by Matt Shaw
I don’t want to answer. I don’t want to be there ‘this evening’. I was still trying to figure a way out of this predicament.
“I don’t mind, you pick. It’s more romantic.”
He looks puzzled. Was that pushing it too far? In some films I’ve seen, the men ordered the food for the ladies when they frequented fine restaurants. I guess he hasn’t seen the same films as me, his film choice probably not straying too far from ‘The Texas Chainsaw
Massacre’.
“Do you like Tuna?” he asked.
Not really, but I don’t care. I won’t be here this evening, as I keep telling myself.
“Sure.”
“I’ll make some Tuna steaks with some potatoes, if you’d like.”
“That sounds lovely,” I lied once more. Once more, we were back to silence. ‘He doesn’t trust me as it is, so why am I so scared of asking the wrong questions,’ I thought to myself, ‘just ask him.’
“Why me?” I asked.
“What?”
“Why me? Out of everyone you meet in your life, why did you choose me to be your girlfriend?” A question I thought deserved an answer. Perhaps I could convince him that he doesn’t need to keep me prisoner to be his partner. I might be able to convince him that our relationship would blossom even if I were allowed back to work.... Back to my mum and dad.
“You were the only one to say ‘yes’,” came his reply.
Who said ‘romance was dead’?
“There’ve been other ladies?” I asked.
“A few.”
“How many is ‘a few’?”
“Just because there were more before you, it doesn’t mean that I don’t love you.”
I ignored him, how many other women did he put through this?
“How many?” I repeated.
“Fourteen.”
“I’m the fourteenth?”
“No.”
“I’m the fifteenth?” I couldn’t believe it. Fourteen other women had been subjected to the same treatment, “What happened to them?”
“They said they couldn’t love me.”
“So what happened to them?” I repeated again. He seems subdued.
“I let them go.”
He let them go? Had I sealed my own fate by saying that I could love him? If I had said ‘no’, would he have let me go as well? I can’t tell from his facial expression, or body language, whether he’s telling the truth.
“If you didn’t think that you could love me, why did you say that you could, in time?” he asked.
“Because I was scared that you might have hurt me.” There was no need to lie, after all, that’s what I felt at the time. I still don’t know what he truly wants. He doesn’t answer back.
“Do you still think that?” he continues, still showing no emotion to give himself away.
“I don’t know.” I said but ‘yes’ I do still think that he may hurt me. Let’s face it, he did drug me and kidnap me in the first place! I pushed him further, “What do you want from me?”
He looked away from me, the first time since restraining me on the bed again, “I just want you to love me.”
“And you think this is the best way?”
“We’re just getting to know each other. In time, you could love me. If there is no one else to put their points across or interfere in other ways, you could get to love me.”
And there was the problem that I needed to work on. He was scared that, in the real world, because of other people – I’d stop loving him, if we were a real couple.
“With just the two of us, our love will continue to grow. Until death us do part,” he went on.
I didn’t like the sound of ‘until death us do part’ and I had news for him that I’ll keep to myself for now but it’s not ‘until death us do part’ – it’s ‘until tonight us do part’. I smile at him – a fake smile to try and show him that I understand where he’s coming from, “I’ve been hurt in the past before too.” I haven’t. In the past, with old boyfriends, it’s always been me that leaves them for whatever reason. This ‘boyfriend’ is going to be the same. I’ll be leaving him.
With no warning he suddenly stood up. A look on his face that suggests, perhaps he has given away a little more than he planned to, “I’ve got some things to sort out before I prepare dinner. If you need anything, give me a shout.” He turned and walked from the room, closing the door behind him, leaving me alone again. Leaving me with my feet and left hand free.
I think back to what I said that caused the ‘run’ reaction. I’ll keep working on that angle if I can’t get out tonight. If he isn’t comfortable in the same room as me, perhaps he’ll release me. Let me go, like the other girls. What’s that noise – a whirring noise from the ceiling? I look up and see a small camera – he’s watching me?
The camera is non-moving so I presume the whirring noise it’s making is the zoom function. He’s run from me due to possible embarrassment and yet he can’t help but to watch me. For the first time since being in this house, I feel I have the upper hand. If he wants to watch, I’ll give him a show.
‘Given the circumstances, I’ll have to fake it,’ I think to myself as I stare into the camera, stroking my breast with my free hand – trying to get the nipple to stand out. I moan out loud in ‘pleasure’ as I touch myself up, licking my lips and hoping that the camera picks up audio.
I’m disgusted with myself but I can’t help but hope he’s sat at the monitor, touching himself. If I can make him cum from a private show, he may believe that I am starting to like him, “I hope you like what you see.”
The thought of him rubbing himself slowly, as I caress my breasts in turn, repulses me but I need to continue. I need to strengthen an imaginary bond between us so I can get access to the rest of the house, “My way of saying ‘thank you’ for not restraining me completely,” I say to the camera. I slowly stroke my fingertips downwards towards my dry pussy.
I’m going to have to close my eyes, try and take myself somewhere completely different if I am to stand any chance of getting wet enough to slide a finger deep inside of myself without it hurting. ‘Just keep up with the fake moans, look as though I’m enjoying myself,’ I think to myself as I circle my clitoris through my underwear.
The door opening shatters my deep concentration and I open my eyes to see him standing in the doorway, a look of lust in his eyes. I carry on running my finger up and down my slit as he approaches me, taking his top off and dropping it to the floor. I push my index finger inside of me and let out a loud sigh, staring him directly in his eyes. I have him exactly where I want him. He crouches over the bed and extends his hand to touch me.
“Wait.” I tell him as I pull away from myself.
“What?”
“I’m not ready for that yet. I just wanted to give you a private show – a thank you for not restraining me completely.” He looks flustered, a bulge in his trousers shows me that he wants more than a private show but that’s all I’m offering. If he wants more he’ll have to force it and that will destroy everything he wants to get from me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to get the wrong impression.” I say, trying to sound sincere.
He stands in silence for a while looking at my breasts, my erect nipples, before looking me in the eye and saying, “I just came to let you know I’m putting the dinner on.”
He turned and walked from the room – the door slamming behind him.
I win. I like having the upper hand. By tonight, I’ll be out of here.
Tuna Steak
She thinks she’s been clever but she’s been far from. When she was in the bathroom looking for a weapon, or a way out, I knew what she was doing. Every room has CCTV – even the bathroom. The show in the spare bedroom – a desperate attempt by her to try and convince me that she’s starting to fall for me, or at the very least, please me. I’ll play along for now. Just give her enough rope to hang herself. Maybe, in time, she’ll stop trying to play games with me and things will progress i
n the direction that I want them to. At the moment though, she’s amusing to watch – a broken character trying to get her strength back.
Is this really the girl that I chose above the others?
She’s not saying anything at the moment, as she sits opposite me at the dinner table. I’ve gone to so much trouble to make things look romantic and she hasn’t even commented on that. Sometimes, I don’t know why I bother.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” she says, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
Ooh. Here we go again. I best turn my vulnerable side on again.
“No, I’m sorry.” I said, acting all coy and embarrassed. I’m not sorry in the slightest. I enjoyed my show. Hell, I was even tempted to finish it but I knew that would ruin my chances with her in the long run.
“I just wanted to show you how grateful I was for being allowed to stay out of restraints back in the bedroom.” She’s pathetic. She’s gone from upset, to angry, to upset, to shock, to sexual predator in the space of day and she expects me to believe it. She gives me another fake smile. A smile filled with fake sympathy. Fuck her. I just want to see how far she’s going to go and what her end game is. If the end game is ‘escape’, she’s in for a shock.
“If that’s the thanks I get,” I said, “maybe I’ll leave you in that position again tonight.” Of course I won’t. I can see where this evening is going already. The needle is primed, under the table – ready to use as a last resort. I’m hoping she is going to come to her senses.
“Dinner looks nice,” she says changing the conversation at last.
“Thank you, hopefully you’ll like the taste too.” I don’t care whether she likes the taste or not. I’m just hoping that she eats it. I’m losing count of the amount of meals that I’ve had to bin. “I’ve got strawberries for pudding, if you’d like.”
“Sounds great.”
She takes a mouthful of potato.
Hallelujah! It’s not a complete waste.
“Listen, could we just forget about earlier on?” She’s back to that again.
I crack a joke, “What happened earlier on?”
“You know...” The joke washes over her head.
“Sure.”
I’ve spat at her repeatedly and she masturbated in front of me. It’s been a strange first day.
She looks towards the curtains that hide the window – or, at the very least, hide where the window has been blocked up with bricks.
“I’m sorry,” she says, “the darkness in here is giving me a headache. Do you think we could open the curtain and let some light in?”
“No.”
A simple answer that I thought would answer the question for her.
“Is it blocked like the one in the bathroom?”
She looks at me. Did she really want me to know that she was looking for a way out when I let her have a bath?
“I wasn’t aware that you checked. You didn’t say anything.”
I knew that she checked. I just wasn’t aware that she wanted me knowing she did.
“I was trying to get some fresh air.”
Liar.
I know what you were trying to achieve – a way out. Come on. Think. There must be a way of turning this around. Stop it from heading towards failure. It’d be a waste of all the work and planning that I’ve put into this.
“So tell me about yourself,” I ask.
“Well my name is Vanessa and I’m being held against my will by a man that could have been perfect boyfriend material in the real world,” clever bitch, “I’m in my twenties, hoping to see my thirties and still live with my mum and dad whilst I save up to get my own house, that I’m very much looking forward to shopping for – with the right man.”
A clever answer: it contained enough facts to keep me happy and also a dig about being here against her will. A sly reference to me being the ‘perfect boyfriend material’ in the outside world was a great touch that seemed to flow from her with no effort. She’s definitely clever.
Not as clever as me.
“With all the horrible things happening in the outside world, surely it’s better to be sealed away from it. Nothing to stand between true loves, nothing to bring unnecessary hurt into your life, nothing to tear us apart. Just ‘true love’.” I show her that I hate the outside world and all that reside within. She just looks at me with a face that suggests she’s smelt something funny in the air. Perhaps she has – young Susie is on the other side of wall, in the garage, and the lemon air-freshener must be wearing off by now.
A mental-note to myself: spray the garage again. “I like the outside world,” she says. “I miss it.”
I cut her dead, not literally, not yet, “In time you won’t.”
“We’ll have to venture out together sooner or later, our grocery shopping.” She’s persistent, almost too persistent. There’s desperation in her voice at the thought of getting out to the outside world.
“We have enough food to last us, we’ll be fine.”
“But eventually...”
“We’ll be fine,” I reassure.
I lie.
In truth, eventually, we’ll run out of food and, with no way out of the house, in all likeliness – we’ll starve to death. When I sealed us in I made sure there was no way out. No way of breaking down the brick walls of this old house to let the outside world infect our relationship. Yes, we’ll eventually starve to death but we’ll do it, lovingly, in each other’s arms - just the two of us.
“Well I’ll have to let my parents know, at some point, that I’m okay.”
I don’t answer back. I just look down and continue to eat my now-cold tuna steak. I don’t have the heart to tell her but her parents are currently looking after young Susie in the garage. I’m guessing the news won’t be great for our already fragile relationship.
I had been watching Vanessa for a while before I made my move. The first time I met her, at the bank, I didn’t even consider her to be girlfriend material as she had kept me waiting, in line, for so long and didn’t even apologise for the delay when she finally did serve me. I just thought, ‘that’s bad manners’.
It was the third trip to the bank, to transfer the last of my money into the one account, that I realised she was actually quite nice. She was certainly pretty. I put the first encounter down to her being hassled – either by customers or by her work colleagues. Whatever the reason; I forgave her.
Whenever I watched a potential girlfriend, I got to know her family too and I could see that Vanessa’s parents could have been a problem, as they seemed to be a very close family unit. On the second week I stopped watching Vanessa and concentrated on the parents – to learn their routine so I could, at a quiet time for them, meet up with them and explain my concerns about their role in my girlfriend’s, their daughter’s, life.
I’ve always found explaining things to be so much easier when the other party has been unconscious, dying or even dead. Sometimes, when people answer back, I can get flustered and fuck up what I’m about to say – losing the point that I am trying to make in the process.
In my head I can hear that I am rambling.
Although her parents both have a great deal of time for their daughter, I realised, when watching them, that they have very little time for each other. It was four nights before they left their smart home to do a trip together. Wednesday night.
To this day, I don’t know what is so special about Wednesday nights.
I followed their red, Mercedes estate car through the town and into the country – quiet country lanes that had the potential to be of use to me. After twenty minutes of steady driving through these roads they turned left onto what appeared to be a farmhouse. I didn’t follow, as that would be too suspicious. Instead I simply drove on up the road, hoping that there’d be a point where I could turn the car around further on up.
Turn the car around, drive back on myself, passed the farmhouse where their car still remained and a little further down the road where I could just stop in the
middle of the road and put my hazards on. It was just a broken down car in the country – nothing strange or sinister about that. I’m just a poor stranger in need of some help. I just need to wait for the help to come.
Whatever Wednesday nights were about – it certainly wasn’t about getting home at a decent hour for an early morning start. The time had gone two in the morning by the time I saw a car’s headlights - a car, which turned out to be their Mercedes estate. Thank God.
I was too pumped up on adrenalin at that time to think about what I would have done if Vanessa’s parents hadn’t stopped to give me the help that, in actual fact, I didn’t need. Would I have had to chase them down and ram them from the road, leading to more ‘clean-up’ complications? Would I have had to abandon any thoughts of taking care of them and just hope that they wouldn’t come looking for their daughter? That wasn’t an option. A family that close, they would have looked. They wouldn’t have found her but I didn’t want the added pressure.
