Hi everyone, it took me a while to think of this chapter. I hope you'll enjoy reading it and like the general idea of where the plot is going. Now that it's a longer chapter, maybe I'll receive some criticism and opinions from your side. But... if you do please have in mind that it's the first story I'm writing. Thanks!

*The same disclaimer from the first chapter*

Helen hardly got up on her feet. She walked bent down in slow and heavy steps, feeling where each one of the kommandant's punches strike her, while holding to the edge of the bed. She knew that there isn't any excuse to stay and rest in bed. She was only an object in this kind of world, one which must begin with the chores immediately, before the kommandant will notice anything wasn't functioning in his well-kept environment. She could see her vague reflection in the old glass that lay near her bed. She felt distresses for she could hardly recognize her facial features among the dark marks…she touched her face in disbelieve and felt her eyes welling up.

She needed to wash her face and get dressed. The hanger which her maid's dress was on, looked awfully far. She fell to her knees with her hands in front of her, in a thud and whimpered weakly, exhausted of the effort. She heard someone descending the stairs, quick and quiet steps which sounded familiar. She knew it wasn't him.

"Helen? Is everything alright? I've been looking for you, noticed you didn't wake up yet and the breakfast should be served soon" Lisiek approached her and she felt relieved she isn't the only servant in the villa that morning. She knew she could trust him with every problem she had in the villa and outside. He would always listen and respect her ever since the first day they met in that horrible place. She moved her hair off her face and looked at him, still down on the floor with tears in her eyes, stretching her arms forward so he would help her up. He looked at her thunderstruck with his huge dark brown eyes,

"What are these marks on your face Helen… what did he do to you?!" he looked startled and his voice was loud. He bent down to look at her closely. She put her finger on his lips with a pleading look on her face.

"Please Lisiek… I don't want to talk about it and remember all that happened last night…" She put her hands on his shoulders, looking deep into his compassionate eyes, "he just beats me and there is nothing I can do to stop his madness… Please just listen to me". He sat next to her on the floor, hugged her warmly and slid his hand in her hair. "You know you can always talk to me when something feels too heavy on your heart… don't stand alone when you can turn to me". Helen felt much better, she wiped her tears and looked at his childish face, he was like the little brother she never had. Actually when she thought about it he was younger than her indeed but sometimes much more mature in behavior than she was. She never cried so much in her entire life, and since the war started she cried almost every night of the bad thoughts and memories piling up in her mind. She knew she was always sensitive and introverted but now that's all she was.

"I know Lisiek… thank you" she crawled back and tried to stand up. He held his hands out and helped her. "Could you please help me with the breakfast Lisiek? If you'll put the eggs and the speck on the counter and carry the dishes to the table it will help a lot…" Lisiek nodded and turned to climb up the stairs.

The kommandant woke up calmly. He lay in bed for a few more minutes to stretch his muscles and think of this day's schedule. One of the large windows in his room was slightly open, and a fresh chilly wind came in, heaving the curtains with it. He looked at the decorative chest of drawers next to his bed and noticed the last cigarette that was left from yesterday's packet in his molded silver case. He took it and lit it up holding it between his lips and stared at the smoke going out from it. He was hungry the moment he woke up in the morning, expecting his traditional german breakfast… that was so well done by a jewish girl. How ironic.

This silly girl… she gets on my nerves every time with her silent demeanor. Only she can pull me into this state of mind, wanting to hit her so she will sob and beg me to stop, but she never does. She got used to the pain. And then I want to kiss her pretty lips and feel for her…I never felt empathy for someone but with her it's a little different somehow. I don't know if it's empathy with lust or with something else… I don't want to know. It's better that I touch her with my fists rather than the passionate touch I really think of in mind when I see her. I almost fell for it yesterday, and that's it. She won't bewitch me anymore… if she would gaze at me with her wide eyes, that charming innocence that belongs only to her... it won't affect me. She is just my jewish servant, nothing more… I'm only attracted to healthy Aryan women… they are my kind.

He put out the cigarette in the silver case and got up. He wore his spotless black uniform, grabbed his rifle that was held along the wall and descended the stairs to the hall leading to the dining room.

He sat to the table and like always, everything was perfectly organized as he wished. The undisputedly quickest and most effective method to tame a servant is by violence, so he thought and smiled in his mind as he relished each bite of the meal. So maybe she isn't as fragile as she seems… everything was prepared as ordinary and now she must be doing her chores… I wouldn't expect that of a weak jew, they have such a different bone structure than the one of us Aryans. Our body made for athletic and productive activity, when theirs is just for sitting in an office, manipulating and stealing the money from our countries. We are tall, forcible, blue eyed and pure while they are just short, narrow shouldered and dirty as rodents.

He shouted for Lisiek to prepare his horse and sipped the last bit of hot coffee out of the white china glass. He took the rifle in his hands and examined it. It had an unnoticeable scratch on the wooden handle, within was dried blood. He recalled how the blood got there, in that day he had to shoot a prisoner and there weren't any bullets left, so he hit him in the head with the stiff handle. He commanded Lisiek to cleanse it of all the blood that was smeared all over it after that, not her, for he couldn't bear the thought of her seeing it.

The kommandant approached the kitchen back door, opened it and marched out towards the stable. Lisiek wasn't there, and he climbed up the horse and rode into the camp. Early in the morning there were new prisoners brought to the camp, and two of the old prisoners took the opportunity to try and escape while the commanders were occupied with the arrangements. They were immediately caught, and the commanders knew they should wait to the Hauptsturmführer to decide on how to eliminate them. Herr Kommandant remembered they told him one of the low-rank soldiers was generally too hesitant when ordered to shoot any inmates, so he planned on solving this problem now with this latest occurrence.

