FIVE

BELLA

The first thing he said to me was, “Cut that out.” The sound of his voice was enough to make me scream all the louder. He’d left me alone for God knows how long, then he expected me not to scream when he came back?

I’d been dragged out of the car and into a house hours earlier. I could tell I was inside, but where I was beyond that, I had no idea. I’d been in the car forever, the heat almost killing me. It was baking hot and the car drove and drove. By the time it finally stopped, my throat was so dry, I couldn’t scream, I could only wheeze and croak as the boot was opened and I was hoisted out.

I could hear little above my own gasping breath. There was a breeze and the wind hit my naked body, something about it told me it was night time. I tried to fight but my limbs were screaming from being thrown about in the boot for so long. I did my best but within a few seconds I heard a door slamming. The wind had died. I wasn’t outside any longer. Any hope I’d had of someone noticing me was gone.

I felt certain I was going to die. Another door opened as I began to sob, pathetic tears of impotent fury at the sheer unfairness of what was happening to me. I’d done nothing wrong. I didn’t deserve this. Worst was not getting to say goodbye. What if they never found my body? What if no one ever knew what had happened to me?

I felt the cold metal of something on my wrist. It had to be a knife. This was it. He was going to slit my wrist. He was going to stab me, he was going to do it. There was a flick of the knife and the plastic strap holding my hands together broke apart. I tried to lash out with my hand but he caught my wrist with ease, twisting something rough around it, some kind of rope. He forced my other hand down as I twisted and fought against him. I had strength I didn’t know I had, adrenaline coursing through me as I wrenched my arm upwards. With a grunt he grabbed it and yanked it down, almost pulling it from the socket as he got it tied within seconds.

I was laid on my front, the knife pressing into my ankles before I knew what was happening. He wasn’t going to kill me. He was going to do something else. Oh, fuck, I thought, realising I was being tied on my front. There could only be one reason for that.

But nothing happened. My limbs were bound, my face pressed into musty cotton, but that was it. He didn’t do it. I listened hard through my own laboured breathing. He was moving away. There was a creak of stairs and then a door closing. He’d gone.

I fought harder than I ever had to free myself, the ropes digging into my skin as I yanked at the bonds holding me in place. All I got for my troubles was scraped skin and bruises that were ache and throb more and more over the next few hours.

I don’t know how long I was alone for. All I know was that he came back at some point. In the darkness before that happened, I could do nothing but think.

When I was six years old, my aunt forgot to collect me from school. I was waiting with the teacher for her to arrive but she just didn’t appear. In the end I was taken back inside and told to sit quietly in the classroom. I sat for a while and waited, and waited. Eventually I got bored and started wandering. I noticed the stationery cupboard was open and decided to explore it. I had barely got inside when the door clicked shut behind me. I couldn’t get it open again. The feeling when I rattled the door, the certainty that I’d starve to death in there, never to be found, it hit me in the gut and terrified the living hell out of me. I curled up on the floor, amongst the highlighters and gluepots, feeling utterly lost.

The worst thing was when the light went out. Someone outside had switched them off, probably the caretaker. I went from terrified to beyond scared, the darkness so overwhelming in there.

That was how I felt, tied to that bed. Beyond scared. Back then, my aunt turned up, the teacher and her looked for me and found me in the end, my aunt wiping the snot from my face as I sobbed into her shoulder. No one was turning up to save me this time. All I had was the numbness of despair, the certainty that I was going to die, alone and apart from everyone I’d ever known.

So when he appeared again, opening the door and descending to the sound of my screams, even though I was terrified, a tiny part of me was grateful. I wasn’t alone anymore. It was ridiculous to even think that way but I did, even as my throat burned with dryness, my heart pounding in my chest, I felt gratitude that another human being was with me, even though it was him.

“Cut that out,” he said, which made me scream all the louder. “I said cut that out.” He was closer, by my side. “You either stop screaming or there’ll be trouble.”

He was going to kill me. I was sure of it. It was the coldness of his voice that told me this was my last chance. I had to get free. I yanked at the bonds holding me in place and as I did so, his hand suddenly slapped down on my ass. I couldn’t believe it. I was in shock. The screams died on my lips. Had that just happened?

The pain in my ass told me it had. He had spanked me like I was an unruly child, not a woman fighting for her life. I fought all the harder and began to scream again and then he knelt on me, holding me in place, his hand falling on my ass so many times I lost count. A burning pain spread across my buttocks, not just physical but mental, the product of feeling utterly helpless, unable to get away from what he was doing to me.

In the end, my cries died away. I didn’t have any breath left in my lungs. My ass was in agony, as were the tops of my thighs. There wasn’t an inch of my buttocks that didn’t burn with pain. I sobbed into the bag as the weight on the back of my legs lifted.

“That’s better,” he said, his voice colder than ever. I started screaming again but his words cut me off. “If you keep quiet, I’ll take the bag off. Scream and I’ll spank you again. I can do this all day to an ass like yours.”

Was he not going to kill me? Was he just playing some sick game? I managed to hold my screams in, crying quietly instead, wishing the burning in my ass would fade, the stinging tingling of my nerves impossible to ignore, putting me more on edge than ever.

I felt his hand by my neck. Was he going to strangle me? He loosened the drawstring on the bag, tugging it up and off my head. My eyes burned with pain, the light too much to take at first. Twisting my head, I blinked until I could see clearly and then I saw him. It took a second to place that face and then I realised who it was. “I know you,” I said, unable to believe that I had been kidnapped by my new neighbour.