“What are you talking about? Consequences of what?”
“Your hair.” His voice is filled with disgust. “I can’t have my wife walking around like a slob with dark roots showing.”
My roots. I can’t believe he was that upset over it. I mean, it’s just a few millimeters of hair. “I’m so sorry. I promise, I’ll make an appointment with the hairdresser right away.”
“That’s not enough.”
I press my forehead against the door. “I’ll go first thing tomorrow morning. I swear.”
He yawns on the other side of the door. “I’m going to sleep now. You just hang tight and we’ll talk more in the morning about your punishment.”
His footsteps fade as he walks away. Even though my hands are aching from banging on the doors, I do it again. I slam my fist against the door so hard, I can’t believe I don’t break every bone in my hand. “Andy, don’t you dare leave me here overnight! Come back here! Come back!”
But he ignores me like he did before.
I sleep in that room. Of course I do. What choice do I have?
I didn’t think I would end up drifting off, but somehow I did. Between all the screaming and pounding on the door, the adrenaline gave way to exhaustion and I passed out on that uncomfortable old cot. The cot isn’t that much worse than the bed I used to sleep in back in the tiny apartment I had when it was just me and Cecelia, but I’ve gotten used to Andy’s memory foam mattress.
I think back to when it was just me and Cece. I was always overwhelmed, always on the brink of tears. I had no idea how good I had it before I was married to a psychopath who would lock me in a room overnight just because I missed a hairdresser appointment.
Cece. I hope she’s okay. If that asshole touches even one hair on her head, I swear I will kill him. I don’t care if I go to jail for the rest of my life.
My back is aching when I wake up in the morning. And my head is pounding. But worst of all, my bladder is full. Painfully full. This is the most pressing need of all.
Except what can I do? The bathroom is outside this room.
Then again, if I wait much longer, I’m going to pee in my pants.
I get up and pace the room. I try the doorknob one more time, hoping maybe I just imagined everything that happened last night and it will open magically. No such luck. It’s still locked.
I remember when I looked in the closet, there was only one item in there. A bucket.
Andy set this whole thing up. He tricked me into coming up here. He installed a lock on the outside of the door. And he also put that bucket there for a reason.
I’m really going to have to do this.
I suppose there are worse things than peeing in a bucket. I drag it out of the closet and I do what I have to do. Then I stick it back in there. Hopefully, I won’t have to use it again.
My mouth feels parched and my stomach is growling, even though eating would make me sick. Considering how he set up the bucket, I wonder if he put that same consideration into other parts of the room. I throw open the mini-fridge, hoping for some sort of bounty of food in there.
Instead, there are three mini water bottles.
Three beautiful water bottles.
I almost faint from relief. I grab one of the bottles, crack it open, and guzzle it practically in one gulp. My throat still feels dry and raw, but slightly better.
I eye the other two bottles. I would love to have another one, but I’m scared. How long will Andy leave me here? I have no idea. I should conserve my resources.
“Nina? Are you awake?”
Andy’s voice at the door. I stumble over to it, my head pounding with each step. “Andy…”
“Good morning, Nina.”
I shut my eyes against a wave of dizziness. “Is Cecelia okay?”
“She’s fine. I told my mother you went to visit some family and she’s watching Cecelia until you get back.”
I let out a breath. At least my daughter is safe. Evelyn Winchester isn’t my favorite person in the world, but she is a vigilant babysitter. “Andy, please let me out.”
He ignores my request—it doesn’t even surprise me at this point. “Did you find the water in the fridge?”
“Yes.” And even though it kills me, I add, “Thank you.”
“You’re going to have to make it last. I can’t give you any more.”
“Then let me out,” I croak.
“I will,” he says. “But you have to do something for me first.”
“What? Anything.”
He pauses. “You need to understand that hair is a privilege.”