smelling like that filthy cunt.”
She looked down at the floor. His tone was so abrasive she felt beaten up.
“You now have three minutes – you won’t even make it up the stairs at this rate.”
“Why? What’s going to happen in three minutes that won’t happen in ten? You’ve already fucked up.”
He grabbed her and shoved her against the back of the couch and put the gun against her face. He wasn’t aiming it at her, just pressing its side to her cheek like he always did, so if he shot he’d shoot a hole in the ceiling, only there was no ceiling because they were standing under the part of the roof that had collapsed. She couldn’t take it anymore. The rage rushed up from her guts and right out of her mouth.
“THEN SHOOT ME THEN!” She screamed. “GO AHEAD AND SHOOT ME!” He took the gun away from her face and stood back. He hadn’t expected her to yell like that. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t kill her. He didn’t know what to do. He barely understood what he’d already done.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She didn’t know anymore how to behave. “I need to get something from my bag first,” she spoke, defeated.
“Get what you need then and let’s go,” he said, winded. “I’m following you up there. There is no window in there – so you can’t escape. Besides its upstairs.” He waved the gun around, hastily directing her.
“I keep telling you I’m not going to try to escape.” She could hardly speak up now. Her throat hurt from yelling. “There’s nowhere I want to go.”
“Okay, let’s go.” He waved the gun in the direction of her purse. When she didn’t move fast enough he pushed so hard she hit the table where her things were.
“Your five minutes are up,” he informed. What did that mean?
“Please,” was all she could muster.
“You have five more minutes – this time I’m not giving you anymore.”
She grabbed her backpack and he yanked it from her hand and put it back down on the table.
“Take out what you need,” he said. He moved the gun around in her hair like he was combing it with it. She felt it against her head, then against her ear. She slipped her hand down into the backpack and shuffled around until she found a tampon. He pressed the gun harder against her head. Embarrassed, she slipped the tampon into her back pocket.
“Okay…I’m ready,” she said.
15
While she was permitted bathroom time, she stared at the bath, longing to bathe. Her irritated skin was starting to feel a bit better, but a long hot bath would do wonders.
“Hey?” he called out impatiently, knocking. “What’s going on in there?”
“Nothing.” She pulled her jeans up and looked in the mirror. She looked bad. There were little spots of blood around her mouth and the rest of her skin there was red and blotchy. Her hair was lifeless and greasy. She barely recognized the girl looking back at her.
He started knocking again, louder.
“I will come in there,” he warned.
“No, I’m coming,” she alerted, opening the door.
“Back downstairs,” he ordered. She wanted to ask to take a bath, but decided to follow his orders and wait, maybe an hour, then she’d ask. They were heading back to the couch when he called for her.
“Hey,” he called out, reaching for her arm. “We’re going to the kitchen first.”
“Okay.” Once he saw she was following him at her own free will, he rested his hands at his sides.
“Your place is very clean,” Sophie complimented.
“That’s no thanks to my wife, trust me.” He put the jar of cookies near the cutting board and washed the dishes in the sink.
“That slob would leave stuff out – just out – food everywhere, her hair was – is – still everywhere. You can kill someone but it takes a while to disperse of their entire existence.”
“My parents are slobs,” she said. “There’s always shit on the table. My mom…she decided she was going to try and be an Avon representative.”
He chuckled. She watched the way the overhead light hit one side of his face, leaving the other side untouched, in the dark.
“Yeah, they both seem so lost…I thought when you got older you figured things out.”
“Not how it works, sweetheart,” he said, his back still to her.
“I can’t stand them,” she suddenly realized. Her body shook with hate when she said it. “My dad’s never there and my mom…” she started shaking her head. “I get…tired of doing things…she’s always making me do things.” she realized.
“Yeah,” he muttered, understanding. “I get tired of doing things too.”
He turned around and leaned against the counter, his arms spread out so his hands were on the counter.
