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Icut that thought off sharply. She deserves the best. And then a slightlyillicit thought crossed my mind. I was her slave. I was the best. Well, maybenot. I reminded myself of the times I had failed her.??????????? And I remembered over everything thepurity of the love we shared. That connection between our souls that had boundus together??????????? I concentrated on rubbing her feet,on absorbing the pain and tension of her day, taking that into my hands, andthen releasing it.??????????? I felt her slowly start melting atthe firm touch of my hands on her feet and soon she yawned and placed theribbon back into the book to make her place and set it aside.??????????? "Thank you Michael.", shesaid sitting up and stroking my head.??????????? "Thank you Mistress forallowing me to serve you."??????????? I could see the smile in thecandlelight and felt the love she had for me, tangible at that moment like abarely seen mist in the morning to the inner eye of my loving soul.??????????? She. In the distance I hear someone yelling and I slip to the floor, a window breaks and in the back of my mind I think that I should get up and check that everyone's alright but I just lay on the floor staring at the ceiling. Someone is kneeling over me yelling something but I can’t understand the words.Suddenly it all comes into focus and I sit up smacking my head against someone elses. I take in the scene around me, broken tables, Jason lying in a pool of blood, the hot guy with blonde hair and blue eyes saying something to me.“What did you say?” I ask trying to clear my head of the fuzz that I just experienced.“You need to kiss him it’s the only way to keep him alive long enough, to help him.”“Why?”“Just do it, please.” “But-”“You need to do it NOW.” He drags me to my feet and over to Jason, “Kiss him.”I bend down and press my lips to his a feeling like the one when Mr. Hart kissed me but less violent. Jason’s body shudders and I pull out of the kiss.“Thank you,” He says in a hoarse.
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One thing was for certain; Mr. Perryman had made it quite clear that I was not to be harassed.Back in the medicine closet, Annie was coming to the realization that, although there was something for every conceivable ailment, the medicines were commercial products, and had been packaged in bulk. We were faced with a dilemma of major proportions. It was too late to find an open drugstore. We selected single packs of aspirin and other cold remedies, and hoped that her husband didn't examine them."Does your husband keep track of the odometer reading on his car?" He's an accountant. He keeps track of every mile he drives that car." What about his fuel gauge?"She nodded her head. "That, too." We'll need to put some miles on the car," I said. She agreed with me.I drove and Annie sat in the passenger's seat. We got on the new highway, and drove at high speeds in an effort to put miles on the car as fast as possible. She blamed herself for what had happened. "What's wrong with me, Mickey? I.

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