needles.
“Here.” He handed her the key. “Do your ankles. Like last time.”
Sheila bent forward, and her back was instantly on fire from the sudden movement. It took all her willpower not to shriek. She was dizzy from the exertion when she finally got her legs free.
Handing the key back to Ethan, she moved her legs slowly over the edge of the bed, pausing a moment to let the blood circulate. Using small, deliberate movements, she stood up and began shuffling toward the bathroom. Her muscles felt like Jell-O. Looking down, she could see the angry welts on her bare ankles that matched her chafed wrists.
If she could have walked faster, she would have, the urge to urinate was so strong. Ethan followed behind her, the gun in his hand. As she turned down the hallway toward the bathroom, she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if she suddenly whipped around. Could she disarm Ethan if she took him by surprise? If she did, then what? She’d have no trouble putting a bullet in his head, but what good would that do? She’d still be stuck in this modern-day dungeon. The door had a keypad and she didn’t know the code to get out.
Maybe she could use the gun to torture it out of him. Shoot one limb at a time. It was a lovely thought.
“Holy slow, Batman,” Ethan drawled behind her.
She made it to the bathroom. Like the rest of the basement, the small room had no windows and was completely done in white-white toilet, white sink, white walls, white floors, white tub, everything perfectly clean. The smell of disinfectant was strong, which didn’t surprise her. Ethan was a germaphobe.
Sheila pulled her dry diaper down to her ankles. She lifted the toilet lid and sat down. Almost instantly, the bathroom filled with the pungent odor of urine that had been marinating far too long.
Ethan watched from the doorway, amused. Sheila couldn’t have cared less. She sighed. This was the closest to contentment she’d felt in a long time. After a full minute, her bladder finally flexed out the last drop.
Then, as if to punctuate being finished, she farted.
The sound echoed loudly in the ceramic bowl. She felt her face grow hot.
“Jesus Christ.” Ethan laughed, his face a blend of amusement and mild disgust. “Excuse you.”
“Sorry.” Her hands flew to her face. It was ridiculous to be embarrassed about a fart-after all, she was being kept here against her will, and what could be worse than having to urinate in adult diapers?-but she was ashamed nonetheless.
And when the smell hit, she was mortified.
“Holy fuck.” Ethan clapped a hand over his nose. “Don’t tell me you’re about to take a shit.”
As if on cue, her bowels cramped.
“Yes,” she said, doubling over. She couldn’t look at him. There seemed to be no limit to how much humiliation a person could take.
The thing was, she hadn’t pooped since she’d been here. It was no surprise; she was hardly eating anything. She wondered now if Ethan had been slipping something else into her water along with the sedatives. This was the first time she’d felt the urge.
“This is so gross.” Ethan’s T-shirt was pulled up over his nose, exposing an inch of flat, hard stomach. His muffled voice was filled with glee under the fabric of the shirt. She knew he was laughing at her.
“Can you get out of here, please?” The cramping was becoming painful and urgent. She didn’t think she could hold it in much longer.
He moved back a few inches. “I’ll leave for a minute, but the door stays open and I’m right outside.”
“No, please.” Sheila had to go so badly she was shaking. Her hands were clammy on her naked thighs. “Close the door, Ethan. Please.”
While he stood there contemplating her request, her bowels spasmed painfully, and she had no choice but to let it out. The room filled with the stench of fresh shit.
“Jesus Christ!” Ethan jumped back so quickly he almost fell over. “You fucking disgusting cunt!” Holding one hand over his nose, he reached into the bathroom to turn on the overhead fan.
Sheila stared up at him from the toilet seat, her hair hanging over her face. Rivulets of sweat ran down her temples. Her bowels continued to cramp and she knew it was far from over. He was looking at her with such shock and disgust that, despite her abdominal pain, she couldn’t resist a chuckle.
“Well, what did you expect? I’ve been here for days, you cocksucker.” Sheila grunted again. “I’m not done. I suggest you get the fuck out.”
The door slammed shut. Sheila was finally alone in the bathroom.
It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. How strange, she thought, that someone who was perfectly capable of killing people and hacking their corpses into little pieces could be disgusted by something like pooping. After all, everybody had an asshole. It made no sense.
“Flush the fucking toilet!” Ethan yelled from behind the door.
“I’m not fucking done!” she yelled back, even though she was.
“Courtesy flush! And hurry the fuck up!”
Quite possibly the world’s stupidest conversation. What did he think she was going to do? There was nowhere to go, no way to escape. She wiped herself and flushed, then flushed again for good measure. Feeling almost 100 percent better, she put her diaper back on.
Turning on the faucets, Sheila let the water run into the small sink. She quickly opened the cabinet doors of the vanity, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. There was a roll of toilet paper and a hotel-size bar of soap. Nothing that could kill Ethan.
She ran her hands and wrists under the warm water, sucking in a breath as her welts began to sting. She lathered them with the soap, gritting her teeth as they burned, then rinsed and washed her face. Grabbing a paper towel, she patted her face dry and caught a glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror.
And almost fell over. The face staring back at her was barely recognizable.
Her hair was stringy with oil and dried sweat. The strands hung limply in uneven waves. Her complexion, normally flawless thanks to a militant skin-care regimen, was ashy, a shade she couldn’t totally attribute to the harsh bathroom lighting. Dark hollows under her eyes looked an inch deep, and her forehead had grooves she’d never seen before. Her full lips were dry and cracked and covered in small brown scabs. Dried white spittle had congregated at the corners of her mouth. Her eyebrows were unplucked and messy.
She’d aged twenty years since she’d last seen herself.
The door swung open.
“Are you finished?” Ethan stood in the doorway, his face turned to the side. He didn’t seem to want to look at her. He was rubbing his hands with the liquid sanitizer he always kept in his pocket, and she rolled her eyes. He hadn’t even touched her and already he felt dirty. “Get the fuck out already.”
“Can I take a shower?” She turned away from the mirror, unable to look at her reflection. “Please?”
Judging by the look on his face, he clearly thought her question was insane.
“Ethan, come on. I haven’t bathed in a week. There’s soap here. Please.”
“I’ll think about it. But right now, come the fuck out.”
She wiped her hands once more with the paper towel and tossed it into the trash, then stepped out of the bathroom. He took her by the elbow, gun in hand, and yanked her back toward the bed.
She cringed at the sight of the chains and handcuffs.
“Don’t strap me in.” She twisted around to try to get away from him. “Please, Ethan. Look at my wrists. I’m not going anywhere. Don’t strap me in.”
He pushed her onto the bed. “No. I don’t need the headache.”
“Where am I going to go?” She held out her wounded wrists. “This place is a jail cell. Do you think I can hurt you? You outweigh me by at least fifty pounds, and you have a gun.”
He pointed the barrel at her. “Put the cuffs on.”
Sheila picked up a handcuff but didn’t fasten it. The steel felt cold against her bare leg. “Come on, even if I could hurt you, how am I going to get out? You’ve got this place locked up like Fort Knox. I can’t get out without the codes.”
His face was like stone. She softened her voice and tried a different tactic. “Ethan, you’re in control here. You’re the boss. I’m not going anywhere. Let me at least sit on the sofa when you’re not here and use the bathroom when I need to. Let me have some measure of dignity. What difference does it make? Let me feel human before I die.”
