Steel World Inc. Chapter Twelve

 

((Special thanks to Master Tracker who inspired this piece and contributed passages and some of WPC Colton’s dialogue to the writing))

 

TWO HOURS AGO

 

Miss Arabella Whitlock:

 

“Who… who is it?” I didn’t open the door immediately. I was acutely aware that my door didn’t have a chain lock that I might slide in place before I opened it. 

 

“The police, Miss. We’re answering your call. WPC Arlene Colton and PC Nigel Blythe. Can you open the door, please.”

 

I had called the police, so it had to be them, but my mind was in paranoid mode now. What if it wasn’t the police? But then I steadied myself and thought it through. If someone had been in my flat tonight, he certainly hadn’t knocked – he had just somehow opened the front door, so why would an intruder be knocking now and claiming to be the police?

 

I was being silly.

 

“One moment, please.”

 

I drew a deep breath and opened the latch of the door. There, standing in the corridor, were two London Met police officers - a man and a woman. Thank God.  I felt safer already.

 

“WPC Arlene Colton,” said the woman. She had a hand on her radio that was attached to the right shoulder of her stab vest. “This is PC Nigel Blythe.” She indicated the man who was patrolling with her.

 

“Evening, love,” said the man. “Everything all right?”

 

“Thank you for coming.” I swung the door open and stepped backwards. The man entered first while his colleague spoke some words into her radio.

 

“Can I… can I help you with anything?” I was aware of the man walking straight through into my living room and making himself at home. I was barefoot in my stockings, wearing a long oriental style dressing gown with long sleeves and a drape that hung to just above my knees. He surveyed my living room for a few seconds before turning round and smiling at me.

 

“You could put the kettle on, love. That would be smashing.”

 

Before I could move, the WPC walked into the room and immediately asked, “you haven’t touched or moved anything since you spoke to the desk sergeant, Miss?”

 

“No, nothing.”

 

“Nothing at all?” She scrutinised me as she paced round my coffee table. “Anything could be evidence, you see.”

 

“That’s right, love,” said PC Blythe. I got the eerie feeling that he was gazing at my stocking clad legs. 

 

“I haven’t touched anything, I promise.”

“Good. Not doubting you,” said the WPC, “but some girls can act a bit silly when they’ve had a fright.”

 

“I’m… I’m not doing anything silly.” Why did she say that?

 

“Cup of tea, love?” said PC Blythe with a smile. “Any time you’re ready.”

 

I nodded and walked towards the kitchen, aware that they both followed me, watching that I didn’t touch anything other than the kettle. 

 

“You’re wearing what you had on when you made the call?” asked WPC Colton.

 

“I am yes. I haven’t changed at all. I just put a dressing gown on.”

 

The WPC frowned. “Didn’t the Duty Sergeant tell you not to change what you were wearing?”

 

“Well, yes, but, I didn’t want to just open the door in my…”

 

The WPC frowned again. “In your what, Miss?”

 

“Underwear.”

 

“But that’s why you called us? It’s evidence, Miss, evidence that might be contaminated now that you’ve put a dressing gown on.”

 

“Cup of tea, any time you’re ready,” said PC Blythe as he gazed at my breasts in the silk dressing gown. I had it belted quite tight about my waist, and that I suppose accentuated my bosom. I set about filling the kettle and opened a cupboard to fetch the tea bags.

 

“I’ve got Darjeeling?” I said.

 

“Smashing.” PC Blythe followed and stood very close to me while WPC Colton wrote something in her notebook. 

 

As the kettle boiled, I crossed my arms to conceal my breasts a little, for PC Blythe seemed to be looking down at them. “Do you mind?” I said.

 

“Mind what, love?”

 

“Well…” I slid along the side of the worktop, away from him, which made him grin and shake his head. 

 

“You’re still a bit spooked, aren’t you love?”

 

“Would you mind not calling me that, please.”

 

“Can you show me what you’re wearing,” said the WPC, interrupting my protest. “What the call was about.”

“What, now?” I glanced at her, then meaningfully at the male PC. “I mean, could your partner perhaps go to another room?”

 

“Don’t mind me, love. Not the first time I’ve seen a pretty girl in her Sunday best knickers.” PC Blythe chuckled. 

 

WPC Colton seemed irritated that I was about to suggest her partner leave the kitchen. “We’re professional police officers, Miss. You’ve reported a matter concerning your underwear, so we need to see it. My partner has a duty of care and you should think of him as a doctor. You wouldn’t be ashamed to undress in front of a doctor, now would you?”

