Chapter 3
Prudence
“This is excessive,” I say, trying to loosen the zip ties securing my wrists to an exposed pipe in the bathroom.
I’m sitting on the cold tile floor in the dark while my captor shuffles somewhere ahead, a shadow among shadows. The weird thing is, I’m not scared. He was gruff while tying me up here, but his hands were gentle. Not once did he cause me pain.
“Will you just be quiet?” he asks with annoyance. His voice sounds clearer, because his helmet is off, but it’s too dark for me to see his face as anything other than a blob of paler shadow.
“Look, I’m not an idiot. I won’t try to run out of the house screaming for help. Untie me, please. I have bad wrists.”
The darkness shifts as another swathe of lighter color emerges.
I swallow and squint to see better. God.
He’s taken off his shirt. His chest is bare, and while I don’t see much, the very awareness that I’m locked in the bathroom with a half-naked man sends a panicky thrill down my back.
I pull against the ties, which hold, of course.
Before I can stop it, a whimper pulls out of my throat.
It’s a tiny sound, yet it’s enough to make him stop moving.
“What?” he barks.
“Are you undressing?” I ask in a harsh whisper. “What for?”
Something clinks. His belt buckle. Hot and cold waves crash down my spine as I wonder if he’s going to hurt me. I should be afraid, but what I feel is mostly unhealthy curiosity. I’ve detached from life for so long, I have trouble remembering this is real.
Because come on. A hot killer, in my house, in my bathroom, undressing? How is this not a fantasy?
“I need to shower,” he replies after a moment, then heaves a deep sigh of annoyance. “I’m not gonna touch you, so stop hyperventilating. Just be quiet and don’t peep.”
Don’t peep? I squint, begging my eyes to penetrate the darkness. The window is covered, so there’s almost no light from the street. All I see is the dynamic, moving mass of shadows. And then, there are the sounds.
A sigh. Fabric shifting. Something falling onto the floor with a faint clink.
I bite my lip, realizing it’s probably his pants, weighed down by the belt.
Then, there’s a hit against the old shower, some rattling, a curse.
I imagine he hit his elbow, and the image of that emerges in my mind like goddess Venus from the foam: a naked giant of a man scowling in annoyance as he massages his elbow, his forearms all strong and veiny.
The shower doors slide open, and my face heats as I stare and stare, desperately hoping for a glimpse. It’s so frustrating being threatened by someone whose face is a mystery. I desperately need to know what he looks like.
“Ow!”
Something crashes, the shower wall rattles, and shampoo bottles roll inside.
“Oops,” I mutter. “I should have warned you. It’s a bit cramped.”
“For fuck’s sake, how many bottles of shampoo does one woman need?” he hisses.
My stomach heats with guilt, because I ask myself this question every day. It’s not just shampoo—I have lots of types of body wash, scrubs and peelings, and other cosmetics stacked all around the shower. It’s way more than I need, and a stupid way to waste my money, yet I can’t help but get more.
Every trip to get groceries is torture, because I hate going outside. That’s why I reward myself every time with something clean that smells nice. The scents comfort me, and washing myself vigorously after every trip outside helps me cope.
But the killer-slash-burglar-slash-kidnapper in my shower doesn’t need to know how fucked up I am.
“As many as she wants,” I grumble defensively, because it’s one thing to judge myself, and quite another for him to do it. He’s way worse than me. “And I haven’t let you use my shower, so it serves you right.”
He huffs out a harsh, exasperated breath.
“God, I swear… Just shut up. Pretend you’re alone.”
I smirk in triumph. “I often talk to myself when I’m alone.”
Something bangs in the dark. “Fuck! What the hell?”
I shake my head with something between pity and amusement. Honestly, this guy must be a really hopeless killer if a simple shower brings him down.
“There is a lot of stuff in there. Step carefully,” I warn him way too late.
“Fuck this.”
He comes out and moves in the dark. Things rustle and shift, and suddenly, a faint light disperses the darkness.
His phone. I gasp and stare harder, my eyes tracing his side and the curve of his ass.
Oh. Wow. It’s so round. And his legs are so long.
He’s like a statue of a god or one of those ancient athletes who competed naked.
“I told you to keep your eyes closed,” he growls. I slam my eyelids shut before I have a chance to see his face. “Or should I blindfold you?”
“Please, don’t. I won’t peek. I promise.”
As soon as the shower doors close, I look up. His phone lies on the lip of the washbasin, the faint blue light skittering down the shower door. I haven’t cleaned it in a while, and the limestone buildup prevents me from seeing the man inside clearly.
Water turns on, and I just catch his hiss of dismay. Oh, right.
“See?” I do my best to sound innocent. “If you hadn’t tied me up, I would be able to turn on the heat now. As it is, you’re doomed to use cold water.”
For a while, there is no answer as he snorts and curses in a steady stream. There are a few minor hits and bangs, and I wince every time. After maybe five minutes of splashing and cursing, he speaks.
“Why the fuck do you live like this? You’re like a ghoul or one of those blind things that live under rocks.”
I sigh, wondering if that’s accurate. The picture he painted isn’t very flattering.
“Why would I care about the opinion of a lousy killer?”
The water stops running. The air smells of roses, which makes sense. It’s one of my favorite scents.
“Would you care about the opinion of an excellent killer?” he asks, and there’s a shiver in his voice, either from amusement or the cold.
“No.”
The doors slide open. I watch greedily as the large, naked body shining with moisture lurches out onto the mat. He grabs my towel off the hook and starts drying his face, but that’s all right. I have far more interesting things to ogle.
Except, they look nothing like what I’ve seen online. I should have listened when people said porn was far removed from reality. It gave me unrealistic expectations.
“Wow, that’s… tiny.”
He freezes, the towel obscuring his face. I keep staring. There’s a trail of dark hair leading down from his navel to the miniscule set of genitalia between his legs. They are perky and taut, nothing hanging freely, like I was led to believe. It’s all so… compact.
His ball sack looks small and wrinkled, as if there’s nothing inside.
On top of it, his penis is barely bigger than a plum.
It’s plum-shaped, too. I thought phallic objects, like sticks and towers, were supposed to resemble the actual penis shape, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. His is rather oval.
It’s sort of cute.
Suddenly, there’s a face in front of me, the sharp tip of his knife pressing to the middle of my lower lip. My eyes are wide, looking right into his eyes, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, he’s furious.
“You weren’t supposed to look,” he growls, his voice so low, goosebumps race down my nape. “Stupid girl with a death wish. Now I’ll have to kill you.”
I am completely still, my senses in overdrive to absorb this strange, thrilling moment.
My heart beats fast from adrenaline, because a knife is pressed to my face, but I’m not scared, not really.
I’m too busy feeling his hot, angry breath sliding down my cheek, and the wide, secure hold of his cold palm on my shoulder.
His face is very symmetrical. Big, dark eyes glare at me from under thick eyebrows.
His nose is straight and wide, and his mouth is lush, full lips twisted in a sneer.
A small scar puckers the skin under his eye, a line with a jagged tip slightly resembling an arrow.
It points at his mouth, so that’s where I stare.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, trying not to move my lips. At this surreal moment, I am incapable of saying anything but the truth. “I wanted to see a naked man at least once if I’m going to die tonight.”
He releases a long, controlled exhale. “I could slash your throat right now. Why aren’t you afraid?”
I stare into his eyes that are so alive with anger and determination. This killer has so much more life than me, so much more power. All I do is exist. His one breath is more passionate than my entire life. It’s shockingly attractive.
“I don’t think dying will be any worse than living,” I confess in a hoarse, scratchy whisper. “It might even be better.”
His nostrils flare as he studies me without blinking. The knife pulls away from my skin, but it still hovers in front of my face like a pointless threat.
“What did you mean, ‘at least once’? You’ve never seen a naked guy?”
I scoff. “I’m a weirdo shut-in who lives her life online. Figure it out.”
He closes his eyes with a pained expression that looks even more attractive than the furious one. I don’t understand how someone with a face so perfect becomes a killer. He should be an actor or something.
When he gets up, it’s with a fluid, catlike grace I could never dream to emulate.
“Then look all you want,” he says, standing above me as I’m confronted with a very close view of his crotch. Things seem to hang lower there, and it’s not as tiny anymore. “You’re doomed anyway. And for your information, I’m a grower.”
I get one more front-seat glimpse before he turns away and resumes toweling his body. My mouth waters when I watch the play of his muscles under his skin. God, this man is a work of art. I think I might even die happy if he’s the last thing I see.
“A grower?” I ask to distract myself from the heated helplessness that pools in my lower belly. I am one sick girl, that’s for sure. “Does that mean it only gets big when you’re horny?”
He snuffs out a small, tense laugh. “Precisely. So you do know something, little ghoul girl.”
I shrug. The Internet can be very educational if one cares to learn.
“Right.”
He comes over, unfortunately all dressed, and quickly slashes through my restraints. “Let’s go.”
I stand up but resist when he pulls me after him. “Where? What are you going to do?”
A sudden wave of fear clogs my throat and tightens my stomach. All of a sudden, his touch feels very real—and inescapable. He said he’ll kill me, didn’t he?
I think I’m afraid of dying, after all.
“I’ll tie you up in the attic,” he says with a tight frown, eyes averted from my face. “Come on.”
Panic sets in, and I dig in my heels, desperately trying to stay right where I am. It’s not rational, but I feel safe in the bathroom. Here, he is the man who let me look at his naked body. Out there, he’s a killer.
“Look, I can help you!” I ramble as he pulls harder, and my socks slide helplessly on the tiles. “I’ll pretend to be your sister, girlfriend, whatever you want! I will lie to the police! See? That will make me an accomplice! You won’t have to kill me.”
“Not gonna happen,” he hisses through clenched teeth as he drags me into the cold, dark corridor. “I’ve made enough stupid choices in one night. Come on, don’t make this harder.”
“I’ll do anything!” I sob as tears stream down my face. I shake, stumbling helplessly after him. “Anything at all, just tell me what you want. Please!”
He moves so fast, I get dizzy for a moment. As my back hits the wall and his incensed breath is on my lips again, my heart stutters, just once, and goes back to a more or less normal rhythm. My panic inexplicably disappears.
Something’s wrong with me, but I don’t have time to wonder what.
“Do not go there,” he says, his every word an angry puff of breath landing on my lips. We’re awfully close. “I’m not that kind of killer, you understand? I don’t torture, I don’t rape, I don’t mutilate. I don’t fuck women I’ll have to kill, so don’t even try to tempt me.”
“So if you fuck me, you won’t kill me?” I ask in a tiny, hopeful voice.
His forehead presses to mine, and I choke on the hot air he breathes out.
“I am not going to…” He stops speaking when a clear, shrill sound comes from downstairs.
A doorbell. They came for him.