Page 43 of Female Fantasy
Thomas lets out a whoop, and then there’s the shuffling of feet, followed by wet slurping sounds. The sliding of tongues and the nipping of lips. A soft moan followed by a much louder groan.
I try not to gag into my paper bag.
“If you two are going to do it right here, at the very least take off these bags and let us enjoy the show,” I taunt.
“You’ve got a mouth on you, girl,” Thomas snickers.
Seconds later, the bag is ripped from my head.
Holy Furnace, he’s easy to goad.
I blink several times, blinded by the light. As I predicted, Nico and I are strapped to two wooden chairs, our wrists and ankles bound with what looks like hemp rope.
Clove hitches, if I’m not mistaken.
Tricky devils to escape from.
But not impossible.
We’re in a dimly lit, bare-bones garage. There are a few brown boxes stacked up by the door, along with somegardening supplies: shovels, tools, pots, bags of soil. A long loose hose uncoils on the ground like a snake. There’s a lawnmower parked in the right-hand corner, a long extension cord, and a sparkly pink tricycle.
I note all the sharp, pointy objects, and it takes every bit of effort not to smile.
And these two said they specialized in valuable cargo?
Puh-lease.
“All right, you two. Behave, you hear?” Clarisse says, her red lipstick now smeared all over her face. “This will all be over before you know it.”
“Thanks again for the company,” Thomas calls out as our kidnappers turn to leave. “It’s been a real treat. I hope you both eventually find love in the big city!”
Clarisse reaches up to tug on a rope hanging from the ceiling.
The lights go out.
Seconds later, the garage door starts to close behind them.
The minute we’re alone, Nico loses his shit. “Okay. It’s going to be okay. Right? Right. They wouldn’t take us here to kill us. I mean, they said they were just kidnapping us. That’s all this is. A nice straightforward kidnapping. And hypothetically, if they were going to murder us, wouldn’t they just get it over with? Unless they’re serial killers who enjoy torturing their victims. Do you think they’re serial killers? Oh my God, no one will ever find us here. No one is looking for us. And they took my watch. My great-grandfather’s watch. They’ll have nothing to identify our bodies with. Except for our teeth. Fuck, what if they knock out our teeth?”
I wait patiently for his panic to subside. How come there are no book tropes about hysterical men?
“Breathe, Nico,” I command. “Slow down your heart rate. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Here, watch me.”
I demonstrate meditative breathing for him. He follows my lead until color returns to his cheeks.
“Thanks,” he says. “You’re being weirdly chill about all of this. Unless…” His face brightens. “Oh my God. Of course. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner. Tey has you on Find My Friends, doesn’t he? Oh my God, he’s probably on his way here right now. Right? That’s why you’re not bugging out. We’re saved!”
I bite my lip. “Um. About that.”
His jaw drops. “You didn’t.”
“Well…”
“Joonie!” He groans loudly.
I give him a sympathetic look. “But if you think about it, Tey was totally right. About the ax murderer thing. So that’s cool.”
Nico looks up at the garage ceiling.
