ROSA

 

 

I woke up afraid. I had nothing to be afraid of. I was in my bedroom. The door was locked. There were no monsters under the bed. But I was afraid.

I wanted to go back to sleep but my brain was wired, like I’d drunk a dozen coffees, maybe more. I tried not to think of anything, to let my mind relax. It didn’t happen. It was running through all the ways I’d screwed things up.

There was a man out there. A man who had shown an interest in me. No, more than an interest. He’d wanted me. He was handsome, strong, confident, all the things I ever wanted, clever, witty, warm.

He had taken me into his confidence, shown me his secrets, taught me things about myself. But he’d gone too far.

I should have known at the interview, the way he’d made me wear a swimsuit like some misogynist dinosaur and I’d let him do it. I’d said yes.

Then there were my housemates. I wouldn’t have agreed to it without them showing me Secretary, making it look so appealing, so naughty. Emma was the worst of them, part of the reason why I couldn’t speak to her last night. If she hadn’t made me say yes to the assignment, I wouldn’t have gone, I’d have left when the danger signs came at least.

Spanked by him, like a piece of meat for his pleasure. Then a collar on like I was an animal, belonging to him, not even a person.

Then fucking me and not even caring afterwards, sending me to my room.

I should have been glad it was over. I should have been relaxed, happy to be home, safe at least. I could work on earning money somehow, I didn’t need this.

I should have been happy.

So why did I feel so afraid?

I had no idea why such tension was running through me. He couldn’t get me, he was miles away, probably pulling the next woman into the Rose room and running through the same speech.

A series of images ran through my head. The way I’d felt when he took photos of me, the way he made me feel so beautiful, the feel of his hand on the back of my neck, the touch of his lips against mine, our bodies pressing together, the steam, the sweat, the heat. His hand making my ass sting. The cafe, me at the window, wanting only to please him, wanting people to see.

That was the awful truth. I wanted to be seen. I wanted to be humiliated. What did that say about me? How screwed up must I be to have wanted that?

In the clothes shop, the most intense orgasm ever. Then him in my mouth, yards away from unsuspecting shoppers, the way he’d looked as I gave him pleasure.

I’d never see that look again. I’d run. I’d ruined things.

No, they all ruined them. Without them I would have been fine. I shouldn’t have listened to anyone. I should have taken a temp job and put my dreams to bed. Dreams were for children, not adults. Adults should accept that the world isn’t roses and fun, it’s grind and work and that’s the truth about life.

I wanted to go back to sleep but I couldn’t. I groped out of the blankets for my phone, knowing it was somewhere on the bedside table, it always was.

I wanted to know the time. I wanted to know if I could justify staying hidden in bed any longer or if I needed to get up and start my job hunt.

I grabbed the phone, pulling it towards me as I stuck my head out into the open. Looking down my hand, I frowned. That wasn’t my phone. Mine was silver in a battered pink case that was two days from falling apart. This was sleek, black, and it was…

It was the phone he’d given me at the cafe. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

This was the phone he’d given me to send messages, to tell me what to do. And if this was his phone then that meant that my phone was…?

Double shit. Triple shit.

I thought about when I’d last seen it. I’d taken the photo of the Rose room and then I’d thrown it under the bed and that meant it was there and that meant there was no way of getting it back.

I’d have to buy a new one. When I could afford it, anyway. I wasn’t ever speaking to him again. I couldn’t bear the thought of it.

He’d ask why I ran and I didn’t have an answer. Because I was afraid.

The reason for my fear hit me in that moment. I was afraid because I’d liked it. I was afraid that if I’d stayed, I’d have become someone I didn’t recognise. That was what he’d said his training did but I had no clue he meant that. That person wasn’t me. I was me, this scared woman with his phone in her hand, his phone that just beeped into life.

I looked down at it. A text message had arrived.

 

Your phone will available to collect from Mr Spencer’s office at noon today. - Sally.

 

His secretary. He was probably fucking her. He was probably fucking half the population of the country, all of them laughing at me for running away like a coward.

I got up. I needed advice and from the sound of the TV next door, I knew where to find it.

I wrapped myself up in my dressing gown, scowling at my slippers for not easily accepting my feet. “You have one job,” I said as I hopped on the spot, squeezing my heels in. “Still, that’s one more than me.”

Emma was in the living room, the TV on an eighties cartoon. “I never understood why they wanted to fight crime,” she said as I walked in, nodding at the screen. “If I was a turtle, I’d be off to the Bahamas or something.”

“Did you just tell the Teenage Mutant turtles to go back to their own country?”

“I don’t know, did I?”

