Creep - Jennifer Hillier [76]
Finally he nodded. “Okay. We’ll try it. You’ve been good.”
Good? What a fucking joke. How was it possible to be bad chained to a bed twenty-four hours a day? “Thank you.”
Ethan took the gun out of his waistband. “You fuck with me—”
“I won’t. I don’t have the energy. Trust me on that.” She meant every word. She was in no shape for a fight.
Ethan fished a key out of his pocket. She caught a whiff of his clean scent as he leaned over and unlocked her right wrist, then her left. When she brought her arms together to rub her wrists, her shoulders tingled with pins and needles.
“Here.” He handed her the key. “Do your ankles. Like last time.”
Sheila bent forward, and her back was instantly on fire from the sudden movement. It took all her willpower not to shriek. She was dizzy from the exertion when she finally got her legs free.
Handing the key back to Ethan, she moved her legs slowly over the edge of the bed, pausing a moment to let the blood circulate. Using small, deliberate movements, she stood up and began shuffling toward the bathroom. Her muscles felt like Jell-O. Looking down, she could see the angry welts on her bare ankles that matched her chafed wrists.
If she could have walked faster, she would have, the urge to urinate was so strong. Ethan followed behind her, the gun in his hand. As she turned down the hallway toward the bathroom, she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if she suddenly whipped around. Could she disarm Ethan if she took him by surprise? If she did, then what? She’d have no trouble putting a bullet in his head, but what good would that do? She’d still be stuck in this modern-day dungeon. The door had a keypad and she didn’t know the code to get out.
Maybe she could use the gun to torture it out of him. Shoot one limb at a time. It was a lovely thought.
“Holy slow, Batman,” Ethan drawled behind her.
She made it to the bathroom. Like the rest of the basement, the small room had no windows and was completely done in white—white toilet, white sink, white walls, white floors, white tub, everything perfectly clean. The smell of disinfectant was strong, which didn’t surprise her. Ethan was a germaphobe.
Sheila pulled her dry diaper down to her ankles. She lifted the toilet lid and sat down. Almost instantly, the bathroom filled with the pungent odor of urine that had been marinating far too long.
Ethan watched from the doorway, amused. Sheila couldn’t have cared less. She sighed. This was the closest to contentment she’d felt in a long time. After a full minute, her bladder finally flexed out the last drop.
Then, as if to punctuate being finished, she farted.
The sound echoed loudly in the ceramic bowl. She felt her face grow hot.
“Jesus Christ.” Ethan laughed, his face a blend of amusement and mild disgust. “Excuse you.”
“Sorry.” Her hands flew to her face. It was ridiculous to be embarrassed about a fart—after all, she was being kept here against her will, and what could be worse than having to urinate in adult diapers?—but she was ashamed nonetheless.
And when the smell hit, she was mortified.
“Holy fuck.” Ethan clapped a hand over his nose. “Don’t tell me you’re about to take a shit.”
As if on cue, her bowels cramped.
“Yes,” she said, doubling over. She couldn’t look at him. There seemed to be no limit to how much humiliation a person could take.
The thing was, she hadn’t pooped since she’d been here. It was no surprise; she was hardly eating anything. She wondered now if Ethan had been slipping something else into her water along with the sedatives. This was the first time she’d felt the urge.
“This is so gross.” Ethan’s T-shirt was pulled up over his nose, exposing an inch of flat, hard stomach. His muffled voice was filled with glee under the fabric of the shirt. She knew he was laughing at her.
“Can you get out of here, please?” The cramping was becoming painful and urgent. She didn’t think she could hold it in much longer.
He moved back a few inches. “I’ll leave for a minute, but the door stays open and I’m right outside.”
“No, please.