21. Emilia

21

EMILIA

I can't keep my eyes from wandering. Truthfully, I've been finished with the laundry for half an hour, but I expected Jurto to be home by now. The sun is already high in the sky, and he's still gone.

"I shouldn't even miss him," I mutter beneath my breath, but I know it's no use. At first, I was just physically craving him, but now, I've found comfort in having him around. We eat breakfast together, and he'll find me throughout the day, sometimes to take me – to use me – and sometimes just to watch me.

Him going back to practice has left me wanting him, and that's how I've found myself out in the garden all morning, waiting for him to come home. My body is craving the sight of his shirtless torso, his muscles glistening with sweat under the sun.

Gods, I hope someone fucked up this morning and he'll take it out on me.

The thought barely even registers as wrong with me now. That's how accustomed I've become to the sick desires that this orc stirs up in me. And there is no part of me now that wants it to stop.

I find myself lingering in the garden, picking at weeds and rearranging flowers that don't need rearranging. Anything to keep my hands busy and my mind occupied while I wait for Jurto to return from zyrphix practice. The anticipation builds as the sun climbs higher, casting long shadows across the yard.

I finally hear the heavy thud of his footfalls on the path, and I straighten, my heart quickening. But as he comes into view, my excitement falters. His expression is thunderous, his jaw set in a hard line.

"Jurto," I start, taking a tentative step towards him, but he cuts me off with a sharp glare.

"Get back to work, Emilia," he snaps, brushing past me without another glance. The coldness in his tone is a stark contrast to the warmth of our morning routine, and it stings more than I care to admit.

I watch him go, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. Frustration wells up within me, mingling with confusion. What happened at practice to put him in such a foul mood? And why is he taking it out on me like this? That's not what I wanted.

I bend down, pretending to adjust a flower, but my mind is racing. His sudden cruelty is jarring, especially after the time we've been sharing. He hasn't been exactly tender with me – I don't think Jurto is even capable – but I thought we were past this. Now, it's as if a wall has been thrown up between us, and I don't understand why.

I push my anger down, reminding myself of my place. I'm his slave, not his equal. But the taste of our recent closeness lingers, making his coldness all the harder to bear.

As I continue working, my thoughts churn. What could have happened to make him so angry? And why does it hurt so much to see him like this? I try to shake off the disappointment, focusing on the task at hand. But the ache in my chest remains, a constant reminder of the fragile nature of our bond.

I glance towards the house, where Jurto has disappeared, and a resolve hardens within me. I need to understand what's going on. If he's determined to push me away, I'll find a way to break through that wall.

As the afternoon wears on, the tension gnaws at me. I can't focus on the garden any longer, the weight of Jurto's mood pressing down on me. I finally muster the courage to go inside, determined to confront him. I find him in the main room, still brooding, his back to me as he stares out the window.

"Jurto," I say softly, stepping closer. "What happened at practice today?"

He doesn't turn around, his shoulders stiffening at the sound of my voice. For a moment, I think he might ignore me entirely, but then he speaks, his tone icy.

"It's none of your concern, Emilia. Get back to your work."

His words hit me like a physical blow, and I take a step back, my resolve wavering. "But?—"

He whirls around, his eyes blazing with a fury that makes me flinch. "I said, get back to your work!" he snaps, each word laced with venom. "Do you think I want to discuss my day with a slave? Know your place."

The harshness of his words takes my breath away. The familiar warmth in his eyes is gone, replaced by a cold, unyielding hardness. Any semblance of the connection we'd built over breakfasts and stolen moments has evaporated, leaving a stark, impassable distance between us.

I swallow hard, fighting back the sting of tears. "I'm sorry," I whisper, turning to leave the room, my heart heavy.

Retreating in stung confusion, I replay the harshness of Jurto's words over and over in my mind, trying to make sense of the sudden shift. One moment, he was the orc who shared breakfast with me, who sought me out during the day just to see me. The next, he's a stranger, his eyes cold, his words biting.

Did I imagine the change between us? Jurto has always pushed me and treated me poorly, but I thought things had become different. His harsh words were just part of a game, not truly meant to tear me down. Or I thought.

As I scrub the floor vigorously, I feel the walls around my heart rebuilding, stronger than ever before. I have to protect myself. I can't afford to be swayed by false hope again. Jurto's cruelty is a reminder of my place, a brutal wake-up call. To survive, I must harden myself completely against him.

The soap suds swirl on the stone floor, and I attack each stain with renewed vigor, channeling my frustration and hurt into the task. My hands ache, but I don't stop. I can't stop. If Jurto wants only cruelty from me, that is what he will get. The idea of a relationship, of something more, now seems foolish beyond belief. How could I have been so na?ve?

I scrub harder, the bristles of the brush scraping against the stone, the sound matching the turmoil in my mind. I will not let myself be fooled again. I will not let myself hope for something that can never be. Jurto's kindness was a mirage, a cruel trick of the light. The reality is stark and unyielding, and I must accept it.

My muscles burn with the effort, but I welcome the pain. It grounds me, pulls me back from the edge of despair. I am a slave. This is my reality. I must focus on my duties, on surviving each day. Anything else is a dangerous distraction.

The floor gradually becomes spotless, the dirt giving way to clean, smooth stone. I sit back on my heels, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. The physical exertion has done little to ease the ache in my chest, but it's a start. I need to keep busy, to keep my mind occupied.

Standing, I move to the next room, determined to continue cleaning until every inch of the house shines. I will not give Jurto any reason to scold me. If he wants cold efficiency, that is what he will get. No more soft looks, no more stolen moments. I can't afford to let my guard down again.

The afternoon drags on, each minute feeling like an hour. I force myself to focus on the tasks at hand, scrubbing, dusting, polishing. The repetitive motions help to dull the edge of my pain, though the hurt remains, a constant undercurrent.

By the time the evening shadows lengthen, I'm exhausted, my body aching from the day's labor. But the house is spotless, every surface gleaming. I take a moment to survey my work, a small sense of satisfaction mingling with the exhaustion. This, at least, I can control. This, I can accomplish.

And I try to ignore the fact that Jurto didn't seek me out once today.

I hear Jurto's heavy footsteps approaching and straighten, my heart pounding despite my resolve. He steps into the room, his eyes sweeping over the spotless surfaces, but he doesn't acknowledge my efforts. His expression is still hard, impenetrable.

"Good," he mutters, barely glancing at me before heading towards his study.

I nod, though he doesn't see it, and turn back to my work. The sting of his indifference cuts deep, but I force myself to remain calm. This is how it must be. I will not let him see how much he affects me. I will not give him that power.

As the night falls, I finish the last of my tasks and retreat to my small room, the day's events replaying in my mind. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, steeling my resolve. I must be strong. I must protect myself. Jurto may have the power to command me, but he will not break me. Not again.