seemed like a perfectly nice guy.
“Rose,” he said in a conversational tone, “did you fuck him?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Good.” He dropped the rag back into the bowl with a plop. Water splashed over my knee and onto the floor. “What about that guy from the band, the one with the holes in his ears? I saw him outside your apartment, along with the lawyer the other night. Were you doing both of them at the same time?”
“No.”
He reached out and stroked my hair. “You’re so beautiful. Every man wants you, Rose. Even Eric.”
“Steve,” I said, phrasing my words carefully. “Eric is just my friend.”
His hand left my hair and strayed to my neck, which was still bruised from the other night’s fiasco. “I know. But he wants to be so much more.” He brushed his thumb over my collar bone. “I drove by and saw you at his house. I looked through the window and watched the two of you hug and kiss.”
“I don’t remember—”
“That was the night I broke into your apartment. I was so upset you let him hold you like that. I regret my lack of self-control.”
I suddenly felt very cold. Kidnapping me, hitting me, tying me up in his basement — that wasn’t a lack of self-control?
“I forgive you. Maybe if you untie me, we can talk like two people. Like Rose and Steve,” I said, as casually as I could manage.
“Right. I went to all this trouble to get you here and I’m just going to untie you?” He pushed his face toward mine, his eyes hard behind his lenses, his lips compressed. “Do not treat me like a fool.”
Panic started to rise and I thought I might start hyperventilating. I inhaled as slowly as I could, then exhaled. “I won’t. But why am I here, Steve?”
He ran a finger along my bruised jaw. “I want to give you the chance to get to know me. You never gave me a chance. There are things I want you to know. Things I want to say to you.”
“I want to get to know you,” I said as sincerely as I could muster.
He smiled. “Good. We’ll have lots of time together.”
It hit me then that he didn’t intend for me to ever leave. He would never let me go. He’d either kill me or keep me a prisoner in this basement forever. I felt tears sting my eyes and blinked rapidly to keep them from falling.
I wanted to keep him talking. Knowledge was power, I reminded myself. “You can say anything to me, Steve.”
He sat back on his heels and regarded me with steady eyes. “No,” he said after several minutes, “I don’t think you’re ready to listen yet.” He picked up his bowl and left. I heard a lock slam into place.
Hours passed. The pain in my face dulled to throbbing ache. When he came back it was still dark out. This time he brought a bottle of water, a handful of tissues, and an empty bowl. “I figured you might need to go to the little girl’s room,” he said, setting the bowl on the floor.
I held out my hands for him to untie me. My stomach clenched. How was I going to subdue him and get out of here with my feet bound? I didn’t know, but this might be my chance to get free.
“No.” He smiled. “I’ll help you.”
I didn’t want him touching me, let alone see me with my pants down. But I had to pee, so I decided to suck it up. Since he’d last left, I had resolved to do whatever it took to stay alive. I knew it would get much worse than this. My only goal was survival.
I focused on a crack in the wall as he unfastened my jeans and yanked them down. Although he seemed clinical and detached from the whole process, having him touch me like that was the most humiliating moment of my life.
When it was over, he unscrewed the water bottle and held it to my mouth. I eagerly drank a third of the bottle, dribbling a little on my chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. Then he left, taking the bottle and the pee bowl with him.
I managed to doze off and on, but awoke every time my chin dipped toward my chest.
I kept an eye on the window. It was too small to crawl through, and we were too far below ground to actually see anything but tall grass, but I could tell it wasn’t as dark now, and slowly, light crept into the room.
Steve came down again with the bottle of water in one hand and a small white pill in the other. “This is a sleeping pill. Open up.”
I clamped my mouth shut, my jaw screaming at me the entire time.
“If you don’t take this I’m going to have to knock you out again.”
I quickly thought about another knock to my jaw and decided to take the pill. I opened my mouth and he gently placed it on my tongue. Then he gave me a sip of water and pinched my nose. I held the water in my mouth until I ran out of breath. I swallowed, then sputtered and coughed.
“I’m going to leave the bottle here with the cap off,” he said, setting it down next to me. “Do you need to use the restroom before I leave?”
I hastily shook my head. “Where are you going?”
“To work, of course.”
He left and slid the lock into place.
Fifteen minutes. That’s about all I had before the pill would hit me. I scooted my butt backwards until my back hit the wall next to the door.
Sharp needles dug into my hands and feet. Ignoring the pain, I pressed my back against the wall, and using my feet, pushed myself to a standing position. Then I began bending my legs, shaking my bootie, straightening my bound hands over my head. Anything to keep the pill from working. I did this until my muscles ached. A thin film of perspiration covered me, sweat pooling around my bound wrists. I felt the drug making me sluggish, sleepy.
I needed to keep my body moving.
Out of breath, I slid back to the floor, sitting in the butterfly position, with my bound feet pulled as close to my butt as I could manage, my knees slightly spread. I began trying to work the knot at my ankles. Whenever I felt myself drifting off, I hit my face. Hard. The pain helped keep me focused.
I drifted between a groggy state of exhaustion and a jittery state of panic. The shadows moved over the floor and I knew it must be afternoon. I didn’t know how much more time I had left, but I had to get these damn knots undone before Steve came back.
I needed to break the glass in the window and use a shard to cut through the cords, but I had nothing to stand on. The light bulb, however, wasn’t that far above my head. If I jumped, I could reach it. Maybe bat it with my hands. Whack hard enough, maybe I could smash it against the ceiling.
I shimmied my way up the wall again and took a second to let my legs and feet get past the pain and prickling sensations. Then with all the concentration I could muster — which was not much, because, dear Lord, I was so tired — I hopped to the middle of the room and jumped as high as I could, my arms over my head swinging at the light bulb pinata.
It took four tries, but I got it swaying back and forth. Like playing tether ball in grade school, I had to jump and swat at just the right time.
It was so close to hitting the ceiling, but missed by just a hair. I kept at it. Jump, hit, jump, hit. Over and over.
I didn’t break it against the ceiling. It finally broke by banging into the metal hook on the bungee cord. Sparks flew, and so did little shards of glass. Turning my head, I covered my face with my upraised arms to avoid getting cut.
Yes, I had done it! Now I just had to saw the cord off my wrists. I sank back to the floor and found a shard that was about an inch and a half long. Sitting in the butterfly position again, I wedged the shard in between the coils around my ankles. I cut my hand in the process, but didn’t care.
I tried to saw through the cord at my wrists quickly, but broke the delicate glass. Muttering a string of swear words, I picked up another shard, and pulled the bungee cord against it more slowly this time. I checked my progress. The cord was slightly frayed. It took patience, but eventually, I made it halfway through the cord.
With every ounce of strength I possessed, I tried to pull my hands apart. Still, nothing. Back to rubbing.
