I had been volunteered. The congregation of Le Pretre held some kind of fundraising event and due to the flu rampaging through the flock and keeping them tie to their beds, Le Pretre ended up short-mened. He called mon Roi and mon Roi had offered his help. He sent me.

It was alright. Sacred Heart wasn't my church. When mon Roi brought me with him from Haiti to New York we shortly discussed it. As I was Catholic and Le Pretre was once married to mon Roi's sister, joining his congregation kind of suggested itself. But, there exists a point of too much connection – too much to go unnoticed and not raise interest. In the end I joined another Catholic church. But I liked to be of use. And though I ended up folding countless letters and putting them into envelops it was a job that needed to be done for a good end.

Obviously, Le Pretre had conducted another phone call to recruit more help. I wasn't sure though if Mick had volunteered or had been volunteered to volunteer; he hadn't spoken a word since Master Griffin had dropped him off. From under my lashes I had caught a glimpse of the gratified, satisfied, delighted, honored, lusting and already longing stare the owner had sent his pet upon leaving. I was proud of the man. He had changed so much since taking on the responsibility for this young, battered soul. It was like he had found in the skinny, lanky lad with his longish dark hairs and silver eyes a reason to live and not just exist.

But something was eating at the boy. I could see it in how his shy smile had vanished as soon as the door closed behind his Master, in how he seemed to fold into himself, and in how he ran his fingers over his tats on his wrists between every other letter. I knew of course the whole story of Michael Demir as I had written it neatly down in my Haitian Creole code on page after page. And with every sad word I added I had vividly imagined how I would ram his father head first into the ground till he would freeze on the ninth circle of hell for all eternity. While living his life on paper with him, the drama that led to a suicide attempt and an almost miraculous rescue, Le Pretre's intervention and Master Griffin's determination, I had developed a soft spot for him. I didn't like to see our little fledgling struggle again. Yet, I was shy, he was shy – we sat in silence and worked. None of us even dared to turn on some music. Until –

"You are sighing under your breath. If you think I can't hear you, I do. You got my attention. Now, if you don't immediately stop and tell me what is wrong I tell Father Søren that you need a private audience with him."

My words broke the silence in the way a tsunami hits the coastline after all the water had retreated to deeper parts of the ocean and only a telling gargling sound remained. They seemed much too loud and hit Mick like a stupify spell. I already regretted that I had said anything when he mumbled, "I'm sorry. It's nothing really. And I stop sighing, I promise. Just let's get this done."

He spoke, in what counted as sentences. I wouldn't let this opportunity go array.

"Look, you and I in this sweat shop together? Where Father Søren is involved, I don't believe in coincidences."

"What – what do you mean?"

"Let's say Father S has an antenna for problems. He detects them even before you know you have them. And he has a way to present solutions or help in a way that you don't feel like you are in debt in the end if he doesn't want you to feel in debt with him. You're still following me?"

"Ye-yes," Mick nodded without lifting his eyes.

"So, what do you and I have in common?"

"Besides knowing Father S and Griffin and Nora – nothing. I am nothing like you."

I raised my eyebrow. "That's what you think?"

"Yes." Mick sighed. "You are obviously older than I am, beautiful, a well-trained and accepted sub, self-assure and loved by your Master-"

My short laughter interrupted Mick and startled him so much that he looked up. It was the first time since he came in that he really looked me into the eyes and I could see all his insecurity written all over his face. In this moment I could have kicked me in my own butt or would have unsolicited submitted to a punishment by Sir Lev's most vicious cane. Why hadn't I noticed what Father Søren must have foreseen from the beginning? This lad, not yet even a man, experienced his first love, his first real relationship with a human being other than his mother, and even that relationship had been eclipsed by the bad entity his father has been. He had seen himself as a problem that needed to be eliminated his whole life. And now there was this god of a man kissing the floor under his feet and offering him the universe. He wasn't just overwhelmed, he was scarred and scared.

I put my open, lifted hand between us. "OK, stop right there. I see I've got you at a disadvantage. I know every fact there is about you, but I must be a blank page for you. Am I right?"

"Yes," Mick took a deep breath, "yes, I only said what I see and if I am wrong-" He didn't finish his sentence but sank back in his chair.

"Mick, you can't be wrong when you state what you see because nobody else can see what you see. My reality and your reality are two different things that can come closer together when we communicate, share facts, emotions, experiences…" My hands danced in the air, searching the space between us for the right words to make my point. "You see, in my reality I am that girl that not too long ago walked every afternoon on the beach of one of the poorest countries in the world trying to find a way to escape her reality. I was found by a weird Frenchman who makes everyone in the world kiss his boots with a single wink of his eyes. He told me he loved me and I allowed him to collar me and here I am."

"But how did you know that he would still love you after the first moment was over and reality set in?"

"I didn't." I pressed my lips together. "Yes, don't look at me like this. And don't forget that we have to finish our work. Let`s multitask like good subs." I pushed a couple more envelopes his way and busied myself with folding before I continued to talk. "Every moment mon Roi grants me, every little sign that he paid attention to what I wanted and needed but didn't say and yet he made it possible, every smile and proud word he sends me, it still surprises me. That he went through the trouble of getting to know me, it's amazing. It is like a dream I expect to end every second of the day, because dreams have a habit not to last forever. So far mon Roi has provided me with a long string of beautiful yesterdays. But I don't take for granted that today or tomorrow will be the same. You don't appreciate what you take for granted, you don't feel like you have to work for it anymore. I hope. I trust. And when I jump again and again into the dark, day for day, moment for moment. Love and faith have something in common in that – they aren't open to knowledge."

After I finished the last sentence we worked in silence again. I thought of mon Roi and his love for Father Søren and his line of work in which he enjoyed the company and affection of the most beautiful subs and Dom/mes of the New York underworld. It was crazy, stupid – but it was love.

This time it was Mike, who brought me back to Father Søren's office. "How can I make sure that I am enough for him? I have nothing to offer. I am nothing. What if he suddenly realizes that he could do so much better than me?"

I rubbed my eyes. This young guy was so much alike me. "Do you remember what I said about realities? In your reality you are nothing and Griffin Fiske is an epiphany. But if you could see the world just for a moment through his eyes you would see that you are an angel that dipped down to hell to rescue him."

"He needs glasses."

I shrugged. "So do you. I don't think anyone can objectively see our value to others. We think too much or too less of us depending on character and situation. You and Griffin have a unique opportunity to re-evaluate by sharing the world of the other. Magic Carpet ride and all that, you know? Will it last? You are 17. Maybe. Maybe not. But it will be a hell of a ride. And all you can do is to stay truthful to you and to him and not to forget the other friends on the way."

The door opened and Father Søren stepped in. Both our eyes glanced immediately down on the table in front of us.

"Look at that you are done. Good job."

From under my lashes I grinned at Mick and was happy to see him grin back at me. He looked so much more like a 17 year old boy should look like than just an hour before and yet so much more mature than most of his peers.

"Thank you, Sir," we said together then left the room to find our Masters and jump each in our own void.