Chapter 3

“Pooh. Because you were late in getting to your work, I thought you needed to be reminded that we are not a charity. You have responsibilities.” He rolled a rack from the hallway. It was probably half the shirts and pants from his closet. “These need pressed. We’re having company tomorrow and I need these to be ready just in case I need to wear something. And I don’t want them pressed with the big machine. Do it with the hand iron. Otherwise the creases aren’t right.”

I swallowed. That would take a few hours. I already had so much to do.

“Good. I want them hung in my closet by dinner.” He took a step closer and I fought the urge to take a step back. The buzzer rang out on the dryer, and I jumped. Brock sneered and shoved the rack at me before walking out of the room.

I folded all the towels, rolling them “spa” style like they preferred, and stacked them all neatly in the empty rolling cart. By the time I was finished, the fresh wash was ready to switch over and I ran a new round in the washers. My stomach growled and I knew it was near lunch. I made my way to the elevator with the towels. I ran them to the gym complex, savoring the three minute walk. It was my favorite part of the day, and the most I’d see the sunlight until tomorrow.

I passed the kitchen on the way back and grabbed a sandwich and water.

“Geez, there you are you little bitch. I’ve been waiting here for like 30 minutes.” Michelle, Brock’s girlfriend stood leaning against one of the washers when I returned. “Brock will hear about your absurdly long lunch breaks. I brought a dress for you to hem. I need you to take it up three inches.” She pointed to the dress she’d hung on the rack beside Brock’s clothes. I eyed the little white dress. If I took it up three inches her ass would be hanging out the bottom. But that was probably the look she was going for.

Michelle tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder and then kicked at a few laundry bags at her feet. “And it looks like you missed a few more from this morning. Don’t get sloppy you little piss. We have guests coming tomorrow and there’s going to be a party. Brock is going to introduce me as his Luna.” She paused and a sinister gleam filled her eyes. “And then I’ll be in charge of all the pack members. Things will definitely be more disciplined around here. No more slacking off.” She snatched the sandwich from my hand and threw it to the ground, grinding her pink stiletto into it. “And no more lunch breaks.” She stormed out.

I knelt down and opened first one laundry bag, and then another, and another, pulling out fistfuls of dresses with alteration tags, shirts missing buttons, pants that needed hemmed. It looked as though every pack member had put in something to be sewn. I felt a burn behind my eyes but refused to let the tears fall. I was not weak. I would not cry. I got up and threw my sandwich in the trash and then plugged in the iron, pulling out my sewing tools while it warmed.

I moved as quickly as I could, focusing on the ironing first and foremost. I didn’t want to miss Brock’s deadline. The buzzer rang again and I quickly pulled out the dry wash, switching everything over once again. I turned back to the ironing and gasped. The iron had fallen over and thin wisps of smoke wafted around it. I ran to it and lifted it as quickly as I could, burning a finger in the process.

No, no, no. A very faint scorch mark was branded into the back of the shirt. Crap. I held it against my chest, my mind scrambling. Did I throw it away and hope he never thought of it again? He was meticulous. He’d probably notice it was missing. I held it up in the light. Would he even notice? Maybe I could just put it in the back of his closet.

I took extra care with the remaining shirts and pants and then folded the rest of the laundry and replaced all of it in the bags. I loaded them carefully in an empty bin. It would be dinner time. If I hurried, I could return all of the laundry while everyone was eating.

I started at the fourth floor, knocking on Brock’s door and entering when there was no answer. I returned his clothes to the closet, tucking the singed one to the back, and then hurried through the other floors, returning each bag to its corresponding room. My stomach growled as I stood in the elevator, but if I skipped dinner and hurried, I could be back to my room around midnight, maybe.

I altered Michelle’s dress and hung it up on the rack, breezed through the hemming with the sewing machine, and dug through the jar of buttons, repairing shirts. I had one bag left when the door slammed open again.

“Pooh. I forgot to mention there’s a party tomorrow. We have very special guests coming, I need you to wash all the linens in the guest rooms. Sheets, towels, the works,” Brock sneered.

My shoulders sagged. I couldn’t help it. I was so exhausted. Brock raised an eyebrow.

“Are you fucking complaining? You have machines to do the work for you. You just have to put the fabric in the machine and press the buttons. I heard you had enough time for a nap at lunch. If you give me any more of your shit, that will be it. I’ll come up with a fucking punishment. I’ve been to easy on you. Now do your job.” He stormed out. I let the tears fall this time, but I dashed them away as I rolled a cart out into the hallway for the service elevator.

I went from room to room, stripping the beds and gathering all the towels from the en suite bathrooms. Everything was already perfectly clean but I wasn’t taking any chances. I would never put it past Brock to set me up. I headed down stairs again and began the loads of wash. The gentle hum filled the air as the machines went to work, and I sat at the table working on alterations. I pricked my finger more than a few times, my eyes blurring as I struggled to stay awake. I finished the last garment as the machines came to a halt, the buzzer sounding just as exhausted as I felt.

I rolled the laundry back to the fourth floor, remade the beds, hung the towels carefully, and tiptoed down the hallway. I returned to the basement and sat down, the thought of walking back to the apartment daunting, but there was no way I was going to sleep under the same roof as Brock. I grabbed my own little pillowcase of laundry and made my way back through the kitchen, too tired to rummage through the fridges for a snack. A clock on the wall showed that it was 3:15am. The walk took five minutes, so I reset the blinking clock accordingly and fell into bed. I was asleep before my head touched the pillow.