Chapter thirty:
I go into the living room and see that Carrie is asleep, her body curled into the fetal position in the center of her wet patch.
Shit,I think.I forgot about that.
I look around the room because I know I left her cell here somewhere, but no matter how hard I look I can’t find it anywhere. I run my hands through my hair in frustration, and the bandages on my arm snag painfully and I hiss in pain.
Carrie wakes up, slowly at first and then all at once. She glances up at me and begins to sob, and I scowl and let out a heavy breath.
Will you just calm down? This is getting ridiculous now.
She continues to sob, burying her face in the crook of her arms and sniveling. She’s mumbling something behind the sock in her mouth, but I don’t care too much about what she’s saying because I’m just so grossed out about having to clean up her piss.
And then I realize what a terrible job I’m actually doing of looking after her. My Carrie…my world. She hasn’t eaten or drunk anything or even been able to go to the bathroom in days. I’ve tied her up, hit her (though that was her own fault). She’s fallen over, bashed her face. I shake my head, disgusted at what I’ve done. No wonder she looks petrified of me.
Well, no more,I decide.I’m going to sort this mess out now, and it’s going to be okay.
I smile and crouch down to her. She winces with her one good eye; her bad eye is almost swollen shut.
“I’m sorry about everything,” I say. “It really wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
She mumbles something behind the socks in her mouth, and I frown because I can’t make out what she’s saying.
“I’m going to give you a shower and get you something to eat and drink, and then we’re going to have a chat. Okay?” I give her my best smile. The one that makes people soften to me—especially women. But Carrie only narrows her one good eye at me. And the way she looks at me reminds me of the woman in the croissant shop and makes me angry, and it takes everything I have not to smack her again.
I scoop her up in my arms. She’s heavier than I thought she would be, but it’s okay because I’m stronger than she remembers me being. I talk to her as I carry her upstairs, and I smile once or twice to try and soothe her.
“I know that you’re hurting, and I know that you’re worried, but it’s me Carrie. You don’t have to worry about me.”
We reach the last step, and I carry her through to the bathroom where I just took a bath and I put her on the floor with her back against the wall. I inhale her scent and think I’m in heaven. I put the plug in and I run her a bath.
Yes, Carrie, it’s your turn for a bath now. You’re covered in piss.
She doesn’t make a sound as the water splashes from the faucet. She silently watches me from the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest. I find some bubble bath and I pour some in. It smells like flowers, and I like it.
“See?” I say with a huge smile, the heavy scents filling me up. “You’re going to enjoy this.”
A small amount of bubbles appear on the top of the water, and I realize that I haven’t had a bubbly bath since I was a kid. I decide that as soon as we get back to my place, we’ll go shopping and we’ll buy lots of bubble bath and she can scrub my back while I pop the bubbles. I don’t normally like to lie in my own filth, butI’d do it for you, Carrie. And after our bath we’ll christen my bed, of course.
Carrie and I will give the whore upstairs a run for her money.
When the bath is finished running, I turn off the tap and turn to look at her. She smells really, really bad. Not just piss, but sweat and dirt too.
“I’m going to undress you now, Carrie. But that means I need to undo your wrists while I take your clothes off, okay?” I watch her carefully.
She nods slowly as if she agrees, but I know she’s going to do something stupid. I can see the spark in her eyes.
I untie her wrists first, and she stays still. I rub the red marks that circle each one, but she doesn’t appear to be in any pain from them. I grip the hem of her T-shirt and pull it over her head, and I watch as her breasts heave on her chest.
‘It’s rude to stare,’ I hear my mom say, but I can’t not stare. Not when we’re this close. Not when her pink rosebuds call to me. I reach a hand up to touch one. Just a little bit; I just want to feel the soft flesh pucker under my fingertips. But as I lift my arm, unable to control my own urges any longer, she makes a dive to escape my touch.
And because she forgot that her ankles are still tied together, she falls and lands on her front, her beautiful breasts pressed against the cold bathroom floor.
“I’m sorry,” I say, over and over. Because I know I crossed a line. You should never touch a woman unless she says it’s okay to. I know that, but I couldn’t hold myself back.
She’s lying on her front and I straddle her to stop her from moving, and then I reach over and tie her wrists back together. She pants heavily, her face turned to one side, and she watches me from the corner of her eye, her mouth still plugged up with the socks. I trace my fingertips down her naked back, the skin so soft it feels like velvet to the touch. And I swallow down the hard lump that has filled my throat.
I reach under her and find the button to her jeans, and I work my fingers to undo it. And then I’m sliding her jeans over her perfect ass and down her perfect legs, and then I can see her perfect body.
