Alone, I looked around more closely, finding a sheet of paper—printed and laminated—attached to the inside of my door.
With a list of my daily and weekly chores.
Two lists, in fact.
One for the household.
One for my personal hygiene.
“What the hell?” I mumbled to myself, frowning at the paper.
You didn’t write lists like that for partners. That was something you did for employees. And as far as I knew, I wasn’t exactlyemployedby Ben any longer.
Not that it was a real relationship either.
I couldn’t stop the bitter thought.
Or the way I immediately started to beat myself up for agreeing to move out into the middle of nowhere with someone when I wasn’t sure about the relationship.
Naively, I thought maybe the move might change things with us. Judging by the house, Ben’s attitude, and my nifty little lists, that was not the case.
I moved away from the list and glanced around again, seeing something I failed to notice before.
Somethings.
Cameras.
There were cameras in my bedroom.
Four of them that I could find.
Heart in my throat, I moved into the bathroom.
Thankfully, Ben hadn’t been that depraved. At least not that I could tell.
I glanced through the cabinets, finding every single one of them jam-packed with the products Ben preferred. It left no space for my things.
Heart thudding hard in my chest, I went back into the bedroom, checking the dresser and closet.
Packed.
With all white everything.
Suddenly, Ben’s words from earlier that week came back to me. About not needing to pack. About leaving it to him.
At the time, I’d taken it as him being super eager to get me into our new home, to show me what he’d been working on.
As I stood there looking at a sea of white, smelling bleach and lemon, seeing the view of nothing and no one for miles, though, I had a feeling it had nothing to do with excitement.
And everything to do with control.
“Lolly,” Ben’s disembodied voice called, making me let out a little shriek. “You need to bathe as well. And send your clothes down the laundry chute in the linen closet.”
I followed the voice to a speaker in the ceiling, realizing that I’d seen them throughout the rest of the house as well. I’d written them off as speakers.
They were intercoms.
So Ben could bark out more orders when the cameras caught me doing something he didn’t like.
