by Matt Shaw
Thankfully, when I waved them down with a pathetic look on my face, her parents did pull over to the side of the road. At first the father got out to take a look under the bonnet and offer me the use of his mobile phone. When he didn’t return to his own car straight away the mother got out too. It’s amazing how much damage a metal bar makes to a human skull – even with a weak swing such as mine.
Their car was the perfect size to lay their bodies in, after I had put the back seats down and it was a far comfier drive to my home using the Mercedes than my clapped out old banger of a car. When I dumped the car in my garage and walked into the village to get a taxi, at four in the morning, I was almost dreading the same drive home, from where I left my car, having gotten used to the comfort that the Mercedes offered. By that time in the morning though, I was past caring and just sped along the country lanes as fast as I could – I knew Vanessa would be waking soon enough and I still had to finish cleaning up and running through the final checks.
A smile creeps onto my face as I cast my mind back to that night and take another bite of my tuna steak.
“What’s funny?” she asked.
“Nothing.” I couldn’t exactly tell her that the smell of her dead mother was what made me crave for a tuna steak.
She moved the conversation back, “You never said about me contacting my parents.”
I wonder if she believes in séances?
A New Day
Another day is about to start. I watch on the monitors as she stirs on the bed, twisting her body as much as the restraints allow. I don’t have a game plan for today. Truth be told, I thought she’d at least be out of the restraints by now, free to wander the house.
Had she been out of the restraints, today could have been used to give her the guided tour of her new home. Our home. Then we could have snuggled on the sofa sharing stories of our childhood.
Well, her childhood at least.
My childhood doesn’t exactly put people in the mood for sharing or romance. The bastard child of a whore, my earliest memories of watching my birth mother fuck another man on the bed. Who knows, perhaps this man was my real father?
As the years went on and I got older – I’d still be forced to watch and, if they paid enough, I was brought into their little games as well. Finally I got old enough to see sense and run away. Run as far as I could before turning back home. Where else was I supposed to go? I had no one else – not until Social Services got to hear about what was happening behind our closed doors and took me away from my mum. She didn’t care.
What my mum had with those men, that wasn’t love. What I have with Vanessa – that’s love. She doesn’t need to know about my past. I’ll make up a happier childhood for her to hear about when we come to share.
Her eyes are open now. A look of panic on her face as she realises where she is – the kind dreams the drugs awarded her obviously took her far, far away from here. From me. She isn’t ready to come out of the restraints yet.
Soon though, I hope.
“I’m sorry about last night,” she says as I walk into the room carrying a tray with some breakfast on it. “I didn’t mean to keep going on about my mum and dad, it’s just that I miss them.”
With the constant questions about her precious little mum and dad, I had no choice but to drug her again to shut her up. I didn’t want to but, perhaps, now she realises that line of questioning is a bit of a ‘no-no’.
“You know how much I miss them and we’ll leave it at that. Perhaps one day, when we have the trust you mention, you’ll permit me to get in touch with them,” she continues.
I smile at her as I un-cuff her wrists, leaving her ankles bound to the bed. A smile leaves her suggestion open – a possibility that I heard what she said and agree that, one day, I’ll let her make contact. There’s only one way she can see her mum and dad now, and I don’t think she’d like it.
“I understand why you injected me last night. I certainly didn’t want to upset you. You have to understand that this is all new to me and I’m just trying to get used to the situation. And you.”
Perhaps I am asking a lot of her. “Maybe next time you could just say whether I am annoying you,” she carries on, “I want to earn your trust but it’s impossible to do that unconscious. If you just say that I’m doing something wrong, give me a warning, I can try and stop. You’ll see that I can do as you ask.”
A good idea; I never give them a chance normally. I just get stuck in with the pills and needles as soon as they get out of line. I’ll start to give her the benefit of the doubt - a good starting point at getting the trust between us.
“Okay,” I say.
She smiles at me and picks up the flower that sits on the side of the breakfast tray, smells it and places it down again before tucking into her cereal. It’s the first time I’ve seen her eat properly since she has been here; another good sign.
“Are you not eating?” she asks.
“I’m not hungry. I rarely eat first thing in the morning.”
She looks around the walls for something, “What time is it?”
“Morning time.” I say. I feel stupid telling her that I forgot to put any clocks in the house – other than the small clock on the bottom of my computer screen. When I prepared the house I was only thinking about ‘love’ and ‘love’ is eternal. Time doesn’t come into ‘love’.