 

“Well, it’s a bit different.” I shook my head. 

 

“How is it different?” asked the WPC. She didn’t seem at all happy with what I had implied. 

 

“Well, I mean.” I stuttered. “Can’t I just show you, alone?”

 

“Come on, love, we haven’t got all day. Busy night tonight. Real crime going on, you know, not like this,” said PC Blythe.

 

“I beg your pardon?” I rounded on PC Blythe. “What do you mean ‘not like this’? I’ve had an intruder in my flat! He undressed me!”

 

The police officers turned to look at each other with an enigmatic set of expressions. And just then the kettle began to whistle and I switched it off at the mains.

 

“Two sugars, love, and lots of milk,” said PC Blythe. 

 

I made the tea and then served them both. WPC Colton made no attempt to drink hers. 

 

“I’m, not comfortable with this,” I said softly as I put my hand to the silk sash around my waist. Neither of them said anything. I swallowed a lump in my throat and parted the dressing gown, then slid it from my body. I blushed hotly as I stood there in my white lingerie – the soft silk bra, the tiny white panties, lace suspender belt and Wolford stockings with lace tops. 

 

“And that’s what you put on this morning to go to work?” asked a frowning WPC Colton as she made some notes. She didn’t seem pleased with what she saw.

 

“What? No, that’s the point, I didn’t put this on. Not this morning.”

 

“But you put it on later on, after work?”

 

“No! You’re not listening to me. I wore this last night, and then I put it in the wash basket.”

“Where were you last night, love?” asked PC Blythe. He picked up the dressing gown and took it into the living room for some reason.

 

“I was at a club, with my boyfriend. Where are you going? You’ve got my…”

 

“I’ll just hang this in your bedroom, love. Pretty little thing like this, you don’t want to leave it lying around.”

 

I folded my arms about my body, conscious I was now standing there in just this lingerie. “Can’t I put it back on?” My voice almost sounded pleading.

 

“We need to take photos first,” said WPC Colton.

 

“What? Photos? No…. why?”

 

“Evidence for the records, Miss.”

 

“I don’t want photos.” I shrank back and turned sideways as PC Blythe retuned into the kitchen.

 

“Won’t take long, love. Just a few snaps. I’ve done this lots of time with pretty little lasses like you.”

 

“Please, I didn’t think…”

 

“It’s standard procedure. Move your arms away, please,” said WPC Colton. “Do you have your camera, Nigel?”

 

“I do.” He grinned as he produced it from his bag. “Put your left hand on your hip, love, and turn and face me.”

 

“What?” I was breathing hard in a light headed panic attack now. “Why do I have to do that?”

 

“You’re wasting police time,” said WPC Colton. “We could charge you for that, if you carry on like this. We’re here because you called us, and now you’re wasting police time.” Her voice lacked any sympathy.

 

I sobbed and turned to face PC Blythe, placing my left hand on my hip.

 

“Lovely.” He took some photos. “Now look to the side, love.”

 

“This doesn’t seem right…”

 

PC Blythe took a series of photos of me in my soft white underwear from different angles, eventually telling me to turn round and lift my hair with my hands.

 

“I’m not doing that!” I turned back around and folded my arms over my breasts. “There is no need for this!”

 

The police officers gazed at each other as if I was perhaps some sort of trouble maker. 

 

WPC Colton approached me slowly. She wore sensible flat shoes and a shapeless uniform that made her look intimidating. She was two inches taller than me. “I think we need to make something clear to you, Arabella. You called us here tonight. We have a set or protocols that we follow. You need to let us do our job, or else you are wasting our time. Wasting police time is a criminal offence as outlined under section 5(2) of the Criminal Law Act 1967. I’m formally cautioning you with that now.”

 

“But…”

 

“Quiet. I haven’t finished. If a person has been proven to have wasted police time, a penalty of up to six months imprisonment and a fine can be issued. Six months in prison, Arabella. Is that what you want?”

 

“No, of course not!” I must have looked frightened, for WPC Colton smiled. 

 

“Of course you don’t. Now I don’t want to have to tell my Super that you’ve called us here and then refused to co-operate. I don’t think you’d do well in prison for six months. There are some hard lasses in prison. They’d be only too pleased to see a pretty young girl like you locked up with them. They’d eat you alive.”

 

“Please…”

 

“But we’re not going down that route, are we, Arabella, because we’re here to help you, and you’re going to behave yourself and let my colleague do his job and take his photos.”

