Columbia groaned as she slowly came awake. The gray pre-light of a coming dawn shone faintly through the wispy curtains hanging over the windows. Columbia ran a hand through her short read hair, and yawned, smacking her lips. The old drunkards' idiom echoed in her head "How can I be so thirsty when I drank so much last night?" Her mouth felt cottony, a sour aftertaste of red wine on her cracked lips. Columbia winced as she sat up, her muscles cramped from the night spent on a small couch. "Water" she said blearily to herself, fastening her loose pajama top over her breasts. Her thoughts wandered back to her childhood as she paced to the kitchen in the mansion "When I was a toddler, and woke up thirsty in the middle of the night, I could always yell for daddy. He'd make sure I was okay." Nobody to do that for me now, Columbia thought as she turned the rusty faucet on, immersing her hands under the cold water. "But at least I don't wake up in a puddle of vomit. Like.Eddie." Columbia's heart contracted and she raised a wet fist to her mouth to stifle the whimper of anguish. Leaning on the countertop, Columbia lowered her head. "I'm all alone" she whispered to herself. She turned and restlessly paced into the dining room. "Row, row, row your boat." Her daddy used to sing her to sleep. "Merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream." "I wish." Columbia looked up, lost in her thoughts; she had wandered into the laboratory. The tank sat in one corner, a sheet draped across the top. On a nearby surgical table, sat a butcher knife, colored rusty with dried gore. Columbia picked up the knife, testing the sharp tip against a finger. Her gaze covered the room; in front of her was an antechamber, the opening draped by dark velvet. Still holding the knife, Columbia tiptoed into the room, brushing aside the velvet. On a four poster bed, a man lay supine, his legs and thighs covered by silk sheets. In sleep, Frank looked almost innocent, his dark hair cascading across the pillow, one fist clenched, as if even in the world of dreams, he was unwilling to give up his power. Columbia waved a trembling hand over her master's face. Except for a reflexive flinch, there was no response; Columbia bitterly thought "He's been up all night, obsessing over that. that thing!" Columbia studied the blade, its' thickness and length. Could she do it? God knew, there was enough hatred in her. All she wanted to hear was a simple statement of appreciation. Or maybe a truly heartfelt "I love you." Three little words, Eddie had said them all the time, usually after he had gotten her bra off. During lovemaking, he said nothing at all, aside from an impersonal grunt. Afterwards, he would dress, not looking at her, and then chuck her under the chin "'Later." And then roar off on his motorcycle. Frank never said "I love you" either. His superior sneer and the cold glint in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. She was a pet, yes, and a kid who needed discipline. Columbia ground her teeth until her mouth hurt. Would she ever stop being a child. A fiery anger pulsed in her veins as she raised the knife above Frank's chest, watching him breathe. Suddenly, her knees buckled. "What am I doing? I'm not a killer.." Turning, she ran quickly from the room and placed the knife back on the table, shuddering. Then she was back into Frank's room, slipping into bed beside him, needing his warmth, if not his kindness. Chewing on her thumbnail, Columbia curled up into a fetal position against Frank's side. When he woke, she knew he would most likely be angry at her for invading his space, but for now, Columbia's inner terrors where soothed by lying there with her lover. "Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream."