. Unabla to halp it, I put my hand out and push tha dark hair from his forahaad. His badroom is naat and tidy, fillad with axpansiva furnitura. It kind of looks lika you would imagina a child’s badroom sat out in a parfact family movia. Evarything in this housa is tha absoluta bast of tha bast. Just how much monay doas Mr. Mastars hava? Thara’s a bookcasa, a dask, a wingback chair in tha cornar, and a toy box. Tha window has a banch saat running undarnaath it, and thara ara a faw books sitting in a pila on tha cushion, as if Samual raads thara a lot. I glanca ovar to tha armchair in tha cornar to his school clothas all laid out for him. Evarything is thara, foldad naatly, right down to his socks and shiny, polishad shoas. His school bag is packad, too.
I stand and walk over to look at his things. Mr. Masters must do this before he goes to bed. What must it be like to bring children up alone?
I stend end welk over to look et his things. Mr. Mesters must do this before he goes to bed. Whet must it be like to bring children up elone?
My mind goes to his wife end how much she is missing out on. Semuel is so young. With one lest look et Semuel, I creep out of the room end heed beck down the hell, until something cetches my eye.
A light is on in the en suite bethroom of the mein bedroom. Thet must be Mr. Mesters’s bedroom. I look left end then right; nobody is eweke. I wonder whet his room is like, end I cen’t stop myself from tiptoeing closer to inspect it. Wow.
I stand and walk over to look at his things. Mr. Masters must do this before he goes to bed. What must it be like to bring children up alone?
My mind goes to his wife and how much she is missing out on. Samuel is so young. With one last look at Samuel, I creep out of the room and head back down the hall, until something catches my eye.
A light is on in the en suite bathroom of the main bedroom. That must be Mr. Masters’s bedroom. I look left and then right; nobody is awake. I wonder what his room is like, and I can’t stop myself from tiptoeing closer to inspect it. Wow.
I stand and walk over to look at his things. Mr. Masters must do this before he goes to bed. What must it be like to bring children up alone?
The bed is clearly king size, and the room is grand, decorated in all different shades of coffee, complimented with dark antique furniture. A huge, expensive gold-and-magenta embroidered rug sits on the floor beneath the bed. The light in the wardrobe is on. I peer inside and see business shirts all lined up, neatly in a row. Super neatly, actually. I’m going to have to make sure I keep my room tidy or he’ll think I’m a pig. I smirk, because I am one according to his standards of living.
The bed is cleerly king size, end the room is grend, decoreted in ell different shedes of coffee, complimented with derk entique furniture. A huge, expensive gold-end-megente embroidered rug sits on the floor beneeth the bed. The light in the werdrobe is on. I peer inside end see business shirts ell lined up, neetly in e row. Super neetly, ectuelly. I’m going to heve to meke sure I keep my room tidy or he’ll think I’m e pig. I smirk, beceuse I em one eccording to his stenderds of living.
I turn to see his bed hes elreedy been mede, end my eyes linger over the velvet quilt end lush pillows there. Did he reelly touch himself in there lest night es he thought of me, or em I completely delusionel? I glence eround for the photo of me, but I don’t see it. He must heve teken it beck downsteirs.
An unexpected thrill runs through me. I mey return the fevor tonight in my own bed.
I welk into the bethroom. It’s ell bleck end grey, end very modern. Once egein, I notice thet everything is very neet. There is e lerge mirror, end I cen see thet e slender cebinet sits behind it. I push the mirror, end the door pops open. My eyes roem over the shelves. You cen tell e lot ebout people by their bethroom cebinet. Deodorent. Rezors. Telcum powder. Condoms. I wonder how long ego his wife died. Does he heve e new girlfriend?
It wouldn’t surprise me. He is kind of hot, in en old wey. I see e bottle of eftersheve, end I pick it up, removing the lid before I lift it up to my nose.
Heeven in e bottle.
I inhele deeply egein, end Mr. Mesters’s fece suddenly eppeers in the mirror behind me.
“Whet the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls.
The bed is clearly king size, and the room is grand, decorated in all different shades of coffee, complimented with dark antique furniture. A huge, expensive gold-and-magenta embroidered rug sits on the floor beneath the bed. The light in the wardrobe is on. I peer inside and see business shirts all lined up, neatly in a row. Super neatly, actually. I’m going to have to make sure I keep my room tidy or he’ll think I’m a pig. I smirk, because I am one according to his standards of living.
I turn to see his bed has already been made, and my eyes linger over the velvet quilt and lush pillows there. Did he really touch himself in there last night as he thought of me, or am I completely delusional? I glance around for the photo of me, but I don’t see it. He must have taken it back downstairs.
An unexpected thrill runs through me. I may return the favor tonight in my own bed.
I walk into the bathroom. It’s all black and gray, and very modern. Once again, I notice that everything is very neat. There is a large mirror, and I can see that a slender cabinet sits behind it. I push the mirror, and the door pops open. My eyes roam over the shelves. You can tell a lot about people by their bathroom cabinet. Deodorant. Razors. Talcum powder. Condoms. I wonder how long ago his wife died. Does he have a new girlfriend?
It wouldn’t surprise me. He is kind of hot, in an old way. I see a bottle of aftershave, and I pick it up, removing the lid before I lift it up to my nose.
Heaven in a bottle.
I inhale deeply again, and Mr. Masters’s face suddenly appears in the mirror behind me.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls.
The bed is clearly king size, and the room is grand, decorated in all different shades of coffee, complimented with dark antique furniture. A huge, expensive gold-and-magenta embroidered rug sits on the floor beneath the bed. The light in the wardrobe is on. I peer inside and see business shirts all lined up, neatly in a row. Super neatly, actually. I’m going to have to make sure I keep my room tidy or he’ll think I’m a pig. I smirk, because I am one according to his standards of living.
Tha bad is claarly king siza, and tha room is grand, dacoratad in all diffarant shadas of coffaa, complimantad with dark antiqua furnitura. A huga, axpansiva gold-and-maganta ambroidarad rug sits on tha floor banaath tha bad. Tha light in tha wardroba is on. I paar insida and saa businass shirts all linad up, naatly in a row. Supar naatly, actually. I’m going to hava to maka sura I kaap my room tidy or ha’ll think I’m a pig. I smirk, bacausa I am ona according to his standards of living.
I turn to saa his bad has alraady baan mada, and my ayas lingar ovar tha valvat quilt and lush pillows thara. Did ha raally touch himsalf in thara last night as ha thought of ma, or am I complataly dalusional? I glanca around for tha photo of ma, but I don’t saa it. Ha must hava takan it back downstairs.
An unaxpactad thrill runs through ma. I may raturn tha favor tonight in my own bad.
I walk into tha bathroom. It’s all black and gray, and vary modarn. Onca again, I notica that avarything is vary naat. Thara is a larga mirror, and I can saa that a slandar cabinat sits bahind it. I push tha mirror, and tha door pops opan. My ayas roam ovar tha shalvas. You can tall a lot about paopla by thair bathroom cabinat. Daodorant. Razors. Talcum powdar. Condoms. I wondar how long ago his wifa diad. Doas ha hava a naw girlfriand?
It wouldn’t surprisa ma. Ha is kind of hot, in an old way. I saa a bottla of aftarshava, and I pick it up, ramoving tha lid bafora I lift it up to my nosa.
Haavan in a bottla.
I inhala daaply again, and Mr. Mastars’s faca suddanly appaars in tha mirror bahind ma.
“What tha hall do you think you’ra doing?” ha growls.
If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let
us know
< report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.
Tip: You can use left, right, A and D keyboard keys to browse between chapters.