Chapter 5

Turns out that I couldn't take a hit after all. The back of my throat was so sore from everyone slamming into it that when I tried, the pain was to much to bear, and I was afraid that if I didn't inhale all the way down my throat, I would be wasting it. My master seemed worried and anxious and kept looking me over. When he saw that the hit had made me cough, he pulled me close to him in an embrace.

"More blood," he pulled the hand that he had seen me cover my face with, "I'm not doing this again."

I know that I must've looked confused and pathetic. Apparently, one of my eyes was blackened, there were scrapes, bruises, carpet-burns- there was nowhere on my flesh that kept the beauty he had bragged about. I usually felt proud after a job like that, but there was something about him that made me want to comfort him. I didn't know exactly what I had done wrong, but I could count a million little things, things that I had forgotten in the heat of the moment...

I wanted more opium. Tried to take another hit, and coughed it up again, with more blood. My throat was raw. It was pissing me off.

"Xac, stop!" my master took the tube from me, "you can't keep it down, you're only hurting yourself. Here, let me up, I want to find you something to wear that it won't matter for us to cover in blood. I need to take you to a bathhouse."

Most of my patrons were filing out, talking amongst themselves; a few of them were looking at me while they did. Something about the urgency in my master's voice made me want to break contact with them- something was hitting me wrong. Satre, I know now, is a den of debauchery; and I wasn't, by far, the only or best sex slave available that night. Some of those guys were probably going to move from one smoke filled room to the next, some of them had never been to such a place before. The blond- the only one that I had liked, was already gone.

"Try not to get blood on those boots," my master was addressing me again, as he came back with a robe, and threw it at me, "Here, put this on."

As I did, I noticed that he was gathering up the clothes that I had stripped, and was putting them in my bag. That was weird ... I was always the one to clean up. Why would he do that?

It still hurt to sit down when we got into the carriage, but I was looking forward to the bathhouse. I'd never been inside one before, but I loved baths, and I knew that one would feel really good, especially if we could get it heated on my sore muscles, and my aching body. I was also ravenously hungry and hoped that we would eat soon. Whenever my body starts to heal, I get really hungry. And there were so many foods being cooked as we drove down the never-ending carnival; cakes, weird meats, exotic fruits and vegetables, cookies and pastries- everything looked and smelled delicious!

The building that we stopped at resembled a hotel more then a bathhouse. As I reached for my bag to hop down, my master took it in his hand before I could put it on my back. I thought it was strange, but I didn't question him. He may have thought that the blood would seep through, but I had a suspicion that he didn't want to put anything else on the cut down my back.

He spoke to the lady behind the desk who glared at me.

"One of the cage fighters?" she asked, glaring at my eye.

"Something like that," my master replied, though she kept staring at me. She turned to address him and I noticed the brand on the back of her neck- it was like mine, but a little different. The same placement but a different seal. She had a slave brand. I ran my fingers down mine, the scarification calmed me.

After a little conversation, she handed my master a block with a number on it, and we went farther inside, through a long hall lined with doors. The place was suffocatingly warm, and the humidity made my hair drip before we got close to where we were going. The doors slid sideways, and I'm glad that my master opened it because I never would have figure that out and would have probably broken it. I really liked the room. The whole building was made of wood, but it was different then what I was used to; they were little spiral shoots that honestly made me want to chew on them. In the middle, set into the floor, was a pool- not a tub over a flame like I was used to.

I threw the robe down and unlaced my boots- because my master didn't correct me, I assumed it was alright. There were benches on either side, and I noticed he slid our bags under them and folded his clothes up on top, I went to move my things over there when he stopped me.

"Goddamn it Xac," he actually sounded angry for the first time that night, "Those are leather! You couldn't have washed your fucking hands first?"

He had told me not to touch them. Motherfuck.

"I am so sorry master!" I know that I started to cry; I had been uneasy and on the verge of it since the clients left, and I was trying not to break down, "You had just told me ... I have no excuse."

"God," he softened, "Listen to you, you can't even talk- you sound horrible. Get in the fucking tub." He took the boots from me and looked them over, "It was dried anyway ... It's ... not that bad. Get in the tub."

I really thought that he was going to hit me. He was acting so strange tonight. But I was really happy to get into the water- even though I yelped. It was hot, really hot, far hotter then I kept them at home. And there was something in the water (looking back now I know that it was healing herbs) that made my wounds sting even worse then before. We were the only ones in that room, but the door stood open, which I've learned since is a command for servants to enter.

I went underwater and soaked my hair, opened my eyes and tried to kind of flush the one that had gone black on me. One of the walls was a mirror (I know! Like, the whole wall!) so I could see just how bad I looked and I could see why my master was embarrassed for me. My eye had swollen, and my entire face was covered in bruises. There was a trail across my back, scrapes, bruises, and the one long cut that went from left shoulder down to about the middle of my back that kept ripping back open. My wrists, I had already seen, were almost raw, and the water felt so good on them! My ass was still gaping enough that I could feel the water enter me, which actually felt better then it sounds like it would. I wanted to scrub my eye as hard as I could, but my reflexes wouldn't let me, and I decided to let it heal a little more first.