Page 78 of Craving

They arrived at the washroom, and the man tried to follow her inside.

She stopped him with a glare. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not supposed to let you out of my sight.”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Camilla complained, but her heart beat hard, because there was a window above the toilet. It was tiny, and grimy, and she wasn’t sure it would open—but it was there.

“Not supposed to let you out of my sight,” the man repeated.

Camilla huffed, panic mounting. She said the first thing that came to mind. “I’m on my period.”

The man hesitated, so Camilla pressed. “I use a menstrual cup,” she told him, all sincerity and wide eyes. “Do you really want to see that? I have to wash it out after I remove it.”

The man frowned at her, disgust edging into the corners of his mouth. “What’s a menstrual cup? You have to…wash it?”

Her heart beat harder. She shaped her hands to show him the approximate size of the thing. “It’s this little silicone cup that you shove up your vagina”—she motioned for emphasis—“and it catches the period blood. So when you take it out, you have to dump all the blood and the clots, and then you—”

“Fine,” he barked. “Don’t take too long.” And he closed the door on her nose.

A slow, victorious smile stole over Camilla’s lips as she flicked the lock on the door. She wasn’t on her period. But he didn’t know that.

She turned the sink on to muffle her noise and turned to the window. It was small and Camilla wasn’t, but she didn’t have much choice. She opened it, feeling a blast of cold air on her face, and braced herself for her escape.

The toilet seat creaked as she tried to shift her weight, and the top of the toilet tank clacked against the porcelain tile.

“You almost done?” the man on the other side called out.

Camilla had her hands on the windowsill. She threw a panicked glance at the door. “Um. Just…dumping the blood into the toilet, and then I have to—”

“Whatever. Hurry up.” His footsteps drifted slightly away, and Camilla’s heart rattled.

She stood on top of the toilet’s cistern and shoved her shoulders through the window opening. A little yelp escaped her lips as she saw the distance to the ground. It was lower out there than it was inside, and if she fell on her head, she’d break her neck. She pulled out again, scraping her arms against the frame. Breathing heavily, Camilla squeezed her eyes shut and tried to get hold of herself.

She could do this. “I can do this,” she whispered.

No one was coming to save her. She had no choice. It was now or never.

But Camilla sure as hell wasn’t going to break her neck on the way down. She was going out feet first.

It was an awkward thing, to be balancing on top of a toilet, trying to climb out of a tiny window. But her life was on the line. Her business. Her future.

She got both feet out over the ledge and began to wriggle. Her hips were a tight fit.

A really tight fit.

Grunting, Camilla squeezed herself through the opening, kicking her legs to try to help as she pushed and shimmied and scraped herself through. She was a human tube of cookie dough, being squeezed out of its plastic packaging. Her hips would be bruised to all hell after this, but she’d be free. She had to be free.

Both thighs were out now, and she could prop her toes on the edges of the bricks. She banged her knee against the wall.

The doorknob rattled. “What are you doing in there? I’m coming in.”

“I’m washing out the cup! Let me clean the sink!”

“The sink?”

“Yeah! Cleaning it! If you have some boiling water, I’d really appreciate it. I have to sanitize—”

“This cup shit can’t be real! I don’t believe you,” he shouted. “I’m coming in. Unlock the door.” The doorknob rattled, and then there was a heavy thump, like the man was trying to ram the door down with his huge shoulder. The frame groaned in protest.

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