Cara: The past eight hours have been anything but wet & wild. I’ve been edged, denied & ordered not to touch myself—and now I’m late. Do whatever you need to do to keep her busy. Please. *prayer hands emoji*
Raven: Is this your way of asking me to waterboard her as a distraction tactic?
Cara: Only you could get SAS water torture as a viable idea from what I just said.
Raven: I was reading between the lines.
Cara: Read between these lines and trip the bitch or something. I don’t know…get creative.
I snap a quick selfie, holding up 3 fingers to the camera with a smirk on my face as I hurry down the stairs. I clasp the material ofmy dress together over my chest as another loose button pings to the floor. Sliding on the freshly waxed floor as I propel myself off the last step, I manage to pull back in time before being seen. Hidden behind a pillar, I wait for the lobby to clear as the breakfast bell rings. Less eyes on me gives me more of a chance of dodging an interception from Lenora. She has eyes and ears everywhere. My phone pings in my pocket.
Raven: I left you something in your locker.
Cara: Should I be concerned?
She sends me back a gif of a man dressed in a penis costume holding a sign for free hugs followed by a purple heart. I slide my phone back into my pocket with a carefree smile etched on my face.
When the coast is clear, and Clive steps away from his desk for the first of his many coffee-runs of the day, I bolt for the door to the stairwell that leads down to the staff room.
Twisting the combination pad on my locker, my gaze bounces up to the clock, my free hand working open the remaining buttons still attached to my dress and shimmying out of it. “Dammit,” I snap when the lock disengages and the contents of my locker tumble out onto the floor around my feet. I pull my spare uniform out and slip it on, scrambling to scoop everything up and shove it back in— I’ll consider packing it properly when I’m not late for my shift. The tittering giggle that leaves my lips confirms I will in fact likely never follow through with it; chaotically clean is and always has been my stance on organised mess.Out of sight, out of mind.Crudely folded papers with the asylum logo etched into them like a notary seal hang out sandwiched between two romance novels that I’ve been buddy-reading with Suzy on my lunch breaks. Stacking away the books with the half-naked men on the covers on the lower shelf, I glance around to make sure I’m still alone. There are perks to being one of a few female staff members; there’s never a queue for the toilet, and finding alone time is always easy. Unfolding the papers, I see a scrawled map with directions that seem a lot easier to follow than the last one I was given, with a scribbled note attached.
I wipea tear from my eye from laughing so hard. Raven certainly has made it more bearable being here; to know I’m not alone means everything. I’m definitely taking her home to meet Suzy one day.
I see a grainy photo of Ezra, his hooded gaze and twisted grin painting him as the psychopath patient as he holds up a Blackwood Asylum numbered plaque like a criminal being booked on charges at a police station. I hold the paper up to the light, trying and failing to read the redacted parts covered with black marker.The three papers I’m holding barely constitute afile, the numbers at the head of the page telling me there should be more.
“Skiving, Miss Morgrieves?”
I all but shit my knickers when I turn to face Lenora as she looms in the doorway, that pinched expression on her face making my belly lurch. The forethought to hide the papers behind my back when I turned means I look shifty—I know it, she knows it, fuck, at this point every inanimate object in this room knows it. My phone chimes with a message, and I slide it out of my pocket to read the screen.
Raven: Matron Bitch Tits has flown the nest—I repeat MBT IS ON THE LOOSE.
We really need to work on her timing. Maybe the water boarding wasn’t the worst idea.
Sliding it back into my pocket, I am reminded once again that I’m a crap liar when I open my mouth and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Lenora, fancy seeing you here, girl.”
Too friendly, Cara.
“I mean, can I help you, Mrs. Blackwood?” I correct, using both hands to fold the papers behind my back. I side-step so I can use the cover of my locker door to slip it into my pocket.
“If you consider doing the bare minimum and getting on with your jobhelp, then yes, helping would be appreciated.”
“Not a problem.” My plastic smile is forced as I fumble with the last button on my dress. My cheeks heat as she continues to shrewdly assess every little move I make with an arched brow. Intense as she is, there isn’t a hair out of place or line of age on her stunning face.Pristinely put togetherare the three words that come to mind when I think of my boss.
‘Uptight and in need of a good anal session feels more fitting,’the little voice in my head adds unhelpfully, and now I have to bite on my lower lip to suppress the real smile trying to break through.
Closing my locker and jumbling the coded lock, I approach her; Ezra’s papers burning a hole in my pocket as I wait nervously for her to ask me what I’m hiding.
She doesn’t say a word as she stands aside and lets me pass, watching as I hurry down the hallway to the stairs that will lead up into the breakfast room, my boot heels clacking on the ground loudly as I go. I don’t risk glancing back her way; I’ve had more than enough of her odium for one day.
Forty minutesI’ve busied myself with the patients, waiting for Ezra to arrive. I don’t know what I was expecting, but when he strolls in, he barely even acknowledges me. The fleeting glance he gives me lacks the warmth I now crave from him. He pours himself a bowl of cereal and takes a seat at a table beside the archway window that looks out at the lily field. The urge to walk over there, sit in his lap, and demand he soothe the ache raging between my thighs—the one that he caused—would be highly inappropriate, but it’s the only thought rolling around in my head. Lust and desire die on my next breath when I notice Simon looming nearby, his presence the final nail in the coffin where my arousal now currently resides. On a scale of one to ten on the creepo-meter, Simon is overachieving at a solid fifteen.
“Why do you like teasing me, Cara?” he asks as he studies my face, eating up the space between us as he nears. His words tickle uncomfortably at my skin like a rash, as though his lascivious intentions have wrapped around me in an unwanted embrace, his musty iron scent lingering in the air.
As auras go, Simon’s is the darkest vermilion I’ve ever seen, which is saying something; even while Doc sat across from me, ordering his men to hack off my fingers one by one to get hiskicks, his aura still shone a bright ruby red. I haven’t invited Simon’s advances, but I am also acutely aware that kicking him in the balls and standing my ground like my brain is telling me to do, could just spur him on. I fear he would take something far worse than a few fingers if provoked.
His serpent forked tongue pierced on both sides slips out and runs over his yellowing teeth, his gaze tracking down to my chest and back up again as he seems to ponder something.
“You want me to spread those beef curtains and shove my meat stick into that needy little fuck bucket of yours?” Simon asks with a twisted grin as he leans into my space, so quiet I almost believe it’s a figment of my imagination.
