Authors: Bella Costa
I have a few things working in my favour at the moment. First, I'm angry. Silently seething. As long as I can control this and keep it on a leash, I can use it to keep the fear at bay. It's easier to think rationally through controlled anger, than it is through fear. Second, the mental fog has lifted completely, leaving just a bad hangover. Clearly, I was drugged and it's possible my captors will drug me again. I need to avoid that at all costs.
I'm still trawling through the various aspects of my predicament, when I hear the first sign of life beyond the TV on the wall. Footsteps. Time to increase my advantage, and go on a fact-finding mission, before the battle of the bathroom commences.
Quickly lie back down on the mattress, keeping my breathing slow and measured. I want my captor to think I'm still unconscious. I leave my eyes open just a sliver.
I have heard it is normal for some people who are unconscious, or sleeping, to have their eyes open just a little. I have no idea if I do.
The door opens without the sound of a locking mechanism clicking over, and straight
away, I know that it hasn't been locked. Well I am handcuffed to the bath, so I suppose there is no need to lock the door. My eyelashes are in my way, obscuring my vision, but I can't risk opening my eyelids any further.
Cold fingers brush against my cheek, and I resist the urge to shudder in disgust. I hear a chuckle and a form moves into my narrow line of vision. Male, I think. Skinny. I can only see his back. I risk a proper peek. A skinny looking man - yes definitely a man, with thinning sandy brown hair- is fiddling with something over the sink. I can just
see his belt and above from over the top of the bath. I can't see any keys or phone pouches. He turns towards me and I narrow the slits in my eyelids again. I can just make out a sadistic, creepy grin, stretching his face, and small bloodshot eyes. He turns and leaves, and I wait at least two minutes, counting off the seconds after hearing the door close, before opening my eyes and sitting up.
A tray is balanced on the top of the sink and I kneel up to get a better look. Food.
I need to eat, I'm starving but I don't want to risk being drugged again. I study the food suspiciously. Bangers and mash with gravy, and a side plate with two large cookies. Well the bangers and mash would be too easy to slip something in. I study the cookies. Dry. No powdery residue. I have a small bite of cookie deciding to wait half an hour to see what happens. If I'm fine then I guess the cookies are good. I eye the glass of orange juice longingly. I will stick to water from the tap to drink. I watch the news for half an hour and decide the cookies are safe, so devour them.
In my windowless world, the only reference I have to night and day, is the television. I need to set, and keep, some kind of routine. It's close to midnight, and although I've been out of it most of the day, I need to get a proper drugless sleep, to keep my mental faculties working in top form. I roll a bandage of sorts around my tender wrist with toilet paper, to create a cushioning barrier between the handcuff and my raw skin, and try
to find the most comfortable position to sleep. I tune out the TV and bright lights, and slip off to sleep. Surprisingly quickly.
~.~
14th July
I wake feeling rested. The pain in my head is a dull, but manageable ache. I sit up and inspect my wrist, removing the toilet paper bandage.
It is raw and one small blister has broken and bled a little during the night. I climb out of the bath, use the toilet, and move the mattress so I can wash my hands and the skin on my wrist, scooping water over with my free hand. I take a long drink, and then settle myself back into the bath, to re-wrap my wrist. The newsreader is different from last night, a woman in her forties, with a sharp platinum bob and too much make up. She is discussing the breakdown in talks between the Palestinians and the Israeli's, with a political analyst. I finish up and get comfortable. Today I plan to be introduced to my captor. I don't have to wait long, before my sleazy looking jailer opens the bathroom door.
~.~
"Well, well. Good morning buttercup!" Skinny man leers at me.
I glare quietly at him. If I read him right last night - and I think I did - then I need to show him that I'm not afraid. But I also can't come across as aggressive either. So I sit with my knees up in front of me, sideways in the bath, my arms resting loosely on my knees. I'm thrumming the fingers of one hand on the edge of the bath rhythmically.
The cocky smile on his face falters a little, I note with pleasure. As I thought! He's one of those sadistic little bastards, who get pleasure out of seeing women cower in fear. If I'm right, he will
want
to hurt me, but he
won't.
Not unless provoked or I panic, so he can pretend that my frantic screaming and panic
required
restraint to calm me. He needs to be able to justify his actions to himself. I'm not going to panic, so he'll probably try and incite me. I need to make sure he doesn't succeed.
"Well, quiet this morning aren't we Missy? After the spectacular fight you put up yesterday." He leers at me again, but this time his eyes regard me cautiously. I'm not reacting as anticipated.
Fight?
I wish I could remember. It explains some of my injuries. He takes my tray and departs, leaving the door open. Opposite the door way is a plain white wall. I can't see anything else. He brings another tray, and places it on the basin.
"What did you drug me with?" I keep my voice low and steady.
"Rohypnol, the date rape drug of choice!" he laughs and cups his groin, as he grinds his hips at me. I pretend not to notice.
"Why?" I still, only my fingers working the enamel of the bath rhythmically.
"Someone has it in for you bad, baby doll. I don't question why, so long as I'm paid." He scratches his crotch.
Gross.
"Who?"
"Well now that would be telling. You'll find out soon enough. I believe he is coming to pay you a personal visit later." Skinny man is doing his dirty grinding thing again.
Yuk!
"How long will you keep me here?" My voice is still low and measured and my expression, flat and unchanging.
"Oh Buttercup, long enough that you and me will get to know each other,
real
good!" He leans down with his face not far from mine, and I have to hold my breath not to gag at the smell of his fetid mouth.
"I've been paid for a month in advance!" he laughs standing back up.
Shit, a month? That is a long, long time.
I resist the urge to shudder. A month, in here, like this? I won't make it!
