Frozen(27)

"You know I heard you coming up the driveway, right? I unlocked the back door so you wouldn't freeze to death."

I couldn't believe it.

He knew I was here all along?

Darcy grinned. "Don't look so surprised, you weren't exactly quiet, Neala."

I shook my head and opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Darcy chuckled, "Cat got your tongue? I'm sure an hour or two in here will change your mind."

What?

"What are you- Darcy!"

He closed the door of the storage room and turned the lock.

"Use this time to think about what you've done."

"Darcy!" I screamed. "Let me out or I'll fucking kill you!"

"Goodnight, Neala," Darcy laughed.

He left. The bastard left me locked in his kitchen storage room.

I was going to kick his arse when I got out of here.





"DARCY! LET! ME! OUT!"

I opened my eyes and smiled.

"Music, sweet music." I beamed.

I heard Neala scream in anger as she began to beat on the storage room door for the tenth time in the last few hours. I was originally only going to play a trick on her and leave her in the storage room for only a few minutes, but she cursed and banged on the door for a solid thirty minutes, and to be honest, I wasn't opening the door while she was in that state. She would have just attacked me.

I did eventually open the door when she stopped banging and screaming, an hour after putting her in there, and I found her rolled up on the storage room floor lying on multiple tea towels snoring like an old man. I didn't want to move her for the simple reason that my hourly trips to the bathroom were her fault - I had no proof, but I knew she gave me diarrhoea - and I wanted her to suffer a little. I didn't want her to get sick though - I wasn't as evil as she was - so I got my spare duvet cover and some pillows and wrapped her up in them.

She didn't move a muscle while I tucked her in, probably because she was exhausted from hiking up to my house in below freezing weather wearing only a dress, blazer, and high heels while it was snowing. The girl wasn't the brightest crayon in the box.

"Darcy!"

I sighed, and got up from my bed. I stretched, put on a pair of comfy trousers and absentmindedly checked my sheets to make sure I didn't have another 'accident'. I shook my head just thinking about last night. After shitting myself I spent thirty minutes cleaning up my bathroom, and bagging my soiled clothes and cleaning rags. I threw them out into my bin out back, and that was when I heard the little criminal cursing up a storm in my driveway. She wore the wrong clothes to break into someone's house when it was snowing outside, and she was so loud I could hear from the back of my house.

Stealth definitely wasn't her forte.

I can't call her too much of an idiot though, she did manage to pull one over on me and make me shit myself. I don't think my pride will ever recover from the revolting moment that she caused. Even after I locked the evil witch in my storage room she was stilling hurting me because I had to make frequent trips to my bathroom all night long. My stomach only settled around five o'clock this morning. Unfortunately my arsehole still felt like it was in the fiery pits of Mount Doom except I didn't have to trek to Mordor.

One ring did in fact rule me and it was the burning ring of my arsehole.

It hurt so bad I was pretty sure I had third degree burns!

Oh, and if having crippling stomach pain and a flaming arsehole wasn't enough, my nose suffered terribly with the smell that took residence in my bathroom. I went through two bottles of bleach, and a whole can of air freshener and the smell of death still lingered in the room. I closed the bathroom door and had to leave the built in ceiling fan on all night as an added method to air the room out. The smell may never leave though - I wouldn't be surprised it moulded onto every surface at the molecular level.

I'm sure that's what Neala wanted in the first place.

"The evil cow," I muttered as I exited my bedroom and walked down the hallway to my kitchen and temporary prison.

I opened the kitchen door and winced when the love of my life made a whimpering sound.

"Baby girl, what's wrong?" I asked and rushed over to my African Grey parrot.

She was my baby - she was seven years old and the boss of my house.

"Darcy, is that you? Open the door and let me out, the bird is driving me bleeding mad!"

I ignored Neala and opened the birdcage and stroked my baby's chest when she climbed onto my hand.

"What's wrong with you, Einstein?" I asked.

I heard a frustrated wail come from the storage room.

"I told you, I want you to-"

"I wasn't talking to you Neala, I was talking to me bird," I cut Neala off as I continued to stroke Einstein's chest.

Neala was silent for a moment, then she laughed.