The Slave World (15)

(15): Mark

I was quiet and withdrawn as we left the house in Hampstead Lane by Uber cab. To his credit Adam held my hand throughout and just that simple physical contact, knowing he was there for me helped me hold back the tears. I wasn't going to cry in an Uber cab.

I wasn't.

It was possibly sometime before seven in the morning when the side streets of London were still relatively quiet. Underneath my coat I was naked except for the steel ankle ring on my left foot. I rested my head on Adam's shoulder and took further comfort as he snaked his arm around me. He knew better than to speak – all I wanted right now was some tenderness from another human being.

I leaned on Adam as he led me into his building, past the night concierge at the reception desk who was coming to the end of his shift and on towards the elevator that took us up to the fifth floor where Adam's luxury apartment was situated. I waited as he fumbled with his latch key, opened the door and led me inside.

Like some shuffling zombie from a George Romero movie I made my way to the living room where I threw myself onto the main sofa and gazed in dismay at the steel locked about my ankle. The collar was gone now of course, but the ankle ring remained.

“Coffee, Cat?”

I nodded. I felt so tired, but I didn't want to sleep until the slave ring was cut open. Adam would have to go out to a DIY store and purchase the necessary tools, and in the meantime I would drink my body weight in strong coffee to keep from slipping into the dream wold that was already calling to me. I felt physically and emotionally drained.

Adam pressed a hot cup of espresso into my shaking hands and sat beside me as I drank it.

“Thank you,” I said with real sincerity. I pressed my head to his shoulder again and felt his arm around me in return.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked. I wriggled my left foot – the one with the slave ring around it. “Obviously that,” he added. “Goes without saying. I'll head out to the DIY stores in a short while. But anything else I can do?”

Just hold me, I thought to myself. Stroke my hair. Tell me everything will be okay. Tell me that you'll be here for me and nothing bad can happen now. Hold me. Just hold me. I gazed up at Adam and began to cry.

“Hey, Cat...” He looked unsure what to do. “I wish, I really wish I...” and then his voice trailed away. Whatever he wanted to say he couldn't bring himself to say and I didn't press him on it. I was too tired.

“I don't want to be alone today, Adam. Can I stay here?”

“Of course. I'm going to go out now and try and find some cutting tools. Are you going to be okay until I get back? I'll be as quick as I can.”

I nodded. “Adam... the only thing that kept me sane last night was knowing that you wouldn't abandon me. I knew I could count on you, and that gave me the strength I needed to get through it all. I just want you to know that.”

It was his turn to nod now. “We'll have lots to talk about, I'm sure. But let me get those tools. I won't be long.”

He was as good as his word and was back within forty minutes carrying a pair of bolt cutters and a fierce looking circular power saw with a selection of blades that I didn't really want going anywhere near my ankle. He deposited the items upon the coffee table and began to unpack them. I had taken the time while he was away to swap my coat for the red dress that I'd worn yesterday before we had gone to the Gorean house.

“Bolt cutters should do the trick, but I bought the best rotary saw as well just in case.”

“You can't use that saw, Adam. It could cut my leg off!” It looked heavy and extremely powerful.

“I'm rather hoping it isn't necessary, too. Lie on the floor, Cat and extend your ankle. I'm going to wedge some rags between it and your skin to give me enough room to use the bolt cutters. These things can cut through police handcuffs so hopefully they will work on the ankle ring.”

And so we stuffed kitchen rags under the ring to lift it away from my ankle enough to allow Adam to work the bolt cutter in place.

“Please be careful!” I watched Adam strain with the bolt cutters and... nothing happened.

“Fuck.” He wiped some sweat from his eyes as he rested after his fifth failed attempt. The ankle ring remained firmly in place with only the barest mark on its surface to indicate the incredible pressure applied by the long handles. “It's going to have to be the metal cutting saw,” he said. “I'm going to go very gentle and slow with it and you'll need to keep pouring water over the point where I'm cutting so the blade remains sharp.”

I really did not look happy about this as he unpacked the rotary saw. It was a beast and although described as a hand held tool, only barely qualified. One slip and I'd be an amputee.

“Adam, I'm really concerned about this.”

“I know what I'm doing, Cat. I've used a lot of power tools in my time.” But when he plugged the saw in and let it run for a few seconds to test the feel and weight, I shank back in fear. That thing would cut through bone in seconds.

“Adam, please be careful!”

He powered it off and looked at me. “It's either this or you keep the ankle ring?”

“Okay. Just...”

“I know.” He positioned me with my back to the wall, my leg outstretched with my ankle resting on a piece of wood. We had stuffed as much padding between the ring and my skin as we could fit in there, for all the good it would do if that saw went through the ring too quickly. “Do not move your leg, okay? Do not even think of moving your leg.”

“Oh God, please...” I looked away but had to look at the ring again when Adam gave me a squeezy bottle filled with water.

“Squirt that as I'm cutting through the metal. It will help the blade stay cool.”

