I crumple up the paper and let out a frustrated yell as I roll it into a compact ball. Then I pull it apart and rip it petulantly, already breaking the rule of keeping my new home tidy. Tears roll down my cheeks as I realize that I must come to terms with the fact that this is my new reality. Maybe one day I'll be found or run away. That day could be tomorrow. But in the meantime, if I don't accept and adapt to the present, I'll lose my mind before that day comes. I'll be as torn and rumpled as the paper that litters the pale knotted-pine floor.
So I wipe the tears, bend down and pick up the shards of paper. I've already made my stand earlier, and I think that's enough rebellion for one day. As I pick up the pieces, I feel the soreness from when Night was inside me earlier. I quiver with the memories of the indecency. I grimace at my depravity in lusting for him. I take the fragments of newspaper and hide them under the bed, so if someone ever finds this place and I’m dead, maybe they’ll piece together that I was once here.
I push against a small door to find a very small washroom. There's no modern plumbing. There's makeshift wooden seat which I presume leads to a bucket underneath. It's too small a hole to fit even an entire leg through, so I don't entertain the thought of a grand escape. There is a basin full of water and another empty basin. On a small wooden shelf are fresh towels. On one wall is a small, faded mirror, ornately curved in shape. My face shocks me. It's thin, and my hair is wild. A bright red streak colors my pale neck from when he held the sharp knife against it. I run my finger against it and smudge the blood against my cheeks and lips like makeup. It's just a surface cut from the contact of the knife. It won't even scar. I know because I had many of these when he took me and they're all gone now. Erased from memory as I surely will be in a few months.
There is a pull cord and of course, I curiously yank it without thinking. Water rains down on me and I startle. It's some sort of makeshift shower. The water isn't hot, but it's warm enough, and already being naked and needing to cleanse away the earlier activities, I pull down the cord all the way and let the water fall on me.
A shower, even one as primitive as this one is an absolute luxury. I wash away the blood and evidence of the brutal sex we had, but the pink ligature marks on my ankles and neck stubbornly remain.
Blocked from my view earlier by the towels are small bottles. Shampoo and soap.
As the lukewarm water cascades down my skin, I think of the cute little abode in which I find myself, feeling a twinge of gratitude. This entire thing required thoughtful planning. Stop, Vesper. This is no different from the basement or a cage. But it is. He could keep me wherever he wants. Instead, he built me a home. He's given me a way to clean myself. A place without windows which means that at least I am safe from his prying eyes when I am alone.
He's stripped me of my dignity, but he's also giving it back to me in small pieces. If I behave, I can keep this.
Once complete, I wrap the towel around my body and use the small antique brush resting beside the empty basin to comb my hair. It's the first time in weeks I've felt comfortable. I don't know how long it will last, but this is the way things are now. Here, I still exist. The old Vesper Rivers will have to be stowed away, protected by the new one, so that when she is free again, she will still be whole. This is survival.
She looks like those jewelry boxes, a beautiful girl surrounded by pastel colors, confined to her perfect little world. She doesn't know I can still see her. Of course I would make sure to install peepholes throughout the little cabin. I'm me for fuck's sake.
She read the articles and cried. She understands now. It's only a matter of time before major resources are pulled from her search. There will be a little girl taken somewhere, a murder, then another. And with each of those she'll be pushed a little further towards the back burner. I saw how it used to bother my dad when a case couldn’t be solved, but you can’t pool your focus on one person forever. It’ll get to the point where they will require a mistake on my part to find her. I don’t make mistakes. Vesper understands that the only person who can take care of her now is me.
I won't mention that I can see her this time. I shouldn't have the first time. But I went down there and smelled myself on her skin and the visions of her writhing on the floor as she moaned flooded me and all my plans dissolved. Already burning from the heat those thoughts stoked, she opened her smart mouth and ignited them. She had the nerve to lie to me and I had to humble her.
I am always on the brink, living on the balance of wanting to hurt her and fuck her. It's why I have to hold the knife so tight, why I allow myself to give her little cuts, to let blood. It satisfies the rage just enough, but I could slip and then it could be over.
And I don't want it to be.
Fuck.
That's the thing about keeping a person alive. In a way you are just as much a hostage to them as they are to you.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap.