by Carla Blake
Alarmed she looked around the room, expecting to see him standing there, smiling at her smugly and telling her in that horrible, patronizing voice of his, that he was very sorry but it was all her own fault, you know. If only she hadn’t got a smart mouth on her and answered back, then none of this would have happened because look at her now. She was all bruised and bleeding.
And tied up.
Panicked, Rachel’s gaze swept around the room, searching for Simon. He wasn’t there. Not sitting on the chair, not leaning against the kitchen door. He was nowhere and she was tied up. Her hands secured behind her back, the knot digging into her spine. And no amount of tugging was going to free them. She knew that from past experience.
But why? Why had he tied her up? Had he been expecting her to fight him, to take aim at his chin the minute she regained consciousness? Or was this just another of his sick, little games? To beat the ex girlfriend up and then show her how much he was still in charge by tying her hands behind her back and her feet at the ankles – oh wonderful - and thus prove to her that he could do anything he liked. Even rape her.
She bloody well hoped not. But she wouldn’t put it past him. It might also explain why he’d never bothered to make love to her all the time they’d been together? Because he’d been secretly planning on tying her up, humiliating her and then, when she couldn’t do a damn thing about it, taking her by force.
It wasn’t a very nice thought.
And she wasn’t about to wait around for it to happen.
Breathing through her mouth, Rachel wriggled her hands. The rope gave a little, but only enough to give her a Chinese burn, and biting her lip, she gave up on her hands and turned her attention to her feet, sawing them back and forth until the familiar sting of tearing flesh forced to stop.
Only then did she notice that Simon had removed her shoes.
Typical, she scowled, staring at her ruined tights. How like him not to want to get dirt from her shoes all over his nice, clean sofa, and her coat. He’d obviously had reservations about that too, because he’d taken that off her and slung it over the back of a chair, with her handbag.
The sight of it made her angry. How stupid was she? To fall for such a ridiculously, stupid excuse. She’d known there wasn’t money hidden in the address book, she’d bloody well known it, but she’d still refused to trust her instincts and allow Simon to get her over here. Now look at her. Trussed up like a bloody oven ready chicken!
Furious, she tried to free her hands again, tugging and wrenching until she felt the skin tear and warm blood smear across the insides of her wrists. Then she kicked the hell out of the sofa cushions. Ripping one from its Velcro fastenings and sending it tumbling to the floor.
Buoyed by this small act of destruction, she bounced her entire body, heaving herself up and down in the hope the sofa might disintegrate beneath her and she could free herself that way. At the same time, she yelled Simon’s name, calling him all the names under the sun and threatening legal action if he didn’t untie her now! She bounced again, panting with the effort and causing the rope to see-saw across her already sore wrists until the pain forced her stop.
This, she swore, was not going to work. Fuck!
Lying still, she whimpered and changed tact. “Please Simon”, she pleaded – “ if you’re there, please untie me. I’ll be good and I won’t tell anyone what happened. I’ll tell them I walked into a door or fell over. Come on. Let me go. This is ridiculous.”
Her entreaties met with silence and in that silence she hated herself for what she’d just done. She shouldn’t be begging for fuck’s sake. She should be going mental, demanding he let her go!
But what the hell was she going to do? She couldn’t move, and it had just occurred to her that the business trip Simon had mentioned might be the reason why he hadn’t put in an appearance. Because he was hundreds of bloody miles away.
And wouldn’t that be the perfect revenge? To leave her tied up in his apartment to die of thirst or starve to death, although if that article in the magazine was to be believed, it was more likely to be thirst that saw her off than hunger. The human body could, apparently, last an indefinite amount of time without food, depending of course on individual body weight, but without water?
She wished she could remember the answer, but her memory of it alluded her. What had it been? Three days? Four? She didn’t think it was any longer than a week, and when had she last had a drink? This morning at breakfast? At her desk? And how long ago had that been? Hours certainly. She’d met up with Simon since then and been punched in the face and been tied up.
It beggared belief that he had done this to her! Oh, she’d known that he’d had a violent streak and that he’d enjoyed pushing her around and generally making her life as miserable as possible, but he’d never actually hit her with such strength before. Most of his cruelty had been psychological. Mind games that had made her believe she was fat and stupid and good for nothing, even though she knew she wasn’t.
This however, was different. This was purely physical, and surely a big enough departure from his usual mode of spite to make him want to stick around and watch her suffer.
So the question remained. Had he really left for his soddin’ meeting in the hope she would eventually die of thirst, or was he, even now, standing behind her and laughing at her feeble attempts to escape?
Steeling herself, Rachel twisted her head to see. The door to the kitchen was in plain sight but no one was standing behind her, nor was he behind the sofa.
She called his name, threatening the second time to pee all over his sofa if he didn’t get in here and untie her right now! But no one came.
I’m alone, she thought, staring at her feet. The bastard’s left me here to die. How the hell does he expect to get away with it?
Then she remembered. No one knew she was here, and what was more Simon knew no one knew she was here! She’d told him as much in the restaurant! Blurting it out without a moment’s thought and little realizing it was exactly what Simon had wanted to hear.
