Silver was a slave. When he was less than 12 years old, he was kidnapped, tortured and 'conditioned' to be the perfect plaything. What he doesn't know about bringing pleasure isn't worth knowing, but he knows nothing about being free. Since being saved and falling in love, Silver has a lot to learn and it's hard. All he knows is how to obey. Where once he was terrified of the world and everything in it, now he's beginning to see a life beyond his front door, but it's small steps.
Writing Silver was one of the most rewarding things I have ever done. Seeing the world through eyes that can't remember ever having seen it before was so refreshing, so thought provoking. I've jotted down some of the thoughts it provoked in a series of stories about Silver's First Christmas, and I'm going to share them with you over the next two weeks. I hope you enjoy.
If you do, check out Silver's journey to get to this point in the Enigma series.
The tree is
very pretty, much prettier than the one in the shop. Ben, River and I decorated
it together. We laughed a lot and drank wine, then laughed even more. Ben didn’t
have any because he’s not old enough and he complained a lot until River put a
tiny amount in a glass of lemonade.
River almost knocked the tree over when he
tried to put the star on top. I told him to let me do it because I’m the
tallest, but he said it was traditional that the head of the family did it. Is
he head of our family? I suppose so, but I never looked at it that way before. River
has always told me that, now I’m free, no one has power over me, but isn’t that
what being the head of something means? Maybe I should ask him about it. Maybe
I won’t. River can be naïve about this kind of thing. He often doesn’t
understand what’s really going on in situations we find ourselves in and gets
upset when I point it out. He says I only think this way because of what
happened to me, and he’s probably right, but is that a bad thing?
We have other decorations, apart from the tree.
Red and white stockings hang on the fireplace, big garlands of tree branches decorate
the shelves, and there are tablecloths, coasters and all kind of bits and
pieces in red, green and gold, mostly covered with tiny lights.
Not everything
is decorated, though. River has left the windowsill for me. I think I might
have brought too many of the little houses and trees that the art shop, has set
up in their window. River says I don’t think things through, and I didn’t this
time because their window is so much bigger than ours. I got excited and
couldn’t choose.
Ben is
supposed to be helping, but he isn’t really. In fact he is getting in the way.
He’s already broken two of the houses. River gets cross with him, but I don’t
mind. I like to see him so excited. This is his first Christmas since his
parents died, and River was worried he would be sad. River is hiding how sad he
is, but I catch him sometimes, dreaming with his eyes open. I know he’s
thinking of them. I don’t know my parents very well, but I would be sad if they
died.
When the
houses are finally built, Ben helps me arrange them, with the tiny trees and
sparkly cotton stuff that looks like snow. Ben has the idea of putting some of
the tiny lights in the trees and around the houses. It’s very pretty.
River puts his
arms around my waist and rests his head on my shoulder. “You look happy.”
“I am.” I
really mean that. “I’m happier than I can ever remember.” That’s not entirely
true, but I can’t tell River I was happy when I was a slave, too. I know it was
a bad thing to happen to me, and all the people who did it to me are bad, too,
but… Life was simpler then. For the last four years, my Master treated me well.
I was quite famous. I rode in limousines, wore beautiful clothes, and had the
best cosmetics. Alright, I wasn’t free. I was still a slave, but I felt pride
in what I did, and when my Master was pleased with me, I was happy.
River would
never understand. He thinks everything that happened to me was bad, and I can’t
blame him, considering how it ended. My Master was good to me – until he
discovered I had fallen in love with another slave and ordered us both beaten
to death. With David, they succeeded. With me, they almost did, but of course, ultimately
they failed.
I am not
going to think of that now. Although I have been free for well over a year,
it’s my very first proper Christmas. I wasn’t really aware of Christmas when I
was a slave, and last year I was in a coma, or the dark place inside my head
where I lived for a long time afterwards. Maybe I would still be there if River
hadn’t found me and rescued me.
I’ve heard
a lot about Christmas miracles, although I’m not sure why they’re different to
any other miracle. It took a lot of miracles to get me where I am now, and I
haven’t even had a Christmas yet.
“Where did
that frown come from?”
“It’s not a
frown. It’s my thinking face.”
“Oh really?
So what are you thinking about?”
“Just that
this is my first Christmas. I know it isn’t; not really, but it’s the first I
remember.” I turn in River’s arms and gaze into his beautiful face. He looks
sad now, and I know why. He’s thinking about the same things I was, but in a
much worse way. “There is no one I would rather spend my first Christmas with.
You make my whole life light up, like the little lights on the tree. Everything
is sparkly, and pretty, and bright. Just like the way you make me feel.”
“Sparkly
and pretty and bright?”
“Yes.” I
lean in to kiss him, but he pulls away and draws me across the room.
“Kiss me
over here.”
“Why? Why
does it matter where I kiss you?”
River looks
up, and there’s a little bundle of green twigs hanging over our heads, with
pretty bow–shaped leaves, and little round berries. I’ve noticed it before, and
I thought it was a different kind of holly. Holly is much prettier, because the
leaves are shiny, and the berries a lovely, bright red.
“This is
mistletoe,” River says. “It’s traditional for everyone to kiss under the
mistletoe. It’s just for kissing.”
“Everyone?”
“Absolutely
everyone.”
“Even Ben?”
“No, not
Ben. Not for a few years, I hope. Just for grown–ups.”
“Oh. Well,
it sounds like it’s quite important. The kissing thing.”
“It’s a
tradition. Do you remember what I told you about traditions?”
“Yes, something
that’s passed on, from one generation to another, over and over, right?”
“That’s
right. And traditions have to be honoured.”
I’m not so
sure about that, and I don’t think River exactly means what he says. I don’t
always know when he’s teasing me. “I suppose, although I really don’t need
tradition to kiss you. Maybe we can start a new tradition of kissing under the
mistletoe, and under the tree, and in the kitchen and…well all over the house,
and in as many places outside as I can persuade you to try.”
“That
sounds like a good tradition to me.” River’s eyes are very bright. He has the
prettiest eyes, and they shine brighter than the Christmas lights. I glance up
at the mistletoe and wonder how many times, over the years, people have used it
as an excuse to kiss someone they really want to kiss. We don’t need mistletoe,
but it’s nice to think about all those other kisses, as our lips meet and the
mistletoe, the lights and everything else fades into one absolute certainty – I
love River, and he loves me. That’s enough of a Christmas miracle for me.
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