“Tom, what is goingon?”
“You’re sick, Ada. You know that. You have been for a while, and I’ve been trying to let you have your independence, but it’s just not safe anymore. I think we both know it’s time we stop dancing around this thing between us so I can take care of you properly.”
“Properly?” I shriek. “Whatthing, Tom?” I know what thing he means, but maybe saying it out loud will make him realize how ridiculous it sounds.
“Ada… come on now, you’ve been flirting with me for months, but you don’t have to be shy anymore. I know about your little anxiety problem, and I’m not bothered. It doesn’t need to come between us.”
Ew. Honestly, that’s worse than I expected. I’m not surprised Tom is trying to get into my pants, but since when is saying thank you when someone does something nice for you flirting? I know I live in New England, the land of the cold, but being friendly isn’t flirting. Period.
“I’m dealing with my anxiety, I don’t need your?—”
“Shhhh,” he says, smushing his finger into my lips. It smells like sweat, which tells me that he hasn’t washed it in god knows how long. I clamp my lips together. Please, please don’t let me puke. Hewouldn’t like me puking all over him.
Then again, he probably won’t like me protesting that there is anything between us. That pulls me back to reality, because as pissed as I am with him, and trust me, rage is roiling in my veins, pissing him off is going to do the exact opposite of keeping me safe.
“Like I said, I’ll go make us some breakfast. You can come out and we can talk about it then.”
Gross, dude.
Standing to leave, I hear him mutter, “This is why women shouldn’t work,” under his breath, and I want to launch myself at him and claw his eyes out. Instead, I wait for him to shut the door before running to the attached bathroom and using his cheap green soap to wash my lips until they are red.
No amount of scrubbing makes them feel clean, and I swear the sweaty scent of Tom has invaded my nostrils. Who has fingers that smell like sweat? Maybe it's just in the worn-out brown washcloth I’m using? Doesn’t he know that he needs to check his washer for mildew? Clearly not.
Before falling asleep last night, I’d checked the windows and door and found them all barred and locked. I figured that since I’d seen him on the video, Seth might be my best bet. I mean, he should be used to being my knight in shining armor by now, he’s played the part enough. And for the past few weeks, in my recent dreams, I could have sworn he acted like he cared about me… really cared, not just pretended.
Judging by how locked down he has this room, Tom means to keep me for a while. I also checked the room for cameras, because you don’t build a prison room for abducting women unless you’re really sick. As far as I could tell, there weren't any… I guess he has them all pointed at my house instead.
Bastard.
If Seth isn’t coming—I blink back the tears that sting at the thought—I need to figure out how to get myself out of this situation. First though, I need some more information, whichmeans I’m probably going to have to eat the horrible breakfast Tom’s making with his unwashed hands.
He obviously means to keep me here, but he also seems to be romanticizing it like he thinks I’m going to be his wife or something. Normally, you don’t keep your wife locked up. If I let him think I’m going along with it, will he let me out during the day? If I asked to watch the video again, would he leave me alone with his computer? He said today he’d go back for Henry, so I should be here alone when he does. Maybe I can prepare some way of getting out or calling for help when he does.
After a day or two of no response,someoneis going to wonder where I am. Fae said she’d call the national guard, and while maybe that was an exaggeration, shewillfigure out something is wrong. She has my address… perhaps she’ll call the cops?
Or maybe it’ll be my parents who realize that I must not be answering their twelve messages a day for a reason. As soon as my parents figure something is amiss for real, my dad, my brothers, or all three will be on a plane to come find me. If that happens, though, there’s no way they are letting me stay here alone. Nope, they’ll pack my ass on a plane back home to Utah. I scrunch my nose because in that context, are my dad and brothers really any different from Tom? A lifetime of “men taking care of me” primed me to let Tom help me out, but now, it seems, he’s come to collect on what he deems “his due.”
This room tells me one thing for sure; I donotwant to push Tom. I clearly have no real idea what he is capable of, nor do I mean to find out. I left Utah to get away from this “Provider Patriarchy” bullshit, but at least it’s a framework that I know how to navigate.
I have no idea if Seth is coming to get me, soIneed to save myself—in the only way I know how.
Back in the bathroom, Istare at myself in the mirror and put on my armor. For centuries of oppression, we women have had to wield whatever we could to stay safe, and that’s exactly what I mean to do today. I may not have hair tools or makeup, but I calm my hair, splash some water on my face, and straighten my clothes.
“Alright, Ada,” I hype myself up in the mirror. “This is gonna feel gross. But this is what keeps us safe. Now, get out there and keep sweet.”
Standing by the bedroom door, I make my voice sound pitiful and call out to him. “Tom? Can I help with breakfast?”
His heavy footsteps come running down the hall, and he’s smiling when he opens the door. “Feeling better, sweetheart?”
“Yes, can I help you with breakfast?” I’m meek, timid, sweet and subordinate. I’m going to do everything you need me to and definitely not run away the first chance you give me.
I almost feel bad when he smiles even wider. “I’d love that, sweetheart!”
“Great!”
CHAPTER
TWENTY