Oberschütze Christian Zeller was standing upright. His profile was of the ideal Aryan. His hair was light brown with bits of blond, his eyes dark blue and his squared jaw visible from the distance. He hasn't come across the kommandant for a long while, he has only seen him when he got to the camp on his first day, which wasn't long ago.

"Herr Hauptsturmführer Göth" Zeller greeted while saluting with his arm stretched up high, his legs close tight together and waited until he could move. The other two commanders standing next to Zeller saluted too and the kommandant saluted back quickly to them all.

"So what do we have here?" the kommandant asked Zeller while inspecting the new inmates brought into the camp with a cold gaze, holding his gun down by its barrel and putting one hand in his coat pocket. They stood still in the front row, still wearing their clothing from home and noticeable amongst the other internees who crowded behind them in immaculate rows.

"These are Austrian jews. They weren't caught for a while because they bought fake Aryan identity certificates." Zeller answered and waited for the kommandant's response. They were all wearing high quality suits and hats, didn't wear the star patch nor had beards. They didn't seem too disturbed in the kommandant's eyes, they stared at him with excessive indifference that irritated him and lit the fire in his insides. He was pleased of the fact they were caught, for the ones who could afford buying the fake identities were the most powerful jewish families. He came closer to their row and walked along it.

"What are you, Businessmen?... Doctors?... Or maybe attorneys? It doesn't matter anymore, for you are in your natural place now, sub humans." There was a dead silence. The kommandant glanced at one of the commanders who stood beside Zeller and nodded as a sign. The commander went to the middle of the front raw and pulled the pair of the inmates who tried to escape, to stand facing the crowd. The kommandant drew out his luger pistol from its case and stood behind them. He shot the first one in the head and approached the second one, shooting him in the neck without blinking. The sound of the shots echoed in the air. They fell heavily to the muddy ground. Their corpses were a distorted shape and their spilled blood formed a puddle. The kommandant felt little drops of blood on his face so he took his handkerchief out and wiped it, just like there were rain drops.

"you, you and you, lie down on the ground" the kommandant shouted, pointing his finger at each one of the random men. They were shaking with fear and lay on the mud. He turned to Oberschütze Zeller and put the luger in his hand, "shoot" he instructed. Zeller was unprepared and quite stunned by the sudden command. His hand held the luger tightly. A sudden headache attacked him and his breath was uneasy. He felt everyone's eyes on him. He knew he couldn't look up to the eyes of the kommandant, because then his nervousness will be obvious. He lifted his arm and aimed at the first on the ground, took a deep breath and shot him in the back. He wasn't yet composed enough so he shot the two others promptly without aiming properly. They died in a moment, but the first man he shot in the back groaned in pain.

"I shouldn't be listening to this noise, Oberschütze" the kommandant declared blankly while looking at him unsatisfied from the corner of his eye. Zeller couldn't help but staring at the kommandant in an intimidated gaze, the headache getting excruciating. The kommandant felt his hesitation and shot the suffering inmate in his head. The sound of the final shot from the rifle was deafening. The kommandant saluted to the commanders, approached Zeller and hissed into his ear "tomorrow you'll guard the storeroom". He got on his horse and rode out of the camp to the villa.

Helen was at the cellar taking a bath. She sat in, relaxed her body and stared at the ceiling. She knew he won't be there for a while and so she took the chance to soothe her body from the pain she felt all over, hoping he wouldn't come back and need her. There were several dark blue marks on her pale form, but the most protrusive ones were on her face. She heard the shots from the camp and shivered, not wanting to imagine how and for which reason they were shot. She finished and wore her maid dress slowly.

She went up to the kitchen and ate some bread that she kept for herself at the side of the counter. She could still smell the german speck from her hands and she couldn't stand it. It was an oily meat and she never tried it, nor wanted to try it. She kept the kosher nutrition habits from home and so there weren't many options for her to eat something from the leftovers of the kommandant. She finished eating the bread and washed her hands thoroughly. The view outside the window was very beautiful when she ignored the edge of the camp. It started raining and there were strong winds, sweeping the trees with it. She stood on tiptoe and opened a slit in the window. The wind caressed her face, it was refreshing and she closed her eyes. She heard someone clear his throat behind her and glimpsed back.

The kommandant was leaning on the kitchen door frame. His arms were folded and he looked at her in his piercing glance. Helen jumped and stood meekly, trying to cover her eye with her hair. He approached her and stood still, watching her from above. He felt for a strong drink to forget his troubled morning.

"Helen, get my whisky" he demanded. She turned to take it out of the cabinet, while wondering for how long he watched her. She got the bottle out and poured the drink into a glass, her hands quivered. He stood very close to her and she felt him examine her with his harsh gaze. She gave him the glass and he took it in his hand, not drinking it yet.

"Look at me, Helen". She feared of his reaction but also hoped that he would care for what he has done; hoped he would care for her and not only look at her bluntly, or ignore her, or mock at how she looks. She turned to him and she could smell his aftershave. She lifted her head slowly, stressed of the unknown situation.

He put down the glass, touched her hair gently and held it back. She looked into his bright eyes, and saw it grow wider and brighter. "Oh… that's…" he just stared at her, speechless, for few moments and patted her hair. He just didn't know what to say or do, that was the first time he left such bruises on her. He noticed she was shaking again… probably because of the proximity between them. He lifted his other hand to touch her face and she flinched, thinking he would slap her. He caressed her cheek tenderly and calmed her down. She felt his breath and his body warmth. Eventually she stopped shaking and glanced at him calmly. There was a knock on the door, which got them out of the interaction. Helen turned to go for the door but the kommandant caught her arm.

"Nobody will see you until the bruises heal, stay in the house, understand?" she nodded and he bypassed her to go for the door.

She felt strange warmth inside her; she couldn't tell what it was.