And then he started work. He turned the saw on and slowly and carefully lowered it in contact with the ankle ring. There was the sound of metal on metal and the fearsome sound of 3,600 revolutions per minute just half an inch away from my flesh and bone. Adam let the saw do its work for maybe ten seconds before he lifted it up to see only the faintest discolouration mark on the ankle ring, but the edges of the blade itself were now worn and damaged.

“Adam?”

“The saw isn't cutting through. Not even slightly. I'd apply more pressure but I'm afraid of the blade slipping if it's not actually cutting even a notch, and if that happens your foot is gone. Whatever that metal is, it's harder than anything I've ever heard of. This saw would eventually cut titanium steel, but that ankle ring...”

“Adam! I can't have this thing on me! Please...”

“I know, Cat, please, calm down. I'm going to call Mark.”

“Mark? What does he know about cutting metal?”

“Well, Mark knows a lot of useful things I don't. He may have an idea.”

Forty minutes later, Mark stood in the living room, his face set in that steadfast frown he often had. He wore jeans, a dark top and a leather jacket – casual inconspicuous street wear that were his stock in trade.

“You're wearing a dress, Caitlin,” was the first thing he said as he walked through the door. He seemed shocked.

“I am, yes. Hello Mark. Thanks for coming.”

“You never wear a dress.” he looked confused.

“I'm a train wreck of contradictions lately,” I said as I watched him take a seat on the sofa beside me. “And I have this ankle ring locked on me.” I extended my foot for him to look at.

“We've had no luck cutting it,” said Adam with a knowing look aimed at Mark who seemed to understand the implication of whatever that knowing look meant.

“Caitlin,” said Mark as he turned towards me. “May I have your permission to touch your ankle? It is necessary to examine the steel restraint.”

Mark was like that. Very old fashioned and respectful towards women that he considered to be worthy of his respect. The fact that he would actually ask me before touching my ankle was genuinely weird though.

“Of course. Go ahead.”

He took my ankle in his hand very gently as if afraid that he might break it, and he then turned the ankle ring round three hundred and sixty degrees before nodding in confirmation. “You’re wasting your time with those,” said Mark as he regarded the bolt cutters and the power saw. “The ankle ring is made of Kurranium alloy. You’d need an industrial cutting machine to cut through it and that’s likely to take Caitlin’s leg off in the process.”

I felt a sense of shock as Mark said that.

“There has to be a way to cut the ankle ring without going through Caitlin’s ankle at the same time. Mark, you must know how to do that?” said Adam.

“I do,” said Mark as he regarded me. He seemed somehow distracted by the sight of my bare arms and legs. Until now he had never seen me in a dress. My usual day time wear had always been my ubiquitous skinny jeans, casual top or blouse and jacket over the blouse. Adam had always goaded me into wearing a skirt or dress from time to time, but Mark who was a lot more old fashioned about things concerning women would always chide him for suggesting that. “Caitlin is appropriately and modestly dressed and showing a minimum of flesh,” he would say in a voice that seemed to approve of my choice of clothing. “Within the dress codes of Western Europe that is, but Caitlin dresses appropriately for her status. She is not to be rebuked and teased to wear garments that are more revealing and inappropriate for her.” I used to enjoy hearing these exchanges of comments because Mark seemed so adamant that I was upholding some kind of high standard and actually seemed to be telling Adam off and defending my virtue! I did wonder if he had Middle Eastern connections in his family and that he had been brought up perhaps to think that women were decent if they covered their limbs, and wanton sluts if they didn't. But he was always vague when I asked him about family or where he grew up. “Not England,” he would simply say. “Not here.”

“We need to talk,” said Mark to Adam as the men exchanged some sort of silent acknowledgement of matters that I wasn’t privy to. “Caitlin, if you will excuse us for a moment? Perhaps you could retire to the bed chamber. Find a spare sheet and cover yourself with it while we talk. I will call you when we’re ready.”

“Cover myself?”

“Your legs, your arms,” Mark said with a smile. He seemed embarrassed that I was dressed the way I was.“I understand how awkward this must be for you to be seen like this by us. You have been very brave. A sheet will suffice for now to maintain your dignity.”

Weird, I thought as I walked into the bedroom and closed the door. Perhaps Mark really did come from some Middle Eastern country where women didn’t show bare arms and legs. It felt like he was actually concerned for me, as if he thought I might be distressed to be seen with my arms and lower legs exposed. I sat down on the edge of the bed and listened to the low murmur of conversation in the living room on the other side of the door. What were they talking about? I lifted my left leg and touched the ankle ring. Mark said he knew how to remove it without injuring me. That was good. I felt very relieved. The sooner the better, really. I just wanted it gone and then I wanted sleep. Lots of sleep. I felt so tired. It had been such a long night and I was suffering badly from the adrenaline come down.

So tired. I lay down on Adam’s big bed and rested my head against his soft pillows. Maybe I would just close my eyes for a few minutes and rest.

Yes, that would be nice I thought as I slowly drifted off to sleep.