I'm right, of course. He expects me to sleep with him whenever he wishes. I'm still a worthless whore, but I'm in different clothing and he's soft and careful when he touches me. When I first came here, he demanded that I clean myself up, especially on the inside of me where men put themselves, and I stood there silently as the house elves scrubbed me raw and red.
I sit in my elegant room in my elegant dressing gown in front of an elegant makeup table with a huge mirror on it when he enters the room, and I look into the mirror at some invisible thing behind me.
"You could say no," he says.
I don't reply, because I don't talk. He doesn't give me payment because he gives me payment enough by giving me room and board so I do not complain. I haven't spoken since before he brought me here six months ago.
"Speak!" he commands.
I try, but when I move my mouth, nothing comes out but a cracking sound and I close it again.
"How long has it been since you last spoke?" He finally asks.
I manage a small shrug. I lower my gaze to my lap and when I feel his hands on my shoulders, I jump.
He slowly kneads my shoulders, and although it feels good, I resist the urge to drop my head back against his stomach. If I do, it shows I want, and that's something I don't think he should know, because I'm an unfeeling thing, someone who doesn't deserve good things.
I stiffen when I realize I'm thinking exactly what the men who played with me said. Suddenly it becomes clear that I've been brainwashed and there's nothing I can do to escape it.
He stops and I look at him through the mirror and I think he sees the fire in my eyes because he lets go of my shoulders. He doesn't move away but he no longer has contact with my body. I reach for the silver handled brush and pull it through my hair, yanking at the knots, uncaring of it my hair comes out because of it.
When I stand up, he closes his hands around my hips and turns me around to face him before leaning down to kiss me. I wait a few moments before reaching up and slapping him. He pulls back in surprise, but gives me a smirk.
"Finally," he whispers. I don't know what he's talking about, and I don't care.
I feel like for the first time I'm thinking for myself. I brush past the scared house elf, and hurry down the marble stairs and I go into the kitchen. I don't hesitate to reach into the icebox and take out a huge tub of chocolate ice cream, and then a spoon. I sit at the table and scoop it out before putting it in my mouth and sucking on the spoon because I want every small drop of ice cream off of it.