Even Kate didn’t know where she was and she’d erased his soddin’ e-mail! So of course he expected to get away with it. And who would think to look for her here, especially after her wild insistence that she was never, ever going to have anything to do with Simon again. She was trapped. Alone.
Thirsty.
She worked at the rope. Her wrists, sore and bloody, protested. She ran her fingers over the small and plentiful knots, following the pattern until she was forced to admit she was never going to pick them apart.
She stared at her feet and frowned at the thin rope securing her ankles. It looked, she thought, as complex as the one around her wrists, which meant she was never going to get either of them undone.
She was stuck.
And uncomfortable.
Unthinking, Rachel rolled onto her side.
And couldn’t believe how stupid she had been.
Oh, for the love of God! She practically cried, what was she doing?! Her hands and feet might be tied, but that didn’t mean the rest of her was! All she had to do was stand up, hobble to the kitchen and hey presto! All the water she could drink and dozens of knives to free herself with.
Breathing deep, she counted to three and sat up. Instantly the world span and her head went on a complete three sixty of the ceiling. Pain lanced across her forehead and groaning out loud, Rachel swallowed hard against the greasy nausea surging up into her throat, failed and threw up over the edge of the sofa, vomiting into the waste paper bin she hadn’t even known was there.
Her stomach cramping, she heaved again, dribbling thin vomit from her lips as the pain in her head doubled in intensity and the ache in her jaw began to throb along with it. She spat and tasting blood on her tongue, wiped her mouth along the arm of the sofa and to hell if Simon went ape shit or not.
Then she lay back down again, shivering and closi
ng her eyes and wishing she didn’t feel so horribly ill and faint. Her lips were dry and she licked them, tasting the residue of her sickness as rolled onto her side and opened her eyes to stare at the kitchen. She could imagine herself there now. Turning on the tap, dipping her head beneath the cool wash of water, sating her thirst. Oh bliss on a stick.
I have to get there, she told herself, running her tongue along the inside of her dry mouth. I have to stop lying here feeling sorry for herself and get to the kitchen. And I have to do it now! Before Simon comes back, if he comes back.
She sat up again, feeling her stomach give a warning roll that she immediately swallowed down. “Not gonna be sick again.” She muttered, spitting and not giving a toss where the bitter tasting bile landed this time. “Gonna get up and get a drink.”
She breathed deeply, waiting for the pain in her head to abate. Then she stood up.
The kitchen seemed miles away, her head roughly the same. She blinked and the door disappeared into infinity.
“Move,” she breathed and dragged great gulps of air in though her mouth until she could see straight again and her feet felt as though they were actually connected to the rest of her body rather than floating out there somewhere. Her knees popped, sounding loud in the silence and her eyes caught sight of the clock. She winced when she noticed how late it was. Nearly three in the afternoon. What the hell must work be thinking? And Kate? She would be going crazy by now wondering where she was? She could see her now, gazing at the clock, staring at her empty chair, frantically searching through her desk for a clue that wasn’t there. And all because she’d got the hump and childishly deleted Simon’s e-mail! Why had she done it? Simon wouldn’t have known, and any small victory she might have felt at hitting that particular button had now been totally dissipated by the mess she now found herself in.
And it was a proper mess too.Tied up, sick to her stomach and one hundred percent culpable for the situation she was in! Bravo Rachel!
Worthy of an award.
She focused again on the kitchen, unsettled by the fact that it looked further away than before.
Briskly, she told herself that it wasn’t. This isn’t the Tardis, she reminded herself, nor is it ever expanding like one of those houses in the soaps. This is Simon’s apartment. Ordinary. Man made. The kitchen door is where the kitchen door has always been, all you have to do is get beyond the lounge, across the hall and you’re there. Easy.
So how are you going to get there?
Hopping proved disastrous. As soon as her feet hit the floor a spike of pain shot up her legs, into her head and then buried itself in her brain, dropping her to her knees and causing her to frantically suck in air in a desperate attempt not to pass out again. The world still went fuzzy though and resting her head against the edge of the sofa, she buried her forehead in the cool leather and forced herself to stay conscious.
Minutes ticked by and her stomach rolled, clenched and rolled again. she farted, glad there was no one there to hear her and praying it was nothing but wind. Her top lip broke out in sweat and she sucked at the moisture, regretting it the moment the salt hit her tongue and took away what little moisture there was still left in her mouth. Gazing at the carpet, she grimaced at how immaculately white it looked.
Not anymore though, she thought. Not now I’ve puked on it.
I have to get moving.
Tentatively she lifted her head and felt the leather peel away from her skin. The room slipped and slid, just as she thought it might, but she managed to keep control of her stomach and swallowing around a throat that felt it was lined with chalk, Rachel braced her chest against the sofa and awkwardly got to her feet.
It did her no good. The room span in a whirlpool of nauseating vertigo and as she closed her eyes and swallowed again, telling herself she’d be alright, she’d be okay, Rachel sank to her knees and fell to the floor unconscious.
