And my blood freezes. Because gouged into the wood, splinters still splayed horribly, are four perfect lines. As though someone else has tried to scratch their way out of this room.
Forty-five
What becomes clear,as the night deepens, is that Jack has no intention of letting me out today. He’s passed the door several times—presumably to check that I am still incarcerated—but, though his footsteps have slowed on his approach, he doesn’t speak. Not even when I plead with him, my voice a genuine stutter of fear, ofdesperation. I hate how pathetic it makes me sound. I hate that he has so much power. More than anything, I hate that I made such a monumental mistake. That I believed he could love me for who I am.
I have laid out the contents of my pockets on the floor, my sanitizer and my wallet, in case there was anything I could use to make my escape. I even retrieved the old key to Freddie’s flat from his box, which I’d left here on my first night, and tried to jam it into the lock. It’s far too small.
I can’t stop thinking about what he said.Mum.Why her, of all people? Because he wanted to own me so completely that when I lied—told him she was the most important person in my life—he decided she was a threat? As much as I don’t want to believe that the man I have beensharing a bed with could be capable of such depravity, it’s the only conclusion that makes sense.
Any love I felt for that man has evaporated. I’m filled only with a burning hatred so strong I could—and do—scream. For everything he has put me through. For making me believe that I could be someone worthy of his time. His attention. His love. But it wasn’t me he wanted. It’s never me they want.
It was exactly the same with Freddie. When it became too difficult to ignore his blatant disregard for our relationship, when I’d tried and failed to bring him back to me, ramping up my performance, acting as Marcie would have done, all to no avail, I decided the time had come to confront him. I was out of all other options. I waited until he left the office. Then I followed him.
I just wanted to find a quiet place. A place far from the prying ears of our colleagues, so that we could talk. Properly, this time. When he hurried down an alleyway, I waited ten seconds, then followed. He was on the phone—leaving a voicemail, from the sounds of it. And I knew, just by his tone, that it was a message forher. I drew closer, hoping to hear more, throwing caution to the wind in a way I never will again. And what I heard was horrible. It confirmed my worst suspicions. There was someone else. I was not enough for him.
Ten minutes later, Freddie was dead.
Now, suddenly, the answer comes to me. While Freddie’s great love was at least alive, Jack is still caught up with the love he lost. And in order to escape, I realize I will have to slip into the role she vacated, turn myself into her one last time. The stakes are higher than ever. Any slipups could be fatal.
I’m going to have to put on the performance of a lifetime, pretend I’m still utterly, irreversibly in love with this man whom I feel only revulsion for. I’ve done it before. I can do it again.
He’s gone to bed. About an hour ago he hovered by the door, and I cried, screamed, begged for release. There was no answer.
At some point—I’m not sure what time—I drag myself away from the door, over to the bed, and collapse into it. I must fall into an uneasy sleep, because when I wake the key is rattling in the lock, and I only have time to sit up, clutching the blankets to my chest, as Jack enters the room. I’m sleep fuddled, but not enough to forget my plan. The new plan. Jack stands in the doorway, staring at me, and I’m off the bed in a second, rushing over to him and clutching at his arm.
“I’msoglad you’re here, Jack. I need to explain. Please, will you listen? It’s not what it seems. Iloveyou, Jack.” Voice low, earnest, intense, I don’t move my eyes from his. “I don’t care about Mum. I never have. She treated me terribly after Marcie. She never cared about me. I see it now. No one cares about me like you do. I love you.”
This final declaration gives him pause. Once again, he searches my face for the lie and finds only desolation. Devotion. Predictable, the way his eyes soften. He is arrogant enough to believe that I could possibly still love him after everything he has done.
“I understand why you’re so angry, Jack. It makes total sense. I’d be angry, too. But Ipromiseyou I didn’t invite that woman over. If I’d believedhalfof what she was saying, would I still be here? She was jealous. Of you, of the life you gave to Alice. It was so obvious.”
Jack looks like shit. Haggard from whatever he indulged in last night. He rubs his hand over his face as though trying to make sense of what I’m saying. Because it does make sense. He knows my argument is solid. Of course it is. I came up with it.
“I’m so confused, Iris. You’re driving me crazy. I don’t know what to do.”
I tighten my grip on his arm. “Let me out. Let’s go back to the way things were. She’snothing. She’s so unimportant. What matters is you and me.”
Nothing for a second. Then a slow nod. I reach up on my tiptoes to give him the softest kiss on the cheek. He doesn’t pull away, so I plow on. It’s working. Just a little further now.
“You’re a good person, Jack. You care about people. That much is obvious. Just look at how much you’ve looked after me for the last few weeks. You deserve to be happy. You’ve been through so much, it’s time to let me look after you.”
And, because he is an idiot, he believes me. I can tell from the way he draws me into him, presses a kiss to my temple that I must fight the urge to wipe away. The door stands open behind us.
Timorously, tremulously, I ask the question: “Can I come out?”
He sighs, long and low, and then nods. “I’m sorry.” His voice is choked. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s OK,” I croon, though of course it is nothing of the sort. I fight the urge to run down the corridor as we exit. But Jack’s hand is still on my arm, and there’s a warning in the tightness of his grip. We don’t go downstairs. Instead, he leads me through to his bedroom.
I have to endure sex with him. I’d half expected it, but it doesn’t make the experience any more pleasant. He’s domineering again, and I allow it. A perfect, submissive doll who doesn’t ask questions, who pretends he is a master of pleasure, when in actuality his violent thrusting is giving me carpet burn.
It’s only when I rise, announce that I am getting in the shower, that I realize he doesn’t intend to leave me alone for one second.
“I’ll come with you,” he says, and he rises, too.
I turn away from him and roll my eyes. Showering—particularly for someone with my standards—is a very personal experience, but I grit my teeth and acquiesce once more.
In the shower, while I am pretending to enjoy the way Jack rubs soap into my shoulder—about as unpleasurable as the sex—I plot my escape.
