Entangled by Cat Clarke

By Cat Clarke

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That’s the truth. day 12 Slept well. Ethan brought me fresh fruit for breakfast – papaya and melon and mango and pineapple. He didn’t speak to me, and I returned the favour. He came back when I’d finished eating to take away the bowl. He always seems to know when I’ve finished eating. I never have to deal with congealing leftovers, which is good, because bad smells make me gag. I’ve looked around for hidden cameras or peepholes, but there’s nothing. Although I saw this TV programme once where there was a camera hidden in the end of a ballpoint pen.

And why hadn’t she told me before? I led her into my house and straight up to my bedroom. We changed out of our wet clothes. I even let her wear my favourite jeans. She sat at the dressing table while I ran a comb through her matted, damp hair. She was looking in the mirror, but I could tell she wasn’t really seeing much of anything. I looked at Sal’s reflection. Would I call her beautiful? Maybe. Definitely. Blonde hair that skims just above her shoulders. She often gathers it up in some complicated arrangement that always looks completely effortless.

Sounds like there are a couple of deadbolts on the other side though. It seems a sturdy sort of a door. Nap time. Just woke up. Thought I was at home in my own bed. And then I crash-landed back to Earth with an almighty thump. Worst feeling ever. It’s the not knowing that’s really getting to me. I’m not saying it would be better if Ethan had actually done something to me by now, but at least then I’d have some idea of what I’m up against. I could at least try and fight some perverted rapist. I can’t fight Ethan … So I sat down on the swing next to this guy and said hello.

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