 

I sobbed and nodded.

 

“So hands in your hair and turn around.”

 

I did so, cringing as PC Blythe took some more photos of me in my lingerie. 

 

“That’s nice, love. But arch your back a little, and push your bum out. You have a lovely bum, and such tight panties.”

 

The two police officers spent some time reviewing the photos on the camera viewfinder while I sniffed and recovered by the side of the worktop. I heard PC Blythe chuckling in response to something WPC Colton said, that I didn’t catch. 

 

“Now, let’s go over the details. You say someone broke into your flat?” said WPC Colton. 

 

“Yes!”

 

“The door sems fine,” said the WPC. “Nigel, check the windows.”

 

I stood there knowing he would find nothing – no signs of forced entry. He came back and shrugged his shoulders. “Windows are locked as tight as a nun’s knickers..”

 

“This intruder, Miss? You saw him?” asked WPC Colton.

 

“Well, no.”

 

“Then how do you know he was here?”

 

“Because… because… oh, I know this sounds insane, but I closed my eyes, just for a minute or two, and when I opened them I had…”

 

They wore both gazing at me with no expressions of care or concern. I was sounding mad – I know I was. 

 

“When I woke up…” I sniffed. “I felt different. I had… this on underneath my work clothes.”

 

“Magic knickers,” said PC Blythe with a chuckle. “Are they going to disappear and appear on me, love? I hope not. I’d look a bit silly, now, wouldn’t I?”

 

“It’s not funny!” I said, rather more loudly than I should have.

 

“I’ll need you to keep a calm voice with us, please, Miss,” said WPC Colton. “It doesn’t help if you start shouting at us.”

 

“I wasn’t… I mean…”

 

“I’ll have to caution you on your hysterical tone of voice,” said the WPC. She made some more notes. “Now take a deep breath. Have a drink of tea if it will help.”

 

“I don’t want any tea.” I sobbed.

 

“Drink some tea,” said WPC Colton with a stern look that brooked no disobedience.

 

My hands trembled as I picked up the cup in both hands and drank some of it. PC Blythe was smiling and staring at my breasts in their thin silk covering. 

 

“So what do you think happened, Arabella?” asked WPC Colton.

 

“I think I passed out. Someone did that to me. And when I was sleeping, they… they undressed me. It seemed like I’d only closed my eyes for a minute or two, because the clock had hardly moved by the time I opened my eyes again, but I think the clock was wrong to begin with, and when I came home it had been set to the time it would eb when I woke up again. And when I was out, the intruder dressed me in this lingerie.”

 

I watched as the officers looked at one another and rolled their eyes. 

 

“How were you knocked out?  Drugs, or did they hit you?  How?”  

 

“I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know! I came home, poured a glass of wine came in here, felt faint, and the next thing I remember I was woozy and coming to, and feeling different somehow.”

 

“So you were drinking?” WPC Colton made some notes in her book. 

 

“Just a little wine.”

 

“This a regular thing, love? Every night, after work?” Asked PC Blythe. “Like to party when you come home? Dancing to pop music, smoking funny cigarettes, and drinking yourself to sleep with cheap Prosecco?”

 

“It’s just a glass of wine.”

 

WPC Colton walked to the pedal bin, put her foot down on it and gazed at the sight of five empty wine bottles as the lid lifted.

 

“That’s… that’s not possible,” I said. “I don’t drink that much. I… I haven’t.”

 

I hadn’t drunk five bottles of wine this week! I didn’t even recognise the bottles. 

 

“Drunks often say that, Arabella.” WPC Colton closed the bin and made some further notes. “So this isn’t your underwear?”

 

“Well, yes, it is but, I wasn’t wearing it today.”

 

The WPC raised an eyebrow. “It is your underwear? You actually wear this to work?”

 

I blushed. “It’s for… when I go out. I like to wear… I like to feel feminine. It’s not a crime!”

 

“I like to feel a feminine, too,” joked PC Blythe. “you a feminine, love?”

 

I turned my back to him. “You don’t understand!  It is my underwear, but not what I wear to work.  It was what I wore on a date yesterday, I mean Thursday, because it is Saturday by now.  But it was in the laundry hamper.  I wouldn’t wear the same underwear two days in a row!  I didn’t put it on today!”

 

“Show us your bedroom, Arabella,” said WPC Colton.