“We don’t have any clocks?” she asks.
“No.”
“Who needs clocks when you have love, right?” I’m starting to lose track of whether she is being genuine or not.
“Exactly.” I play along.
She swallows another mouthful of her cereal, “What are we going to do today?”
I’ll let her decide, I’ve planned enough. “What did you want to do?” I ask.
“You could show me around the house.”
No. Too soon - I still don’t know whether I can trust her yet.
I want to trust her; even with her bed-head she still looks hot. I sow the seed of a different idea into her clever mind, “Perhaps we could just talk today, and learn more about each other.” Learn more about her, at least.
“Okay, if that’s what you want,” she says.
She looks like she wants to say something else but stops herself.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She puts the tray and near empty bowl on the bedside table and sits up, “I was wondering whether you could undo my ankles? If it makes you feel happier you can always lock the bedroom door but I won’t try anything. I promise.”
I look her in the eye. She looks sincere now. I believe her.
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll undo your cuffs and take your tray downstairs. Give you some time to get changed into something from your wardrobe.”
She looks over to her wardrobe and sees the clothes all hanging there for her to choose from, “That’d be nice.”
“Do you want to go to the bathroom first?” I ask.
“Yes, please.”
I use the handcuff keys to free her swollen ankles and she immediately starts to rub them, “They’re sore.” I just smile at her, feeling a little bad that I put them on her for so long. Perhaps I should have just bound one wrist – it’s not like she can go anywhere anyway. Shake the ‘self-doubt’ from my mind. It’s her fault she’s not out of the cuffs yet.
“I’ll take you through to the bathroom.”
She stands up, her bones creaking back into place as she’s permitted the freedom to stretch again, “That feels so good,” she laughs. She leans forward and kisses me on the cheek, “Thank you.”
A nice surprise, “No problem,” I stutter.
I turn away from her, hiding my embarrassment, “This way,” and lead her through to the bathroom. I open the door and she goes in.
“I won’t be long.”
“Just go through to the bedroom, when you are done.” I say. I’m not going anywhere but, if she thinks I’ve gone downstairs, maybe she’ll try something again, like last t
ime. She smiles at me and closes the door.
I wait. I can hear water running from within the room and I can hear her splashing around as though she’s having a wash. Perhaps she is. Another noise, a quiet humming. Is she singing to herself? I want to believe that she’s actually having a proper wash as opposed to just getting ready to run out on me – or try at least.
The humming has stopped now. I can’t hear anything other than the water running. This is it – the door is about to open. Here she comes – any minute now.
The door doesn’t open.
I press my ear against the door. She’s brushing her teeth. My heart starts to slow down again. Perhaps she can be trusted. I stand up just as the door opens revealing Vanessa with a towel wrapped around her, her pyjamas in her hands. She jumps when she sees me.
“Sorry, you scared me. I thought you had gone downstairs.”
I lie, “I was just on my way.”
She smiles at me; she knows I was waiting for her, “I presumed the pink toothbrush was mine.”
I smile back, “Yes.”
For the first time since she has been awake, I’m feeling excited. She didn’t try to run. She does want to be with me. A mental note to myself, don’t be so suspicious.
Progress
“What do you think?” Vanessa asks.
She’s pacing the bedroom, wearing a figure hugging blue dress that she chose from her wardrobe. It looks good. She looks good.
“I like it.” I reply.
Why wouldn’t I like it? If I didn’t like it then I wouldn’t have bought it for her in the first place.
She moves back over to the wardrobe and starts going through the clothes that I bought her again, like a little child in a toyshop.
“I’ve had relationships with men in the past who were seeing me for months and yet they still couldn’t get my size right. You’ve known me for days and yet you’ve got it spot on.” She pulls out the red PVC dress and holds it against herself, “Ooh la la.”
Tease. I can’t wait for her to want to wear that one. My heart sinks as she puts it back into the wardrobe, “I love them all.”
“Sit down with me, you’re making me tired with all your running around.” It’s nice to see her excited but I want her to sit with me. I want her to talk with me.
“Sorry, I just love the idea of having a complete new collection of clothes – what woman wouldn’t?” She sits with me.
“And shoes...”
“Shoes?”
“I’ve bought you lots of different shoes too.”
She smiles at me, “You really have thought of everything.”
“I like to think so.”
