Chapter Forty-Seven
Some time later, I hear the door to the other room opening, on the opposite side of the top floor. I hold my breath, waiting.
I’m standing beside the locked door to my prison, my old bedroom, flat against the wall. Dominic is asleep on the mattress, his face grey with exhaustion. I had to wait ages until he fell asleep after we’d finished having sex, and nearly gave up hope of it happening. But eventually his breathing slowed, his body relaxed against mine and he slipped away into dreamland.
I then spent some minutes slowly and gently disentangling myself from his body without waking him, and crawled to the door. It was still locked and bolted from the outside, of course. But I knew either Jasmine or one of my parents would come and check on us early. They would be expecting him to need the toilet, at the very least.
I was hoping it would not be Dad who came first. He’s always been the hardest to fool.
My luck is in.
Jasmine creeps across the landing from the other bedroom. There’s a tentative knock. ‘Dominic?’
I wait a few seconds, then knock back.
Twice.
Exactly the same knock Dominic gave in the night, when he called her to the door. Some kind of signal, I’m guessing. And pathetically easy to crack.
Jasmine unbolts the door, unlocks it and then opens it a few careful inches.
Before she’s aware what’s happening, I’m out of the door, one hand over her mouth, the other holding her still.
She struggles, her eyes alarmed, making a muffled noise behind my hand.
‘You want me to break your neck, Jasmine?’ I hiss in her ear.
She stops struggling, meeting my gaze, then shakes her head. There’s genuine fear in her face. I wonder what they’ve told her about me. More than she knew before last night, clearly.
‘Good call,’ I say, still in a whisper. ‘Now shut the door. Quietly.’
Shakily, she obeys me, her eyes fixed on my face.
‘Lock it again.’
Jasmine swallows, and then turns the key in the lock. It clicks loudly, and I stiffen, listening. But there’s no sound from inside.
Dominic is still out of it. And no surprise, the way he hammered away at me. And standing, too. No wonder they call it a knee-trembler. He must need a full day’s sleep after that workout.
‘Now,’ I say softly, ‘back up. Into the bedroom.’
Again, she obeys me, but awkwardly, stumbling into the door frame, watching me the whole time.
Inside the bedroom, I knee the door shut, then look into her eyes.
‘I can hurt you if I need to,’ I say, and mean it. ‘Hurt you badly, and not think twice about it. Nod if you understand me.’
She nods, her eyes wide.
‘I’m going to let go of you. But if you make a sound, if you try anything, you’re going to need surgery. I hope I’m making myself clear?’
Again, she nods.
Slowly, watching for any sudden movements, I release her. Jasmine backs against the wall, watching me, not even attempting to escape.
Scared shitless, in other words.
I smile.
‘Now, turn around. Hands behind your back.’ She starts to say something, but I hold my finger up to my lips. ‘Hush.’
She turns around, trembling, instantly obedient.
I rummage through my bottom drawer for a long scarf. The thin black one I wear to work is perfect. I tie her wrists together, tight enough to be a little uncomfortable. Then I spin her around so she almost falls, and catch her, grinning at her horrified expression.
‘Right,’ I say. ‘Where are good old Mum and Dad? Still in bed?’
‘I don’t know.’ She hesitates. ‘Probably.’
‘What time did they go to bed?’
‘Three o’clock? Later? I’m sorry, I don’t know. They were talking for ages.’ She’s babbling, getting hysterical. ‘What are you going to do?’ Her gaze flashes down to my nudity, then back to my face. ‘You know you . . . you don’t have any clothes on, don’t you?’
‘What?’
I look down at myself, pretending to be shocked. Then laugh, and remove a thick, fabric scarf from the bottom drawer.
‘Open wide,’ I tell her.
‘Sorry?’
‘Time you were gagged.’ I laugh again, nudging her. ‘Like last night, remember? Your Scrabble word. GAGGED.’
But she just stares at me, not laughing, her mouth slightly open. So I wind the thick scarf twice about her head, making sure her mouth is covered, and knot it at the back. I test it for wriggle room, but it’s secure. I could silence her more effectively, I suppose. But I don’t want to make a mess. Not in my own bedroom.
Besides, by the time she’s managed to raise the alarm and free Dominic, I’ll be long gone. With any luck.
‘Sit,’ I tell her, like she’s a dog.
She backs slowly onto the desk chair. I use more scarfs and a couple of Dominic’s leather belts to make sure she can’t escape. Not without taking the whole damn chair with her. I smile, imagining her attempting the stairs, still strapped to a chair.
‘Now listen, Jasmine, no doing anything stupid and breaking your neck,’ I tell her sternly, checking the bonds. ‘Okay? Promise? They’ll only blame it on me if you get killed, and then I’ll be really cross. I’m sure that’s something you want to avoid.’
She says nothing.
I straighten and check myself in the mirror. God, I look wild. Hair in a mess, bruises on my arms and legs, my face flushed with excitement.
And naked.
‘You’re right,’ I say, grinning, and open the wardrobe. ‘I need clothes. Can’t go around like this all day. I’ll get arrested.’
I begin to dress, then stop suddenly, frowning over the mushroom-coloured skirt I’ve automatically selected from the range hanging in the wardrobe.
‘God, what in the name of holy shit is this?’ I toss it aside and flick through the rest of the skirts hanging up. ‘Dull, dull, dull. Too long, too brown, too . . . grim. And what is this frilly thing? It looks like she wears it to church.’ I shake my head, swinging round to glare at Jasmine. ‘Doesn’t Cat have any clothes that aren’t boring as shit?’