 

I led them there, walking barefoot in my stockings, There was no sign of my oriental silk dressing gown hanging anywhere. I stood silently in my delicate white underwear as the two police officers searched the contents of my bedroom, opening the walk in closet, and rummaging through my chest of drawers. I gazed at the pink bed spread and closed my eyes. I wished I had never rung the police. I didn’t know I would be put through this.

 

WPC Colton investigated a plain pine board dresser.  Made ninety years before in some now defunct factory, it was solid, serviceable, all dovetail joints and painted a sensible brown, with three drawers across the top.  One held plain white cotton underpants, the best that Marks and Spencer could provide, while another held white practical bras, and the third had the foundation girdles that shaped a girl. The corsets and girdles were the kind my Gran would have described as ‘sturdy enough to restrain a regiment’. I hated wearing them, but work insisted. 

 

“Where do you keep the things like you have on?  You have shown me your underwear. But where is the lingerie, Arabella?”  The contempt that WPC Colton put into the word lingerie stung.

 

“In the closet, behind the work clothes.” I sucked nervously on my lower lip. For some reason, I didn’t want either of the officers to see my silk things. 

 

WPC Colton nodded and pushed aside the office garments, some party dresses, some clubbing clothes and discovered my pretty little 19th century French dresser, all inlaid woods and feminine curves that I had bought from an antique shop in Camden Market.  

 

The little French Dresser was about two and a half feet high and had three drawers.  WPC Colton dumped out the first drawer on the bed, creating a small pile of expensive silk and lace. I blushed fiercely and looked away as she turned the skimpy garments over with the tip of a pen, examining each one carefully. 

 

“You actually wear these things?” she said.

 

“This… this has nothing to do with what happened to me!” 

 

“I asked you a question. You actually wear these things under your formal street clothing?”

 

I sobbed. “I like to wear nice things sometimes. Why is that wrong?!”

 

“Just listen to you. ‘Oh, why is that wrong, Miss? I like to wear skimpy silk and lace against my skin.’ You call these nice things? This is a nice thing,” said WPC Colton as she lifted a green polka dot dress on a clothes hanger from the main closet. It had a mid-length skirt that fell to just below the knee and full length sleeves. “A woman might wear this to Church on  Sunday. Tasteful. Your father would approve. But I was asking about the silk and lace knickers.” She stirred the soft silk with her pen. 

 

“Why are you doing this?” I cried. 

 

“ANSWER the question.”

 

“Yes! Yes, I wear the lingerie when I go out!”

 

“To attract men? Do you have a lot of casual sex, Arabella? Do you offer yourself to random men at night? Do you put yourself about?”

 

“NO! No, I don’t! A girl likes to feel feminine…”

 

“Only, if she likes to display herself before men,” said the WPC, grimly.   

 

“Found this,” said PC Blythe as he approached his colleague.

“Oh God,” I placed my steepled hands in despair before my face. PC Blythe had found a book tucked away in my underwear drawer, and not on the bookshelf in the living room where people might come across it. It was a battered paperback copy of ‘The Story of O’ by Pauline Réage. I had bought it from a book store during my university days, tempted by its notoriety.

 

“This is a bondage sex book, isn’t it, Arabella?” said WPC Colton. She waved the book in my face. “Whips and things?”

 

“I… I have a lot of books. I was just curious.” My cheeks were bright red again.

 

“Curious?” she opened the book at a random page, where the spine was broken. “Would she ever dare tell him that no pleasure, no joy, no figment of her imagination could ever compete with the happiness she felt at the way he used her with such utter freedom, at the notion that he could do anything with her, that there was no limit, no restriction in the manner with which, on her body, he might search for pleasure?” WPC Colton looked up at me. “That’s what you dream about, when you lie in bed, Arabella?”

 

“No! It’s just a book! It’s just a book!”

 

She flicked to another broken spine page. “At night you will have only your lips with which to honour us - and your widespread thighs.- for your hands will be tied behind your back and you will be naked, as you were a short while ago. You will be blindfolded only to be maltreated and, now that you have seen how you are whipped, to be flogged. And yes, by the way: while it is perfectly all right for you to grow accustomed to being whipped - since you are going to be every day throughout your stay - this is less for our pleasure than for your enlightenment. How true this is may be shown by the fact that on those nights when no one desires you, you will wait until the valet whose job it is comes to your solitary cell and administers what you are due to receive but we are not in the mood to mete out.”

 

“Please…” I moved about the room. 