She looks at me expectantly, like I am supposed to say something, “Well, I’m sitting with you,” she says still waiting for me to tell her why, or do something. She’s slightly breathless from her previous excitement and pacing of the room, obviously not as fit as she could be, the heavy breathing causing her breasts to heave. Her lips opened ever so slightly as she breathes from her mouth. Her lips: so kissable. I shake the thought from my mind; she won’t thank me yet for a kiss. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
I realise that I’ve just been rudely staring at her; I smile a true smile of embarrassment and look away, “Nothing.” I lie. I want her. “I just thought we could talk together,” I stutter, “I don’t really know much about where you grew up or what your mum and dad were like.”
“What my mum and dad are like,” she corrects me. At least, she thinks that she corrects me. I know very well what they are like now – a little off colour with grey, pappy skin and a foggy, dark mist sucking the colour from their lifeless eyes and a smell of Tuna from her mother.
“I just don’t really know much about your past.”
“What do you want to know,” she asks as she starts to play with her hair, moving it out of her pretty eyes, “Where do you want me to start?”
“Tell me about your parents,” I kick start her in the right direction, let’s see what makes her parents so perfect that she can’t live without them.
“They aren’t my real parents.”
What?
“My real parents died before I got to know them. Keith and Lilly were my foster parents who looked after me since I was two. I just like to think of them as my real mum and dad,” she smiles, “They’ve never made me want for anything, they’ve always been there for me and they’ve always loved me as though I were their real daughter.”
I feel something strange in the pit of my stomach. What is that? Is that guilt? No. I don’t feel guilt. It’s probably just wind.
“Every year we go away together, on a nice family holiday and, although I work hard at the bank, they never want my money or make me pay for anything. I try but they say it’s their right to be able to spoil their daughter.” Her eyes are starting to well up. I need to change the conversation before she starts crying. I can’t handle it when women cry. It frustrates me.
“My mother was a whore.”
There was probably a better way to turn the conversation around to stop any impending tears but it was the first thing that I thought of and I couldn’t help but blurt it out as my own mind betrayed me.
“What?” she wipes her eyes, also frustrated by the ‘welling up’.
“She used to make me sit and watch her when I was younger. Watch her fuck men. As I got older sometimes I was forced to join in.”
Shut up. Why am I telling her this? Just shut up.
“That’s terrible,” she states the obvious.
“If I put up a struggle, when the men raped me or played with me whilst my own mother took a strap-on to me, they’d take it in turns to whip me with a leather belt as I lay on the bed, tied down.”
I look at Vanessa’s bed. The restraints securely on the corners of the bed, ready for me to put Vanessa into them. Am I as bad as my mother? I need to be able to trust her. I need to be able to get rid of the restraints.
“So what did you do?” asked Vanessa with what appears to be a true look of concern on her face.
“Eventually social services got wind of what was happening and took me away from it all. They put me with a new family. The owners of this old building.”
The two of us, sitting there, thinking about our foster parents – without realising it when I chose Vanessa, I was chose a girl that already shared something in common with me.
“So where are they now?” she asks. I think she really is interested in me now.
“They’re dead. My foster dad died a few years back and my foster mum died early last year.”
I blink. Wet. My eyes are welling up. Jesus. Pull yourself together!
“I’m sorry,” she says as she leans over to me and embraces me in a warm, safe hug. I breathe her sweet scent in deep into my lungs. Coconut. After her wash this morning, she smells as good as she looks.
She pulls away from the embrace but stays inches away from my face, hey eyes staring deep into mine. She closes her eyes and moves her face closer until I can feel the warmth of her breath close to my lips. I close my eyes.
A kiss. A peck on the lips. Another peck on the lips. My mouth slightly opens in response to hers and I feel her tongue enter my mouth as our lips lock together. My tongue strokes against hers as they explore each other. I like the taste of the Aquafresh toothpaste.
A few more seconds and she pulls away from me. I open my eyes whilst her eyes are still closed. A few more seconds and she slowly opens her eyes, as though she’s just come back from Heaven.
“I’m sorry,” she says licking her lips.
“Don’t be.” I smile at her.
“I don’t know what came over me.” I want to take things further but I know it’s not appropriate.
I’ll just wait for her to make the first move. I don’t want to ruin anything.
“I don’t think we need the restraints anymore.” I say. I trust her. That kiss felt real. That kiss felt nice.
She smiles and leans in for another kiss; just a peck o
n the cheek this time. I’ll take anything she offers.
“Thank you,” she says.
Thank you. Had I known that would have been my reward for sharing, I would have shared a long time ago.
