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Sitting up, she brushes long, wild locks of red hair from her face. She’s a light sleeper, a fact I can attest to, sleeping below her creaking mattress as she tosses and turns.
Resting on an elbow, Fiona stares at me with bleary eyes. “I can’t believe you snuck out!”
“Shh, don’t wake Carol Ann,” I whisper. “You know how she gets when she’s tired.”
“Psh! She sleeps like the dead. Just look at her.”
I glance over at Carol Ann, fast asleep on her top bunk, an arm flung over her eyes, as she snores softly.
“Where were you?” Fiona hisses.
I tiptoe over to reassure my sleepy friend. When I reach her bed, we’re just about at eye level with one another. She stares at me with trusting eyes.
Guilt tingles in my belly at the lies I’ve got to make her believe. “I went to the police station.”
Her eyes widen. “We figured that much.”
I slip my hand into hers in comfort. “I did go, but I took your advice. I didn’t tell them anything.”
“Thank God.” She gives my hand a squeeze.
“I just told DI Collins I was mistaken. I dreamt I was sleepwalking.” The lies flow easily when you’ve grown used to them. “I’m done with all that now. I swear.”
“Good! But you could have called, couldn’t you? Didn’t you get all of Carol Ann’s threatening texts? Call us ASAP or I’m going to run your toothbrush over the toilet seat lid?”
I think of my phone, now in Bayne’s hands.
“Gross.” My nose crinkles, thinking of the threat. “She didn’t do that. Did she?”
“No. But don’t push her,” Fiona warns. She flops back down onto her pillow. “Don’t worry—Carol Ann’s all talk. She’s really all jelly on the inside.”
“Still, if she ever does anything to my toothbrush, swear you’ll tell me,” I say.
“Swear.” She offers me her pinky in promise, and I hook mine into hers.
“Night.” I let her hand go.
In the bathroom, I go through my bedtime routine, washing my face, still feeling the heat of his lips against my neck. By the time I pull the soft duvet up to my chin, Fiona’s breaths are coming soft and even.
I can’t sleep. Images from my time in the cottage flash in my mind like scenes from a movie. I stare up at Fiona’s white mattress through the slats of the wood.
It doesn’t help.
The memories are still there, my naked body on display, my wrists locked together high over my head. The black satin blindfold over my eyes. Him, wielding his belt.
Wet heat gathers between the tops of my thighs, accompanied by an aching need. One I want to rub away. My fingers slip below the covers, dancing over my loose sweatpants.
Fiona flips over, the mattress squeaking above me. Carol Ann moans in her sleep. I jerk my hand back over the covers.
Shame fills me.
How have I let him reduce me to this?
Last year, someone convinced me not to talk to the police. Over something that got someone killed. I didn’t know what to do. Wanting to be loyal to my friend, to keep them out of trouble, I kept their secret.
But it only led to more death.
Not a day goes by that I don’t regret my decision.
