Your Loyal Servant

(22) What's More Important?

This was just great. Not only was I claustrophobic and bored, but I was cold now, too.

I stared up at the peeling ceiling. A mysterious stain resided in a corner, and I didn't dare think about what caused it. I mused to myself how poor a condition the closet was in. When I stared to think of fundraiser ideas to repair the gloomy storage room, I realized just how crazy I was going, trapped in here.

Because I had nothing better to do, I stood up and tried the door again, just in case they had unlocked it and were laughing at me as I continued to think I was trapped inside. But as I tugged on the door, it resisted—it was still locked.

I didn't bother yelling in case someone would hear it and come to my rescue, since my voice was shot from my earlier screams, and my parched throat wasn't helping anything. Instead, I collapsed back onto the mats, feeling exhausted.

As I lay there, I wondered if any clubs or sports would come into the gym. If they did, I could pound on the door and they'd release me from this prison. I'd probably cry and pledge my undying love to them . . .

Suddenly, light cascaded into the room, blinding me. I blinked against the invasion of light, squinting at the figure standing in the doorway. Once my eyes adjusted, I sat up. When I stood on my feet, I recognized my savior: Howie.

I released a sigh of relief and staggered towards him. I put my head on his chest, too tired and too relieved to cry or hug him. I muttered, "Jerk."

His head rested atop mine and he wrapped his arms loosely around me, more to keep me on my feet than to embrace me. He whispered fiercely, "Thank goodness you're all right."

I pushed away from him, glancing behind him. We had a crowd, which included a worried Apple, a distracted Selma, and a smirking Bianca.

He kept his arm around me, to ensure I wouldn't fall over. His eyes, clouded with concern but a hint of relief swirled in them too, remained fixed on my face, searching for any troubling signs.

"How long was I in there?" I rasped, gazing back at him.

I felt his hold on me tighten as he answered, "Well, it's time to go home now."

Nodding slowly, I suggested, "Let's go home them."

Howie's arm stayed wrapped around me to keep me steady. The way he coddled me, you'd think I had been brutally attacked and was on the verge of succumbing to posttraumatic stress disorder. Of course, I was a bit wobbly—side effect of thirst and claustrophobia. But otherwise, I was just tired.

At home, I fell onto the couch and he put a blanket on top of me when he noticed the goose bumps covering my skin. As I relaxed, letting the last vestiges of claustrophobia fade away, he puttered about the kitchen, preparing something for me.

Once I had food in my stomach and drink had soothed my throat, I felt better. I felt good enough to slip into a pair of comfortable pajama bottoms and a thick sweatshirt. But feeling better also meant my head was clearing up, which in turn meant I was beginning to grow a bit angry.

In the dining room, Howie sat idly at the table, bouncing his pencil against a pad of paper. When I stood across from him, arms folded and a scowl on my face, he shot up from his seat, eyes worried.

"What took you so long?" I demanded. Thanks to the hot beverage he had given me, my voice was back to normal.

He sighed and explained, "I didn't see you with Apple and Selma at the end of the day so I thought perhaps you were simply elsewhere. But when you didn't appear after a while at the halfway mark, something felt wrong. So I returned to the school and inquired of your whereabouts. Selma told me she hadn't seen you since gym, so I went there, and then I found you."

My lips pursed and I frowned, deepening my scowl. My voice rose as I said, "That's not what I mean. What took you so long?"

"I didn't—" he began, taking a step towards me. Though, I was grateful there was a table between us, so there was still space.

I uncrossed my arms, fists clenched at my sides. "What took you so long to realize I wasn't there?"

Howie's face fell and he whispered, "Mistress . . ."

Shaking my head, I backed up a few steps. "No," I started. "I thought you were some protector, some savior. I thought you always kept your eye on me because it's your duty, or some shit like that. So why—why was I trapped in there for so long?" A tear cascaded, hot and salty, down my cheek.

He didn't even try to make up an excuse as he told me, "I was distracted. So many people were talking to me and asking me questions, I lost sight of everything else."

I wiped at the tear and scoffed, rolling my eyes. I countered back, voice harsh, "I'm sorry I inconveniently came between you and your popularity."

He started to walk around the table, saying ruefully, "Ms. Orrie, I'm—"

I didn't let him continue. I screamed, "What's more important to you: me, or your popularity?"

He reached a hand out to me, but I slapped it away. His eyes turned sad and pleading. "Please, let me—"

"Answer me!" I shrieked, tears building in my eyes and threatening to overflow.

He let his head hang. "You are, madam."

Finally, he stood in front of me, and my anger boiled so hotly that I pushed him, forcing him to stumble backwards. As the tears began to streak down my face, I said, "Then prove it!"

Eyes closed, he bowed at the waist. But he thought better and sank to his knees. Then he bowed, forehead to the floor. His voice was thick with regret as he murmured, "I deserve whatever punishment you deem fit, for I have deeply wronged you. I have failed as your loyal servant. I am not worthy to serve you."

The fierce lines on my face faded, but the ire in my eyes still burned. Sternly, I told him, "Get out."

Without a single word, he rose from the floor, head hung, and shuffled to the front door. He shrugged into his jacket and slipped on his shoes. He grabbed the handle but paused when he heard my faint voice.

"Wanna know something?" I chuckled humorlessly. "I was stupid enough to actually start to depend on you. I thought maybe I could trust you to be there for me, because you were enough of an idiot to be my savior even after all I said to you. But I guess you're exactly like every other guy on the planet: heartless."

He left in silence.

I raced up the stairs and slammed my bedroom door shut. When I saw Tommy staring at me from the floor, I scooped him up into my arms and held him as I sat on my bed.

"Howie's a jerk, right?" I asked my kitty bitterly.

He mewed in agreement.