 

“And this,” said PC Blythe with a wide grin as he retrieved a pink battery powered vibrator in a tissue paper lined box from another drawer. I bit my lower lip and cried.

 

“This yours?” WPC Colton waved it in my face. I nodded, unable to speak. 

 

“Slut,” she said. The word hit me as if it was a hammer blow.

 

“What? You… you can’t say that…”

 

“You use this often?” she asked.

 

“No! I haven’t used it! I bought it on an impulse, but…”

 

“But what?”

 

“I haven’t even put the batteries in! I was frightened to use it.”

 

“Frightened?”

 

“I’m… I’m a virgin. I… I was scared it might damage or tear my hymen.”

 

PC Blythe laughed. “A virgin. Pull the other one, love, it’s got bells on.”

 

“Wasting police time with your sordid little abduction fantasies. I could write you up, you know,” said WPC Colton.

 

“This is insane! I’ve had an intruder in my flat! I’m a victim! I’m not imagining it!”

 

“Getting drunk every night, probably playing with herself, passing out, fantasising about intruders. Shall we look at the Google searches on your computer? I bet they paint a pretty picture.”

 

“Those are private! You have no right!”

 

“I’m going to have to ask you for your computer password, Arabella.”

 

“No! You can’t do that! You have no right!”

 

“We have every right. This is a police investigation. You made a serious allegation, so this is a serious investigation. We have to determine whether your story is genuine.” WPC Colton began to read off from memory some standard words that really scared me. “If it turns out you made a false report, the police could charge you with perverting the course of justice, which carries a maximum penalty of life imprisonment. The police are more likely to charge you with this more serious offence, rather than the charge of wasting police time, if you continued to stick to your false story, even when there were ample opportunities to retract.”

 

“This is insane!”

 

“Furthermore, I must caution you that by refusing to co-operate with my request, you may be liable for obstructing a Police Officer in her duties under section 89(2) Police Act 1996, which also carries a potential jail sentence.”

 

WPC Colton led me to my computer and watched as I typed in my password. I fumbled at first, with fresh tears in my eyes but then the login was complete. 

 

“What are you looking for?” I sobbed.

 

“Evidence of salacious behaviour.” She brought up the Google search engine and scrolled down my search history. To my absolute shock, there were recent searches in there that I know I had never made!

 

Bondage

Abduction Fantasy

Slavery

Submission to a man

Rape fantasy

Gorean Kajira

White slavers

 

My breathing was hurting my chest and I felt nauseous as WPC Colton glanced up angrily from my computer.

 

“This can’t be happening!” I cried, the knuckles of my hands pressed to my mouth. “That isn’t… I haven’t searched for… oh God!” I could feel throbbing at my temples. 

 

“Well, well. I can see why you didn’t want to give me your password. Quite the little slut, aren’t you, Bella?” said WPC Colton. She inserted a USB stick into my computer drive and began a download of the contents of my computer. 

 

“No! I haven’t made those searches! I haven’t!”

 

“Get on the bed, on all fours, head down on the mattress,” said WPC Colton as she produced a latex glove and rolled it onto her right hand.

 

“What? Why? What is…”

 

“You say you’re a virgin. I’m going to conduct a medical check to determine whether that’s true, or not. Whether you’ve been lying to us.”

 

“You can’t do that!”

 

“Get on the fucking bed!” snarled WPC Colton. “We haven’t got all night!”

 

I climbed onto my bed, onto my lovely pink bed spread that I had bought from a John Lewis store, and I crouched there on all fours with my head down.

 

“Raise your bottom, Part your thighs.”

 

I didn’t at first, but then she slapped me hard on my buttocks and, snivelling loudly now, I did as she said. I felt the WPC pull down my soft white panties, stretching them around my knees, and then two of her fingers slid inside of me. I began to cry even more.

 

“As well as checking the condition of your hymen, I’m carrying out a standard two finger test, Bella, to check the level of your vaginal laxity. This will indicate whether you are habituated to sexual intercourse.”

 

I wept, feeling her fingers push and slide inside of me. 

 

“She seems tight,” WPC Colton said to PVC Nigel Blythe. “She may actually be a virgin.”

 

“I am!” I gasped as WPC Colton’s fingers continued to move inside of me.

 

“Quiet, Bella.” Again she slapped my bottom hard. “Head down. Hold still. PC Blythe, do you have your stop watch?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Start the clock running, please.”

 

“What are you doing? OH!” I gasped suddenly as WPC Colton began to stimulate the region of my sex, without pushing deep into my vagina. I began panting, crying. “You can’t do this!”

