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KOOKABURRA
Ifeel like fried chicken. Not the sexy, eleven secret herbs and spices kind. More like the, got pissed up last night and attempted to cook and almost burnt the house down kind.
Everything hurts and I’ve barely any memory of what went down. The final thing I remember was refusing to kill Judge Jeremiah – even though he deserved it for being a corrupt cunt and selling me out to this shit hole rather than sending me for a nice cushty stint in Pentonville or Belmarsh – then waking in my bed just now feeling like I’ve been struck by lightning on repeat.
Except…I swear I woke up at some point in the night, to find someone in bed with me, touching me in a way which makes my cheeks heat now to think about it.
But that was likely just a dream.
I stumble out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and almost vomit at the sight. My hair is wild and greasy, my eyes are bloodshot, and there’s a cut on my cheekbone that I don’t remember getting. I turn on the faucet and splash water on my face, hoping it will somehow cure my pounding headache and queasy stomach.
When I take another look, I notice the savage bite on my neck, the ring of fingerprint shaped bruises around my throat, the scabbed over nail marks on my breasts, and the imprint of teeth marks ringing my nipples.
What the fuck happened last night?
As I leave the bathroom, I notice a note on the kitchen counter. It’s scrawled in messy handwriting that I don’t recognise. Of course I don’t, I’ve been here two nights and haven’t got a clue what the fuck is going on. It reads: “Sorry for last night, Red. Know you’re going to have questions when you wake. Come find me. I know a place where we can speak, unwatched and unheard.”
Fuck. Well, that tells me that there’s cameras or possibly microphones in my room then. I shiver, not liking that at all. Not that I thought for a second that the sumptuous surroundings of my room afforded me any kind of real privacy, but still, blissful ignorance was better than having it confirmed like a slap in the face. I’m guessing the note is from Nightshade. I think he’s the only one that’s called me Red, but I can’t be sure.
Deciding answers can wait a little longer, I shower, taking my time to catalogue my injuries as I wash dried blood, sweat and dirt off my body. My thighs are tight with dried cum, and my pussy is as sore as my ass.
Some cuts reopen and bleed in the hot steam, and one or two I’m forced to remove broken glass from with my nails – though not as many as I was expecting. It stings like a bitch but it’s hardly worth a trip to the medical room over.
Once I’ve used up all the hot water, I exit the shower, stem the few small cuts that are still weeping, and dry myself. I’m just finishing getting dressed when there’s a knock at my door.
“Come in,” I call, because let’s face it, I can’t stop them with no lock.
It’s Nightshade. And he’s frowning at me.
“What?” I demand.
“What’s taking so long? Didn’t you see my note?”Ah, so it was him then.
“One, I just woke up. And two, yes I did see your note but I had a shower first.”
“A shower?”
“Yeah, you should try it some time.”
“I don’t shower. I take baths.”
“With bubbles?” I tease.
A frown creases his brow. “With wine.”
“That’s not a no about the bubbles,” I point out. His answering scowl gives me fanny flutters. Does he even know how beautiful he is? The more fierce the glare, the harder I fall. He’s such a beautiful monster.
“I can’t believe you thought a shower was more important than getting answers!”
“I want a bath now. With bubbles and wine and you for company,” I tell him. “You can wash my back.”
“What?” That’s thrown him.
I smile sweetly. It feels alien on my face. “Nothing. You were saying there was somewhere we could go?”
He frowns a moment longer then tilts his head, appraising me. “Follow me.”
I do, and he leads me out of my room, along the winding corridors to the elevator we used before. When we step inside, I stop him from scanning his finger.