“Parents are funny species. They think because they created you – because they had sex – they get to tell you what to do, pick your clothes out, they own you. Its quite creepy, the whole concept.” He grew quiet for a minute. He looked down at the floor and then back up at her. She hadn’t moved at all from the spot on the other side of the counter, like she was waiting for an order.
“So you really don’t think they’ll come looking for you – your parents?”
Sophie shook her head, positive.
“Why would they want to find me when they sent me away?”
He laughed a little like he understood and looked back down at the floor. She tensed up when he detached himself from the counter and walked over to her. He put his warm hands on either side of her face, lifting it so she looked up at him.
“Okay…enough talking. You have to be quiet. You can’t talk. I never really wanted you to, I never wanted to know what you sounded like or how you thought. I know you now, you understand me? And I didn’t want to know you. Before you were just a body I had to keep warm until…” he looked around the house, out the patio doors into the woods. “I figured something out.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again. She just didn’t want him to get mad at her. She liked how he was always right there, telling her what to do and what not to do. She’d gotten used to his authoritative ways.
He stared at her, frowning thoughtfully. He pressed his thumb over her lips then he ran his hand through her hair, moving it back behind her ear.
“I can’t keep you…alive,” he said. She started crying. “For one thing, you don’t listen. I just said I didn’t want you talking and what do you do? You keep talking.”
“Just tie me up. We’ll just sit here. You sit there on the couch and I’ll sit in the chair and we’ll just be…quiet. And together.”
The sudden pounding on the front door made Sophie jump and took Phillipe’s eyes away from her. He stared at the door for a second and then back down at Sophie. He put his finger to his lips for her to be quiet. She nodded and didn’t make a sound.
The pounding was unnerving. This wasn’t the type of person that was going to just give up and go away. They were here for a reason and it didn’t seem to be a good one. Sophie stared at Phillipe – who was supposed to be in control and have a plan but he just stared at the door, aloof.
“Its him,” he said. “He’s looking for her…”
Who? Him who? Then Sophie guessed it was the man Phillipe’s wife had an affair with. Phillipe stared at the floor, thinking, remembering...he took a deep breath when another round of pounding occurred, just when they thought the unwanted visitor had left. Phillipe snapped out of it and took Sophie by her arm over to the chair. She didn’t know why he was bothering tying her to the chair and neither did he, it was just the only thing he knew to do at that moment. She was much easier to control than the unknown visitor, than the pounding.
The knocking ceased, but the presence of the unwanted visitor was still felt. He suddenly looked up at Sophie and they just stared at one another. It was a look of mutual dependency.
“I’m going to go out there,” he told her.
“Be
careful,” she said. He looked at her. He didn’t know why, but he took the tape and ripped a piece off. She winced, not wanting to go through this again. He pressed the piece of tape over her chapped lips and picked up his gun and went outside.
Sophie listened hard for any slight sound but she didn’t hear anything at all. Even the crickets were silent. A few seconds later she heard a heavy thud and footsteps coming to the house. Please let it be Phillipe.
She was relieved to see his dirty blonde hair and gaunt figure. But something was different. He was acting different. He didn’t say anything as he came over to her.
She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes as he stood in front of her. Please don’t leave me like this all night again.
“No kind of look you give me is going to do any good, understand?” He raised the gun and aimed it at her head. If he got her right there in the forehead she’d fall back and die right then. It would be clean and painless.
“I don’t trust looks, I don’t trust words. I don’t trust anything…well I trust guns,” he said. “Guns don’t lie. They shoot you? Then that means they shoot you.” He tried, but he just couldn’t do it. He turned and kicked the back of the couch so hard he hurt his toe.
“FUCK!!!!” He screamed and fell down on the floor. He jabbed her in the knee with the gun. Just do it, just do it, shoot her, bury her and get out of here.
She shut her eyes, thinking this was it. He was going to shoot her. But the knee? That would be a very painful and slow way to bleed…
He removed it, stood up and ran his hand