How long had it been since she’d slept safely? How long since she dreamed of happier times?

My palm moved on its own accord, stroking her softly, granting comfort after I’d given nothing but hardship. “Rest, Pim. I’ll watch over you.”

I couldn’t see her face, but her body remained tense and vacant.

Placing one arm above my head, I looped it through the headboard and prepared to pet her until she gave into me. I frowned as my fingers touched something soft sticking from the slats of the frame.

I tried to figure out what it was, but Pim suddenly jolted, heaving the heaviest sigh I’d ever heard. Her spine unwound, her muscles relaxed, and she sank into my caressing as if finally accepting my gift.

Her willingness to give me that tore away any other thoughts and I settled into my task of protecting her all while touching her with kindness.

The first few minutes, I was acutely aware of her every inhale and exhale. But as time ticked onward and our presence grew used to one another, I found her comforting.

I hadn’t been with another person in this way for so long; I’d forgotten how rewarding it was to look after someone.

It’s also hard and draining and demoralising.

That was true.

Caring for my mother and doing my best to fix what I’d fucked was the reason I carried so much shame.

Family had expectations.

Pimlico had none.

She would accept what I gave her without dismissing my attempts at generosity. And in return, it made me want to give more.

So much more.

My mind wandered, and my free hand found its way to my pocket and the dollar bill tucked inside the money clip. I didn’t mind silence in people, but silence in my surroundings wasn’t a good thing.

Memories had a way of finding me when things were too still. Memories that had too strong a hold as I smoothed the dollar bill with my left hand while never ceasing caresses with my right.

She twitched now and again, falling deeper into sleep.

As she slumbered beside me—not knowing the type of man I was, yet trusting I’d do what I’d promised and keep her safe—I folded the money in an age-old shape and let painful recollections and suicidal slaves sleep.

MY MINNIE MOUSE watch announced it was 12.33 a.m.

My mother hated me wearing this thing—said I was too old for such childish baubles. But I loved its tatty face and time-worn strap. It was all I had left of him. The man who called me Mouse ever since I could remember.

The memory of his nickname for me resonated with every tick of the hands over Minnie’s big ears. The pet name came from my true address and somehow morphed into a Disney character. Tasmin became Min, which became Minnie, which became Mouse. I had so many names, but only my dad called me Mouse while everyone else called me Tas.

He died when I was seven.

Which was why I would never take it off—no matter how juvenile.

I would never grow up when it came to my father.

It drove my mother bananas.

According to my watch, I’d been at this party with her for five hours, and wanted to go home. My feet hurt, my tummy rumbled, and I was done being polite to people who didn’t deserve it.

But then Mr. Kewet smiled and asked for my company on the balcony; I stupidly went with him, even though I recognised him for a wolf.

I was a psychologist’s daughter. I was here to schmooze her clients and endorse her sponsorships. I wouldn’t let her down.

The conversation was unremarkable. Mr. Kewet complimented my dress, my hair, my smile. Then his eyes dropped to my Minnie Mouse watch, and his smile turned cruel. He was no longer a wealthy man who carried the totem of worldly age over me but a killer licking his lips at his dinner.

“Why is such a pretty girl like you wearing an ugly thing like that?”

Warning shivers scattered down my spine as he inched closer. The urge to bolt fizzled in my legs but my drilled lessons to remain polite at all costs overruled. “It means a lot to me. It’s not just a watch.”

“That so.” He laughed. “In that case, I’ll hold it for you for safe keeping.”

My eyebrow rose. “Hold it?” I had no intention of giving this man my father’s final present. Cupping my fingers protectively around the red and white wristband, I shook my head. “I don’t plan on giving it to you.”

“Oh, it’s not a matter of giving.” One second his hands were by his sides. The next they were on my throat. “It’s a matter of taking.”

My fingers soared to scratch; my mouth opened to scream. But he didn’t strangle me softly—he didn’t work up to murder. He committed it with swiftness and strength.

Vice-like hands blocked my windpipe. Tears spilled as my brain gave way to hypoxia and shock. My arms became useless paddles. My legs turned from kicking missiles to pointless sticks. My head roared, and it seemed only a second where I was alive and breathing and then dead and…not.

Even when I came to in a garage below the party, with his vile lips on mine blowing air into my deflated corpse, all I noticed was my wrist was bare.

My watch was gone.

My childhood stripped away.

He’d not only stolen my life but my nickname, father, and happiness, too.

* * * * *

I fell asleep with soft caresses into welcoming arms of memories. Good ones, bad ones…ones that reminded me I’d been a girl once and not this dying slave.

I didn’t have heart palpations at the thought of yet another day in hell. I didn’t break out in a cold sweat wishing I could retreat into sleep and never wake again.