"Well if that's the case, I need some stuff." I say calmly, maintaining eye contact. Time to prepare my defence and offence positions.
He gazes back at me, his face full of curiosity. "Like what? A hacksaw for the handcuffs?" he snorts, finding the thought hilarious.
"Maybe later, although I'd prefer the key," I sneer. "But let's start with more practical items. A first aid kit, for my arm. A towel and toiletries, so I can wash, brush my teeth and stuff.
"In fact, get a pen and paper, and write this down. I have allergies, and a trip to the emergency room, could result in you having to pay your advance back to your employer." I hold his gaze. I don't have allergies, but I am going to make looking after me, as difficult as possible for this arsehole, and hopefully not provoke him in the process.
He hesitates and then looking irritated, mutters something about getting a pen and paper. He's back in under a minute, and I don't wait for him to speak.
"Shampoo. It must be Burt's Bees Baby. Get two, because I use it as a body wash as well. I want the Dove Ultimate Clear deodorant stick. I want a tub of plain aqueous cream." I wait as he scribbles this down.
"I want bottle of baby oil and Nair Hair remover." He looks up at my last request
. "You can get me nice sharp razor blades instead if you want!" I chastise. His ears start to redden, but he scribbles down my request.
"I also want a Pro-enamel toothpaste, for sensitive teeth and a manual toothbrush, with medium bristles - including the little rubber polish bristles. Make sure it has a flexible head." The concentration on his face is almost comical now, but I keep my voice assertive.
"Advil Ibuprofen 200mg the Liqui-Gels - not tablets. Always Maxi Pads with wings – unscented please. I don't need thrush." The red spreads from his ears to his face and neck, but to his credit he keeps scribbling.
"Make that a box of 60. And I want a softer toilet tissue, the kind with Aloe Vera. Two large towels."
Skinny man shakes his hand out. Good, writer's cramp. Join me in my pain. I don't wait for him to catch up this time, forcing him to scurry on through the pain.
"I want a pillow – Memory foam, not feather, or I'll get hay fever and a blanket. It was cold last night. I don't want a cold or pneumonia
. I need comfortable, clean clothes and underwear. I'm sure an experienced man as you, will be able to figure out my size without too much trouble."
He finishes scribbling and looks at me with a pained expression.
"Is that all?"
"For now!
” I say calmly, and continue to gaze pointedly at him.
He shifts uncomfortably. "Um...where do I find the er
... 'Pads with wings' and the...'Nair'?" he asks, turning puce as he checks his list.
"You should be able to find everything at Walmart. Oh, and can I have the remote for the T.V. please?" I watch as his stance suddenly changes, and swiftly, the illusion of who's in control, visibly shifts back onto his side of the battlefield.
"No remote. The instructions are very clear. News channels only. I think he is expecting some news that he wants you to watch."
"Great, and I still don't get to know who 'he' is?" So Skinny Man is just a conscript. He will take orders from me, so long as the orders don't conflict with orders from his boss. That means I'm on the chain of command, just not at the top of it.
"No ma'am." I swear he is almost apologetic. Big tough guy like this? It's almost too easy. I'll need to remember not to press my luck.
"Fine, I would get going. I needed some of that stuff yesterday." I order. The irony of me giving orders to my captor doesn't go unnoticed.
He mutters under his breath and shuffles out, closing the door behind him, and despite my predicament, I struggle not to burst out laughing. In fact, I'm still grinning when I climb out the bath, to inspect the tray of food he's brought me. I'm not going to fool myself into thinking I'll get out of this lightly, or even get out at all. But for the moment, I'll allow myself to enjoy my first little victory.
I have two
hard-boiled eggs, buttered toast, a banana and a 'now cold' coffee. I ignore the coffee, but decide to take my chances with the food. I'm sure if his plan was to keep me drugged, he would be a little cockier and the drug is more likely to be in the drink.
I sit on the edge of the bath, eating my breakfast and watching the news, safe in the knowledge that I won't be disturbed for at least two hours, as my jailer scurries around Walmart on a Sunday morning, looking for my items. I wonder what clothes and underwear he will bring me.
The newsreader, advises me that she is crossing to a colleague for the Entertainment and Celebrity news. Yeah, Yeah. Same old B.S. I take a bite of my toast and gasp, almost choking.
Plastered across the screen behind the smiling young brunette, is an alarming close up, of a very dishevelled, drunk looking and painfully
haunted, Chayton. His white dress shirt is open at the front, and his eyes are bloodshot and unfocused. Hair tumbles wildly about his face. A hand is raised, to ward off the photographer, so his mouth is hidden.
Oh no!
"The reclusive C.J. Donavan, was caught in a display of drunkenness last night, outside The Red, nightclub in Bellevue. Rumour has it, that he made a scene outside a prominent restaurant in Seattle on Friday night as well. He was overheard repeating the words 'She's gone. She's left me.'
repeatedly to himself. Ladies, we didn't know our favourite and most elusive bachelor was taken, but it seems that he is not only back on the market, but back to his old 'bad boy' ways as well. Meanwhile..." The picture disappears from the TV screen, but the details are burned painfully onto my memory.
Suddenly, I am aware that there is a world outside of these four walls. The TV
is not just a box of pictures and voices for entertainment.
Shit.
I was meant to meet Chayton on Friday night, to give him my answer. I never arrived. He must think...Oh
my God. No! No. No. No!
Oh Chayton baby. I haven't left you. Oh please, no.
The pain, the agony on his face-because of me. How can I make it go away? How I can I tell him it's not true. I climb into the bath, and wrap myself up small, and sob. Huge, wet, rupturing sobs that go on and on, until my eyes are raw and scratchy, and my throat hurts, and my chest is heaving and aching from the effort. Poor, poor Chayton. I need to find a way back to him - to stop his pain.