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What was there left for Him to do to me? What came after barbed wire? My mind went straight to the bleeding wreck of a man that Gregor had created with his knife.
If it was that next, could I kill myself? I had no clue how anyone suicided without drugs or a weapon. I might manage shooting myself in the head but anything else seemed unlikely.
How bad had things become that I contemplated this?
How many people would have done it already?
I dropped my gaze to the bed. The guard had poked these sheets through the hatch and they’d come back with dark spots. Their laundry methods hadn’t washed out my blood.
Yesterday, after three days without seeing her, the cleaning lady had returned. My opportunity, or so Pieter had whispered. I gave her the plate with an apologetic smile and a here’s some rubbish you missed. What were the chances she would read it? She’d looked at the writing, frozen, and then I’d crumpled it again and tossed it into her bag of rubbish.
Please help us. They killed a young boy here. They torture me. Go here. Say Pieter sent you. Say where we are.
Below that was Pieter’s signature, an address, and a note that said to give her a large amount of money – a coffee-flavored message. It was weird. Like hiding a hacksaw in a cake.
She’d gone and now I could only wonder. What if? I’d had a nightmare last night where Gregor burned us alive. If he found out what we’d done, he would punish me. I’d seen that possibility from the moment Pieter suggested this.
“Are you okay?” Pieter was at my side, panting, looking all sweaty and male.
I shrugged. “Just thinking.”
“I’ll have a shower then and join you in that thinking.”
“Mmm.” We shared a bed at night but I’d made clear to him that he wasn’t to touch me sexually anymore. That he obeyed was amazing. I eyed him sideways as if dubious. “I guess thinking with me is fine.”
He shot me one of those inscrutable frowns that had the potential to stop my heart. I’d figured out I could either act daunted or flippant when he did this. Acting frightened was stupid, like blood on the ground to my tiger. Besides, I found I liked living on the edge and teasing him.
So I grinned.
“Ja, it sure is bloody fine. Don’t go away.”
That he now said the Aussie bloody instead of the South African blêrrie was cute.
I counted days. Was it Saturday? “Gregor’s back soon.” Breathing became a forgotten thing.
That I’d said it aloud registered a second later.
In mid-stride to the shower, Pieter turned back, his lips compressed. “Yes.”
Even if the cleaning lady went to his soldier friends, it might be too late. Dread arose from the ashes of my thoughts.
They’d do something awful to me tomorrow. It was always worse.
The shower came on. I blinked then rearranged myself on the bed and looked the other way so I wouldn’t have to see Pieter’s toned butt or any of his other interesting bits.
A guard banged on the door. “There’s a cyclone coming! Should be here tomorrow. If it doesn’t knock the place down, you should be fine. Don’t expect food for a couple of days. Fill these up with water.”
He shoved a few plastic containers through the hatch, old milk bottles from the looks of them, and then a bag of apples, a few packets of cheese, and some bread. They thumped and scattered onto the floor.
A cyclone. That was why the high winds. Fuck.
As if on cue, rain speckled against my window and a super-big gust shook the glass again.
We might drown or...or anything.
And if the building fell over, I didn’t give a shit. Maybe we could escape even. I flopped back onto the bed and grinned at the ceiling.
No Gregor. Yes!
