Master’s desperate voice pierces through the walls, and I’m rocking on my knees as I listen. Do we need Rule Seventeen? Unease crackles like lightning through my body.

But They’re having a call with Their family in Their room. It’s not my place, not unless They ask. That’s Rule Eighteen, right?

Focusing on The Rules is a good way to show my devotion. Devotion is not obsession. Rule One. For Rule Two, I choose to practice Their calming trigger for two seconds. Reciting Rule Three soothes me more, but something goes thud in Master’s room.

It’s a quiet twenty minutes contemplating Rule Four before They thrust Themself into the common room.

Lop-sided eyeliner and a freshly unblended streak of foundation sit on Their face. Master was so excited to try Their new eyeshadow palette tonight. It’s evil that these people can take so much away from wonderful Master!

They pass in front of me without speaking, but I hear muttering in the kitchen.

Master comes up to me from behind and slips two ice-cold fingers under my collar. “Ma’am!” I yelp.

“Hey, Daisy. Is My good girl ready to learn a new trick for Me?”

“…if it pleases You, Ma’am?”

They tug me to my feet with a smile, but when we get to the door, Master is growling half-formed words. They stop when They catch me staring.

“It’s okay if you want to ask me about it,” They say.

“Ma’am, do You want to talk about it?”

“No. But, like, I’m happy you asked, Daisy. You’re always allowed to do what you think is safe.”

I cringe. “That’s Rule Seventeen, Ma’am.” They shouldn’t have to explain this.

“Mhmm. Rule Three?”

Master is so wise. “If I ever wonder, ‘Maybe I did something bad?’ The answer is, ‘No. They did not correct me.’”

“And Rule One?”

“Devotion is not obsession, Ma’am.”

“Good girl,” Master says. I close my eyes to focus on the good feeling that Master taught me to feel when I hear those words. Rule Two says I get to feel it for two seconds. After that, I put it away.

I do a good job putting it away because devotion is not obsession.

I reach up to their shoulder. “Hey, Channah? Are you okay? Really okay?”

“No, Luisa, not really. But yeah. Yeah, like, Rule Four is no trauma-kinking. We can’t trance tonight.” I feel their body release. ” But, like. Thank you.”

My friend slumps against the wall. Their amethyst pendant is on backwards. It’s time to take my purple collar off, but we keep our bracelets on.

Channah stares into the corner, losing focus. But I say, “Hey, Rule Three, right?”

They glance back morosely, but they’re here again. “Luisa, can you ask me to recite Rule Eighteen?”

I hug them, and I do.

Channah slides down the wall until they’re close enough to lay their head on my shoulder. “My life is my own. Your life is your own. But you’re still holding me now.”