“If I knew where she was.” Kate exploded in Veronica’s face. “Then I wouldn’t be going half out of my head with worry, would I?”
“No, I don’t suppose you would.” Veronica replied blandly. “But you’re not the only one who’s worried you know.”
Veronica wasn’t lying. For the last two hours she had been doing her fair share of fretting too, loosing count of the number of times she’d looked at the clock, or glanced at her own watch, wondering where on earth Rachel could be. She’d continuously checked her own e-mails too, just in case Rachel tried to get in touch with her that way and she trawled through her mobile in search of missed calls, even though she knew Phil would have a field day if he caught her using her mobile in the office.
Now she was seriously contemplating starting to ring around the hospitals to see if Rachel had been involved in an accident and taken to A&E, but with the mood Kate was in, she wasn’t sure if it was such a good idea. Why give her something else to fret about when they still hadn’t exhausted all other possible alternatives?
“Look, I’m sorry.” Kate said at least, after Veronica had added that she was only trying to help. “ I know it’s not your fault and I don’t mean to take it out on you. It’s just that I haven’t heard a thing from her and it’s starting to drive me crazy! Why hasn’t she phoned? Or sent a text or a e-mail? Why is there just this silence?”
“Have you tried her home number?”
“Gosh, no, I hadn’t thought of that!”
“Well, there’s no need to be sarcastic.” Veronica grumbled at her. “I was only thinking out loud. What about the woman she shares her house with. Penny? Poppy?”
“Polly.” Kate corrected her. “She’s away in Devon.”
“That’s a shame, maybe she’d know where she was. Look, why don’t you pack up here and go look for her. You haven’t done a stroke of work all afternoon anyway and you’re clearly not going to in this state. Go. Grab your coat and go find Rachel.”
“You serious?”
“Yes of course I’m serious. But if it turns out she’s out shopping in the January sales and bought the dress I’ve had my eye on for months, then I suggest she comes up with a darn good excuse before tomorrow. And if you do find her, let me know, okay. Just so I can sleep. It’s not like Rachel to just disappear off the face of the earth.”
Stuck at a red light, Kate drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and tutted at the herd of school children playing a deadly game of cat and mouse with a double decker bus. Didn’t they realise how stupid they were being, she fumed, tearing in and out of moving traffic just so they could prove how ‘hard’ they were? And what were they doing still out on the streets at four thirty anyway? They should be at home by now, staring at the TV or fiddling about with an X-box, not making a menace of themselves out here on the streets, ‘cos God forbid if one of them ever did get a bumper up the backside, it wouldn’t be their fault, oh no, it would be the poor, bloody bus driver who got it in the neck!
The light changed from red to green and slipping the car into gear, Kate accelerated up the high street and narrowly missed a couple of kids, who almost invisible in their dark uniforms, shot across the road in front of her, laughing and sticking up two fingers when she dared to sound the horn.
The bus they had alighted from then pulled away without indicating, forcing Kate to slam on her brakes and then crawl along behind it, cursing her luck and wondering why the world was always so fucking slow when you were in a hurry?
She arrived home twenty minutes later. Rachel’s car was still outside the house where she’d left it. She parked in the space behind it, then got out of her car, laying her hands on the bonnet and sighing with disappointment when she discovered it was cold to the touch. There was also leaves and other soggy debris wrapped around the front tyres, further proof, if she needed it, that the car hadn’t been moved in some time.
The house was quiet, and after closing the front door behind her, she stood on the doormat and called Rachel’s name. Ra
chel did not call back and nor, thankfully, did anyone else and for that she was grateful, coming home to find a burglar rummaging through her things, or worse still, squatters had always been one of her worst fears.
It had happened to a friend of hers once, who returning from a two week holiday in Greece, had found her entire home overrun by illegal immigrants, all yelling at her from the upstairs window and throwing her clothes onto the lawn as they claimed squatters rights. It had been a nightmare and the police useless. Nothing they could do, they’d told her. She would either have to accept that she’d lost her house or wait until they left of their own accord.
But her mate, Nina, hadn’t been prepared to wait that long and calling in her brother and his rugby playing mates, they’d set up camp outside the house and waited. Sleeping in tents and taking turns keeping watch, until the squatters, out of food and probably reduced to eating the cushions, had meekly given up and sneaked out the back door, leaving the house and everything in it totally trashed.
Rachel, then, was not at home. If she had been, she would have shouted back or come rushing from the lounge, an explanation on her lips and dinner in the oven. But there was only silence. In every room.
Disappointed, but determined to do a thorough search, Kate donned her Wellington boots and checked the garden, certain that Rachel would not be stomping around in her scrubby bit of ground, but knowing she wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d checked.
But she wasn’t there either and back in the car, after carefully locking the door, she drove round to Polly’s, pleading with God to ‘please have Rachel there’ a hundred times a mile.
She got a shock when Polly answered the door.
As did Polly. “Kate.” She said, looking startled and not a little embarrassed to see her - the last time she had seen Kate she’d been trying to crawl into bed with her and Rachel - “ I didn’t expect to see you here. How are you?”