 

“I’m simply determining your average response time, Bella. Stay still. You’re shaking.”

 

Oh God. Her fingers moved inside of me and I very quickly lubricated. It was soft gentle motions to begin with, applying light pressure and circular, rhythmic movement. 

 

“You’re responding quickly, Bella,” said the WPC. 

 

“Please don’t do this…” I cried. “I haven’t even been with my boyfriend…”

 

“Course you haven’t love,” said PC Blythe as he studied the stop watch. “Do this all the time, do you, love? With your own fingers, like? Doing this tonight, were you? In your sexy undies? Getting all excited until you felt ashamed of yourself, and you had to make up some intruder story to feel better with yourself?”

 

I felt my hips rocking back and forth despite trying to hold still. Her fingers now moved, rotating, from my vaginal opening, to lightly stimulate my clitoris, and back again, moving upwards and around the other side. Then, while her fingers were stimulating the inside wall of my vagina, her other hand came down to tease my clitoris at the same time. The combined effect made my legs begin to shake uncontrollable and soft mewling sounds come from my mouth.

 

“Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhh!” I began shaking my head, unable to stop what her fingers were now doing to me. 

 

And then she suddenly stopped as my body tightened itself. “How long, Nigel?”

 

“Three minutes, fifteen seconds,” remarked the PC. “Pretty quick, I’d say.”

 

I was gasping, shuddering, still crouched on all fours with my thighs spread wide. 

 

“That’s how long it takes to bring you close, Bella. Close enough, anyway.” She pulled my white silk panties back over my bottom and neatly smoothed the silk down. “You arouse quickly.”

 

“Please… I don’t want this…”

 

PC Blythe laughed. “Look at her. Pretty slutty for a virgin.”

 

I squeezed my eyes closed.

 

“Do you want to finish yourself off, Bella?” I heard WPC Colton pull the latex glove away with a snap. “With your fingers? You’ll probably sleep better tonight if you do?”

 

“Bet she wants to,” laughed PC Blythe. “Bet she can’t wait. Sticky little fingered slut.”

 

“No.” I sank down onto my pink quilt and made myself small. 

 

“Suit yourself,” said WPC Colton. “I’m going to tell you what I think happened, Bella.” She read from her notes. “You work very hard and want to make a success of yourself.  That is good.  But you have little time for fun, so you have an active and somewhat disgusting fantasy life.  At work you have to be dominant and in charge, which isn’t your nature, but you are overworking and stressing yourself at a new job.  One day, today, your fantasy life crossed over in to your work life and you wore your slut clothes to work.  Or at least your slut lingerie.  You had a psychic break.  When you came to yourself you were shocked and this silly story was the only way you could make sense of your behaviour.  You need to forget your fantasies that omnipotent slavers are after you and see a good therapist.  Otherwise I will end up back here in a couple of weeks with a commitment order after you break down at work or elsewhere.  See someone for your delusions and get therapy for your fantasies.  Else you will end up in the looney bin, or homeless on the street.”

 

“We done?” sked PC Blythe.

 

WPC Colton snapped shut her note book. “I think so, Nigel.” 

 

“Thanks for the cuppa, love,” said PC Blythe as he stroked my silk panties and then the cheeks of my bottom. “But I think I prefer PG Tips to the fancy stuff.” 

 

I lay still for quarter of an hour, afraid to move, afraid they hadn't actually left my flat. I cried and trembled.

 

‘You need to forget your fantasies that omnipotent slavers are after you and see a good therapist.’

 

‘Omnipotent slavers.’

 

I hadn’t said anything about slavers…

 

Why had she said ‘slavers’?

 

I sniffed and moved cautiously across the surface of my lovely pink quilt, setting one foot down on the floor, and then the other. “Is… is anyone there?” I whispered quietly.

 

The flat seemed silent. It was close to two o’ clock in the morning according to my bedside clock. “Please don’t hurt me. I’ll do what you say! I will!”

 

I crept quietly, slowly, to the door of the bedroom and peered out. The living room was in darkness. “Is there anyone there? Please? Don’t hurt me.”

 

Silence.

 

I moved into the living room, checked the kitchen and then the hallway, and then locked my front door. I lay against the door, hyper ventilating again, and sank slowly to the floor. 

 

I felt wretched. 

 

Simon. I had to call Simon. I sniffed and cleaned my nose and face of snot with the back of my hand. 

 

Simon will be there for me.