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‘On the way home,’ she sobs.
‘Go home and wait for me. I’m taking you out to dinner. I’ll be there in less than an hour. Wear something sexy,’ I say, joy pouring through my living blood.
I stuff my phone into my pocket and, feeling light-hearted enough to fly, I run up the three flights of stairs. I let myself into my flat and, pressing my palms to my face, I go to the mirror. Wow! Look at me glow.
Undressing quickly, I step into the shower. I fly out in five minutes and do my hair. Putting a tiny amount of gel into the ends of my hair I blow dry it, and leave it as a mass of tumbling curls on my back and shoulders.
Then I sit on the bed and paint my toenails bright fuchsia. I wait ten minutes for them to dry. When they are, I pull on strawberry-flavored, edible panties, carefully stick edible, chocolate-flavored arrow tattoos on my belly and thighs. All arrows point towards my hoo-ha, which has already started humming with anticipation.
Oh, and there are watermelon-flavored pasties for my nipples.
Just thinking of Dom licking everything off makes a shiver run down my back. Smiling happily, I slip into a white dress with secret mesh panels on the bodice and back. It molds to my body then flares out from mid-thigh to my ankles.
With butterflies in my tummy, I step into strappy silver shoes. My toenails, bright and glossy, peep out as I walk three times into a cloud of perfume I have sprayed above my head. Sitting at the dressing table, I apply fuchsia lipstick and a layer of mascara, and I’m ready. I look at the time. Still ten minutes to go. The doorbell rings. He’s early. He’s eager. I grin at my reflection.
Way to go, girl.
I don’t walk to answer the door, I run. I open the door and my smile dies on my lips. I recognized him straightaway, even with the unkempt beard and mustache, but why on earth is he dressed like that? And what the hell is he doing here? What’s that supermarket trolley doing out in the corridor? But before I can say or do anything he reaches out, and stabs me in the hand with something sharp that he was holding concealed.
It acts so quickly I don’t even feel myself hit the floor.
TWENTY-SEVEN
‘Do not run away; let go. Do not seek, for it will come when least expected.’
—Bruce Lee
Quickly, I push the trolley into her apartment and close the door. Using the tattered blankets inside the trolley, I bundle her up in them. Then I turn the trolley on its side, and pull out all the assorted bits and pieces inside it: old newspapers, empty tins, plastic bottles, some boxes. I drag the trolley so it’s facing her body and kind of roll and push her body into it.
Excellent … She fits even better than I thought.
Grunting, I try to pull the trolley upright, but it is too heavy. I let it drop back down. Slight change of plans. Straightening, I walk over to a small, painted cabinet and take out a phone directory. I lift the trolley slightly and push the thick book into the gap. Now I have more leverage. Using both hands I give the trolley another great heave. My second attempt is successful.
Panting slightly, I throw the other odds and ends on top of her body and stand back to look at the end effect critically. Yes, no one would suspect that it is anything other than the trolley of a homeless man filled with everything he possesses. There’s a mirror on her wall and I go and look at myself.
Good. I look like a tramp—unwashed, unshaven, dirty. It took me weeks to perfect this look. Because of her, I’ve spent every waking moment planning and learning. Yes, I learned to pick locks, to gather intel, to bug, to follow, to immerse myself into my disguises, to pretend to be Melanie, someone who likes and makes light-hearted comments on all her pathetic little posts on Facebook.
Carefully, I push the trolley into the lift. Thank God! It’s working.
As I push her through the foyer, I see the big man go running up the stairs. And I smile. Too late! I push her out into the evening air and down the street. Not one person looks me in the eye or suspects anything. By the time I get to my basement flat it’s nearly dark. I glance around. There’s not a soul about.
I go down the steps and open the front door of the place I have rented. I go back up and overturn the trolley. I pull her body out and carry her down to my flat, her feet dragging against every step it takes to get to my front door. I drop her inert body just inside my house and, running up the stairs, I push the trolley down the steps and leave it in my garden. Then I go back into my house and close my front door.
There, there now. All done.
It is destiny that she should fall into my hands like an apple from a tree.
I drag her to a wall and prop her into a sitting position against it. The harsh illumination from the bare single light bulb makes her skin glow. Up close, she is even more beautiful. It’s obvious that she doesn’t belong in these surroundings. Her perfume wafts up to my nostrils. I breathe it in deeply. I haven’t smelt a woman for a long time. Not one as fine as her, anyway. My hand moves to her breasts, but I can’t bring myself to touch her. No, I won’t steal it when she’s asleep. I’m not lustful and unchaste. She’ll be bound, naked and wide-awake, when I defile her.
She must witness the moment I force myself on her, and bring her to ruin.
I secure her hands behind her back with plastic ties. Next, her legs. Rolling her onto her side, I look at her. Her face is angelic. It’s almost an abomination to see her silky golden curls tumble onto the dirty carpet. I used to dream of them spread over my thighs as she swallowed my cock.
Bitch ruined my life.
I spit in the dirt near her head and move away from her.
In that first moment of consciousness, when it’s still dark behind my eyelids, there is only the sensation of a throbbing pain in my temples. The sensations that follow on are much stranger. An unfamiliar feeling of stiffness and constriction. Something scratchy against my cheek. The smell of damp and dirt. My eyes snap open in alarm. My hands and legs are tightly bound, and I’m lying on my side on a filthy carpet. My mind goes blank. What the hell is happening? I blink, and lift my head from the rough bristles.
