get to
other sites, but of course they are blocked. Not a chance to quickly update my
Facebook status to “I got kidnapped”.
It makes me
wonder what questions I would have to answer at this point, about how I didn’t
try hard enough to get away—but what are my options really? Bang on locked
doors, throw myself out of a window, no, wait, they are locked too, because
technically I’m still on suicide watch. That thought chills me, and I push it
aside quickly. I’m not a violent person. She hasn’t threatened me with
anything, and I don’t think I can come up with anything in return to force her
to let me go, let alone something physically aggressive. Maybe, at this point,
I don’t want anyone to find out about all this, because I’m not as badass as
the women in the stories I like, on the contrary. It makes me cringe, because I
feel like it’s weak, that part of me who could enjoy being the accidental
princess, her company, dressed up to her satisfaction, in her hands.
Carter Forbes
still has a lot to answer for, but when Marlene asks me what I’d like for
dinner, she also informs me that I’ll have to take it by myself.
I am
disappointed.
* * * *
Nevertheless,
what if she is wrong? Carter seems to be the person who fills people in only
when it serves her. Maybe she changed plans. Maybe she’ll be here for dinner
after all. I want to be prepared, in any case, for dinner and all possible
eventualities.
I stand in the
bathroom for a few indecisive moments, then I decide to take full advantage of
the moment. It’s either that or driving myself crazy, crazier about all the ways
this could go terribly wrong.
I find Marlene
and ask her for a glass of bubbles, a little cocktail before dinner which she
promptly provides. My next request is a little more delicate even though I
don’t intend to go into details. Oh well. She’s a woman. She’ll know, but then
again, she probably is aware of Carter’s intentions anyway.
“I’m so sorry,
Ms. Elliot, I can’t do that,” she says, her eyes wide, expression a bit shocked
that I would even ask for something like that. I sigh. Maybe I’ll have to go
into specifics after all.
“I know Carter
doesn’t want me to have sharp objects, but I swear, I’m not going to destroy
anything with it, and I’m not going to try to kill myself. I just want to shave
my legs.” …and trim in other areas, maybe, but that is definitely something I
won’t spell out for Marlene. I’m blushing as it is.
“Can’t that wait
for a few more hours?”
That’s the
point, though, I don’t want Carter to be around. This is where I’m having
trouble with playing the role that’s expected of me. I’ve been taking care of
these things forever—having them taken out of my hands, even if those are
small, inconsequential things, bothers me. I have a closet full of amazing
dresses, skirts, and bathing suits. I want smooth legs, damn it, is that too
much to ask for?
“I promise, I
won’t tell. Please.” All of a sudden, this small piece of independence has
become very important, more than the bubble bath in the giant tub, with a glass
of champagne on the side. I want to do this, badly—and then I think, whatever.
It’s not like Marlene can tell anyone.
“Listen, when
Carter comes back, I’m sure she’d like something to take her mind off
business…so I want everything to be ready. I want to be ready.” I break the eye
contact, because I’m not able to do this otherwise. “You know what I mean. I’m
sure you also know exactly how I got here, so I’d think you could help me with
one little thing that would make me more comfortable. I am not going to hurt
myself.”
When I look up,
Marlene’s demeanor tells me she’s still uneasy, but she nods. “I’ll get you
what you need. I’ll be right back, and I want you to give it back to me when
you’re done. Just this once.”
“I can do that.
Thank you.”
True to her
word, she is back with one of the pink razors you
other sites, but of course they are blocked. Not a chance to quickly update my
Facebook status to “I got kidnapped”.
It makes me
wonder what questions I would have to answer at this point, about how I didn’t
try hard enough to get away—but what are my options really? Bang on locked
doors, throw myself out of a window, no, wait, they are locked too, because
technically I’m still on suicide watch. That thought chills me, and I push it
aside quickly. I’m not a violent person. She hasn’t threatened me with
anything, and I don’t think I can come up with anything in return to force her
to let me go, let alone something physically aggressive. Maybe, at this point,
I don’t want anyone to find out about all this, because I’m not as badass as
the women in the stories I like, on the contrary. It makes me cringe, because I
feel like it’s weak, that part of me who could enjoy being the accidental
princess, her company, dressed up to her satisfaction, in her hands.
Carter Forbes
still has a lot to answer for, but when Marlene asks me what I’d like for
dinner, she also informs me that I’ll have to take it by myself.
I am
disappointed.
* * * *
Nevertheless,
what if she is wrong? Carter seems to be the person who fills people in only
when it serves her. Maybe she changed plans. Maybe she’ll be here for dinner
after all. I want to be prepared, in any case, for dinner and all possible
eventualities.
I stand in the
bathroom for a few indecisive moments, then I decide to take full advantage of
the moment. It’s either that or driving myself crazy, crazier about all the ways
this could go terribly wrong.
I find Marlene
and ask her for a glass of bubbles, a little cocktail before dinner which she
promptly provides. My next request is a little more delicate even though I
don’t intend to go into details. Oh well. She’s a woman. She’ll know, but then
again, she probably is aware of Carter’s intentions anyway.
“I’m so sorry,
Ms. Elliot, I can’t do that,” she says, her eyes wide, expression a bit shocked
that I would even ask for something like that. I sigh. Maybe I’ll have to go
into specifics after all.
“I know Carter
doesn’t want me to have sharp objects, but I swear, I’m not going to destroy
anything with it, and I’m not going to try to kill myself. I just want to shave
my legs.” …and trim in other areas, maybe, but that is definitely something I
won’t spell out for Marlene. I’m blushing as it is.
“Can’t that wait
for a few more hours?”
That’s the
point, though, I don’t want Carter to be around. This is where I’m having
trouble with playing the role that’s expected of me. I’ve been taking care of
these things forever—having them taken out of my hands, even if those are
small, inconsequential things, bothers me. I have a closet full of amazing
dresses, skirts, and bathing suits. I want smooth legs, damn it, is that too
much to ask for?
“I promise, I
won’t tell. Please.” All of a sudden, this small piece of independence has
become very important, more than the bubble bath in the giant tub, with a glass
of champagne on the side. I want to do this, badly—and then I think, whatever.
It’s not like Marlene can tell anyone.
“Listen, when
Carter comes back, I’m sure she’d like something to take her mind off
business…so I want everything to be ready. I want to be ready.” I break the eye
contact, because I’m not able to do this otherwise. “You know what I mean. I’m
sure you also know exactly how I got here, so I’d think you could help me with
one little thing that would make me more comfortable. I am not going to hurt
myself.”
When I look up,
Marlene’s demeanor tells me she’s still uneasy, but she nods. “I’ll get you
what you need. I’ll be right back, and I want you to give it back to me when
you’re done. Just this once.”
“I can do that.
Thank you.”
True to her
word, she is back with one of the pink razors you
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