Page 60 of Disgrace

I relax against the bindings, even at full adrenaline-induced anger I wouldn’t be able to break free from these straps. I use the exact same thing to secure my clients to the St Andrew’s Cross in the full knowledge that they are only freed when Isaythey are free.

I close my eyes when my lids start to sting. How can my eyes lids hurt? I feel the tears trickle down my cheek and slide to the back of my neck, soaking into my hairline. I guess that would be why. But I must have been crying for some time for them to hurt like they do. My head throbs trying to work out what the fuck happened. What is the last thing I remember?

Fighting. I remember fighting and falling to the ground. Blood pouring from my mouth and being dragged by my hair. I think I got a punch or two in before I felt the sharp prick of a needle. But that wasn’t the first time.Think, damn it!My head is throbbing and it feels like my brain is physically wading through thick sludge, picking out snippets of reality from my nightmares. This all feels like one fucking nightmare. I remember not quite waking but hearing voices, being manhandled but my muscles not responding. I can’t recall much of what was said and the moment I opened my eyes I felt a dull pinch in my arm and then oblivion. My stomach growls an angry protest but I don’t share its enthusiasm. I feel really sick. My mouth is like a cotton fuzz ball and I could down a litre of water and still be parched I am so thirsty.

Where the fuck am I?Think Sam, what was the last useful thing you can remember?My eyelids are already closed, and I try to focus my drifting mind. My blood is obviously still swilling with whatever has been pumped in my veins to keep me catatonic. I can see a solid ocean in a shop window, beautiful sculptured glass, with smooth depths and swirling layers I wanted to touch. Why didn’t I touch it, it was right there and the man with the kind eyes wanted me to come inside. No, I couldn’t because I was meeting someone and I didn’t have time. I had an important meeting.My interview!I sigh out a happy laugh. Disproportionately pleased with myself at remembering something, anything that isn’t a drug-filled mess of images and sounds. I don’t recall the interview. That’s right I texted Jason to tell him I was meeting Peitra for lunch.Peitra.

I retch and heave, I turn my head so as not to choke because I can’t sit up or turn fully on my side. Concentrated stomach acid and bile burns a violent path from my stomach up my throat and out of my mouth. The pressure is enough to coat most of my torso but not enough to clear my body and hit the floor. I am coated in a slick warm sticky residue, the smell alone keeps me heaving until I am dry and my throat is raw.

Why the fuck would Peitra do this? Jason told me she wasn’t happy about how things had played out but this is a little over the top, even for a woman scorned.

I hear movement outside the door. The room is completely bare, the floor is covered with a type of rubber with those dimples you get in wet rooms and public swimming pools. The walls are all white and the door is rounded on each corner and has a circular window in the centre that is also painted out white. It looks like a blocked out porthole. Only when that observations sinks in do I also realise the room is moving. I think up until this moment I thought I was probably still high but no, the room is definitely moving. There are no windows but I can absolutely feel the rhythmic pitch and roll of a boat. Possibly a very large boat or a very gentle swell. The handle shakes and the deep and loud groan of protest from the hinges on the door make me wince. I didn’t know ears could hurt but mine do, I sniff out a bitter laugh and internally reprimand myself, every fucking thing hurts.

A pretty blonde-haired girl pokes her head around, she smiles brightly and bounces into the room.

“Oh, good, you’re awake.” She skids to a stop and slaps her hand to her mouth. “Ew, gross.” She shakes her legs and steps back out of the vomit that has dripped from my bed and onto the floor. “You’ve thrown up all over yourself.” She cries out, shaking her hands up and down like it’s the most disgusting thing she has ever encountered.

“I didn’t have much of a choice.” My voice is beyond gravely, more like my larynx lost its fight with a cheese grater, almost as rough as I feel. I cough and try to generate some moisture but my mouth is too dry. “Can you get me some water, or better still untie me and I’ll get it myself. I wouldn’t want to be any trouble.” My tone is heavy with sarcasm, which might not be my best approach but she just smiles inanely and giggles.

“Oh, you’re funny. He didn’t say you were funny.” Her perfect brow wrinkle with confusion. “He said you were a bitch,” she states like that is a fact.

“Well, you’ve caught me on a good day.” I smile tightly and she bursts into a fit of laughter she tries to hold back, both her hands against her pink glossy lips. I stare at her because she looks vaguely familiar. She has blonde almost white hair pulled high in a ponytail, she’s wearing long false lashes but other than the pink lip gloss, no other makeup. She is wearing skimpy hot pants that are currently giving her a wicked camel toe and a tiny white string bikini. The minute triangle patches of white material barely cover her nipples, skimming her gravity defying tits that are far too large for her tiny frame.

“See, you’re really funny.” She points her finger at me, her tone is lightly teasing. “I think once you’re trained we will be great friends.”

“Trained? What the fuck are you talking about?” She jumps at the sharp volume of my voice and steps back. I take a calming breath through my nose and force a pained smile. “Sorry, what’s your name?”

“Lolli,” she gushes.

“Seriously?” Her face drops and I curse under my breath. She probably has a smart phone filled with vacuous selfies, which I will need if I am ever to get out of here. “Sorry Lolli.” It aches to curl my lips into a reciprocal smile but with effort I manage. “Trained for what?”

“Oh, I’m not sure I’m allowed to say.” She drops her head and her words are soft and barely audible.

“Okay, trained by whom?” I try and coax but she shakes her head.

“Oh, I’m not sure I’m allowed to say,” she repeats, her eyes like saucers when she looks up. I draw in a deep and much needed steadying breath.

“Okay, Lolli, how about where am I?” She bites her lip flat like she is physically having to suppress her desire to respond. “Let me guess? You’re not allowed to say.” I puff out my frustration when I really want to scream. “So what are you allowed to do?” I fix my smile but with no life to it, it probably looks like rigor has set in.

“Only what my Master allows me to do.” She sighs as she chants this eerie mantra.

“Your master?” I raise my brow in query.

“And yours too now.” Her smile is tight and she gives a haughty little huff. “But I will always be his favourite.”

“And you will have no competition from me, I can promise you that.” I quip.

“Hmm, you say that now but wait.” Her warning is lightly mocking like she is hiding a delicious secret.

“So you actuallywantto be here.” I struggle not to sound horrified when she is either genuinely happy or blissfully delusional.

“Of course every girl wants to be here.” She rolls her eyes like I have just said the silliest thing. I am going to go with delusional.

“I don’t.” Her brows pinch and furrow. She looks utterly confused so I repeat more slowly.

“I don’t want to be here, Lolli. Not. At. All.” She gives a slow, knowing nod, and I get a warm rush of hope. That this is just some fucked up case of mistaken identity and Lolli… the lovely, utterly vacant Lolli, now that she understands is about to help me out.

“Ah, my Master said you would lie to me. He told me not to trust a single word you said.”

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