He sits down opposite and watches me eat. I keep cramming chicken into my mouth because I’m scared he might take it away.
“Something to drink?”
He opens a can of lemonade.
“You’ll make yourself sick. Maybe you should slow down.”
But I keep eating. I can’t chew quickly enough. I swallow and almost choke.
He takes the corner of the greaseproof bag and pulls it away from me. My eyes and hands follow the food, but he smacks at my wrists, telling me to slow down.
I can’t answer. A wodge of food is caught in my throat. I can’t breathe. He stands and puts his arms around me, tightening his grip, forcing air out of my lungs. I cough up a ball of masticated chicken.
He sets me down on the chair.
“Do as you’re told next time.”
That’s when I puke. He steps back but not in time to save his shoes. He calls me something. I don’t catch the words. My whole insides are coming out. I feel as though they’re going to finish up on the floor with the regurgitated chicken and lemonade.
I wipe my mouth and nose with my sleeve.
“Where is Tash?”
“I caught her.”
“Where is she?”
“I killed her.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He laughs. “She’s in another room—just like this one.”
“Can I see her?”
“No, I’m punishing her.”
“Punish me instead.”
He doesn’t answer.
“Please, let me see her.”
“No.”
“Why are you doing this?”
Again, he doesn’t answer.
“I want to go home. Please let us go. We won’t tell anyone.”
“I thought you had outgrown all this,” he says, sounding disappointed.
“Let me see Tash.”
His hand shoots out and grabs my face so hard that my jaw feels like it might collapse. He lifts me up. My toes are barely touching the ground.
“Shut up! Understand? Stop whining.”
He says it in a tiny whisper that echoes in my skull.
“Do you hear me?”
He forces my face up and down. Then he lets me go. I don’t know how I stay upright. He sniffs at his fingers and wrinkles his nose.
“Time to get you cleaned up.”
He leads me away from the table to a bed and a big old-fashioned bath on clawed feet. A wood-fired boiler is warming the room and heating the water. The bath is already half full. He turns on the tap. Steam billows. Bubbles froth. A large trunk at the bottom of the bed is open. There are shampoos, soaps, body washes, lotions, conditioners, moisturizers, perfume, bubble bath—it’s like he’s raided every hotel in the country, taking all those little complimentary bottles.
Adding more bubble bath into the running water, he watches it froth and foam. Then he opens a second trunk and takes out a big fluffy towel.
“You haven’t undressed.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“Not in front of you.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Please,” I ask, in a squeaky voice.
I look at the bath and then the open trunk. It has a mirror fixed to the inside of the lid. I catch a glimpse of my reflection. My hair is matted into rat’s tails. My eyes are red.
The bath is ready. He dips his fingers into the water.
“You have nothing I haven’t seen before.”
But that isn’t true. He hasn’t seen me naked before. Not up close. Not like this.
He takes hold of my face again, forcing me to look into his eyes, which peer deep inside my head. His fingers tighten. Tears fall on the back of his hand.
“Don’t disobey me, Piper. You know what I can do.”
I take off my clothes. He holds them between his finger and thumb, dropping them into a plastic rubbish bag. I cover my breasts with my forearm.
He motions to my knickers. Soiled. Yellow.
“Those next.”
“I want to leave them on.”
He shakes his head.
I push them down, turning my back, stepping quickly into the bath and sliding beneath the surface, curling up into a ball. He pulls his chair close so his knees touch the edge of the bath.
He hands me a pink disposable razor.
“Do your legs.”
I hesitate. He reaches into the water and grabs me by the left ankle, lifting the leg upwards. I don’t have time to grip the sides of the bath. I slide completely underwater. He’s holds my leg higher, keeping my head under. I can’t breathe. I may never breathe again.
When he drops the leg, I come up spluttering and coughing, leaking snot, eyes stinging.
“Either you shave or I do it for you.”
I shave, one leg at a time, propping each on the edge of the bath. He watches. My hand is shaking as the blade carves a track through the foam.