I sank onto the battered sofa which creaked under me. Like most of the furniture in the house, it had seen better days. How many tenants had sat and complained on it over the years?

“Are turtles even from the Bahamas?” Emma asked, turning the volume down a little. “Where are turtles from?”

“Can I ask you something, Emma?”

She muted the sound, shifting in place to face me. “What’s up? I didn’t want to ask but…”

“But I came home early last night and refused to speak to anyone?”

“Yeah, you did do that, didn’t you?”

“You noticed then?”

“Course I did. Is everything all right? He didn’t…you know?”

“What?”

“I don’t know. What did he do?”

“How do you know it’s about him?”

She smiled, reaching out and putting her hand on top of mine. “Because you look as if you’ve drunk a gallon of poison and then asked for another round.”

“That good?”

“I’m only saying this because I’m your housemate and I love you but you look bloody awful.”

“Thanks. That means a lot.”

“It’s what I’m here for. One question, did you get enough for the article before you ran home?”

“Sort of.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell her I no longer wanted to write it, she looked so excited in that moment.

“Get any juicy photos?”

“Maybe, listen, Emma-”

“Fantastic. Can I see?”

“That’s the problem. I lost my phone.”

“You didn’t look very far. It’s in your hand.”

“This isn’t my phone.”

“Then whose is it?”

“Well, it is mine. No it’s not mine. It sort of is.”

“It sort of is? Rosa, you’re not making a lot of sense.”

I rubbed my eyes, leaning back and groaning. “I left my phone there. He gave me this one but the photos are on mine.”

“Can you get it back?”

“I’m supposed to be picking it up at noon.”

“Then that’s fine. Now, are you going to tell me what happened while you were there or do I have to wait to read it when the next edition is in the shops?”

She really wanted the article. I didn’t feel I could let her down. He was supposed to have taught me to be confident. Why couldn’t I even stand up to Emma and say, I’m not writing the article. I’m not admitting that I liked the disgusting things he made me do. I’m not happy that you made me go to him. I said nothing about any of those things. I just smiled and agreed to show her the photo when I got back.

“What’s it a photo of?” she asked as I got up. “Does he have a playroom? Did you get to see it?”

I gave her a very watered down version of what happened. I told her he’d shown me some things that would make a good article but I didn’t mention what he’d done to me, just that he’d made me feel uncomfortable.

“Do you want me to go get the phone?” she asked when I was finished.

“No, I’ll get it. I doubt he’ll be there anyway. It was his secretary who sent the message.”

“Then get it, bring it back and we’ll make him pay for making you uncomfortable. No one does that to my housemate except me when I sit on her for refusing to move off my armchair.”

“I still have the bruises from that.”

“Are you saying I have a bony bum?”

“I’m not saying anything.”

She gave me a mock scowl. “You’re lucky I’m in a forgiving mood.”

Would she forgive me if I didn’t give her the article? If I couldn’t pay the rent and we all got thrown out? Or would they just boot me out and get another housemate?

I headed back to my bedroom to get dressed. That hadn’t gone exactly how I’d planned but at least I knew what to do next.

I would go and collect my phone. I would bring it home and have a proper talk with Emma. I would then scrub Jamie Spencer from my brain and forget about him. I wasn’t the right person for someone like him anyway. He needed someone much more submissive than me, someone brave enough to do the things he commanded. That person wasn’t me. I wasn’t brave. I wasn’t special. I was just another notch on his bedpost and he could laugh about me while seducing the next one.

The next one.

The thought of it made me feel sick. What was worse was knowing I only had myself to blame for this. I had my shot and I’d blown it. I’d run back to my ordinary life because it was all I deserved and all I knew how to cope with.

I chose the most casual thing I could find. What did it matter what I looked like now? I picked out a Bazinga tee-shirt, blue jeans and trainers. That would do. I was only collecting a phone.

I sat brushing my hair for a while, telling myself it didn’t matter. In a couple of weeks I’d have forgotten all about him.

That kind of intensity wasn’t for me. If I had to do things like that to become a journalist, maybe journalism wasn’t for me either.

Once my hair was done, I sat with Emma for a while, drinking coffee and watching her cartoons, not really paying attention to anything. I did my best not to feel nervous but as time ticked by, my heart started to flutter.

What if he’s there?

Stop it, I told myself. Whether he’s there or not doesn’t matter. You are collecting your phone and coming home again. That’s it.

“I’m off,” I said as it came up to half eleven and the noise of a taxi horn outside drowned out the TV for a moment. “Wish me luck.”

“Have a turtly good time.”

“Thanks.”