The Girl With The Sunset Eyes {Historical Interracial Romance/ #1 Blake Series}

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I open my doors, smash my own windows and kill myself slowly. Imperfection, that is what turns me insane slowly, I pray on both knees that the Lord forgives me for my sins. I am weak, and nothing can hold me together anymore.

November twenty second 1795

The year of our Lord

Diary of William Blake

The sunset was the only sign of beauty in the city estate. It was the only positive constant thing in Katherine’s life. It came each day and whispered goodbye to day, and hello to the night sky. The sunset was a painted sky, not bold in any colour, but a wash of orange, pink and yellow. It soothed her aching heart, even if nothing else. She would look up and think, her body basked in the glow and she felt cursed and blessed. 

She wondered how she got so desperate for work, how it had got to this... Her life was one full circle, one sunset and sunrise of beatings, rape and work. Since she was a child she had been trained by her master to accept the life she was in. That included taking her punishment as discipline and her pain as her reminder. But then she was blessed simply with life. She was blessed with the sunset and the fresh air and a home, no matter how painful.

She sat on the house steps cleaning the wounds on her thighs from her latest beating. The red liquid clock dripped down a smooth brown thigh and she hissed as the alcohol made contact with it. The cloth was now blood red and white, where the alcohol was there was a pink swirl and she touched her blood. She ran through her thoughts as she did so, trying to numb the pain.

 She thought she could move quietly in her life and accept her fate. Yet she couldn’t right now, she felt so weak and useless. She felt as if the world was too hot for her to live in, everyone could move around yet she was so still. She tried to focus her mind, to regain her control, and looked at the sign welcoming business associates. It directed their drivers to the closed areas which were near the stables. It also said that they would be welcomed by an army of servants ready to cater to their whims.

Katherine turned away, sometimes wishing that she couldn’t read like most of the workers here. Like most slaves in America as well, it was uncommon to find a black person who could do more than write their own name and that was a rarity. Katherine had not been given the gift but had taken advantage of her household servant position.

 She had been allowed a secret education from the Watson’s personal tutor. Her mother giving to the man his sexual cravings after the lessons as payment, Katherine had learnt for five years to better herself. She had scribbled, and kept her work hidden till the day she would be brave enough to approach her owner with the secret.

In the nights she had crept to his bedchamber and she had been taught mathematics and English. The plan was to allow her to work as a secretary for her master until he provided her with her freedom.

So far her mother's plan had failed, and she was still chained here, bound for servitude in her home. When she had seen a screaming slave begging she had gone to him with her secret. He had said no. He had taken her innocence then, as a reminder of her place. That she could not would not and should not attempt to better herself.

 In the morning he had promised that if she kept her standards up, he would consider her preposition. The false hope was always there but as the years progressed it slowly reduced and she had tried to convince herself this was home. She wasn’t getting any better.

It was home to her. The London city house that she had lived in for her whole being was not cheap. With the luxurious king sized bed for her master, imported Russian rugs with matching quilts for the guest room. With the nameless slaves and servants, which she could find no one to be friends with. The cold, draughty room which was her bedroom lay empty most nights as she slept in the bed of her master. She knowing nowhere she had convinced herself this as her place of comfort. She had forced herself to pretend that she was here to serve and somewhere someone loved her in return.