The Housemaid(77)

I let my arms drop to my sides. My fists are throbbing. “Thank you.”

“Just not yet.”

Heat rises in my cheeks. “Andrew…”

“I told you what you need to do to get out,” he says. “This is an extremely fair punishment for what you did.”

I press my lips together, too angry to even respond.

“Why don’t I give you a little while to think about it, Millie? I’ll come back later.”

I swear to God, I still believe he’s got to be joking until his footsteps disappear down the hallway.





FIFTY-TWO





MILLIE





It’s been an hour since Andrew was here.

I used the bucket. I don’t want to talk about it. But it got to a point where if I didn’t use the bucket, I was going to have pee running down my legs. It was an interesting experience, to say the least.

After I got that need taken care of, my stomach started rumbling. I checked the mini-fridge, where I usually keep a couple of snacks like yogurt. But somehow, it had been emptied in the last few days. The only thing left in there was three of those mini bottles of water. I chugged the contents of two of the bottles, although immediately after, I regretted it. What if he leaves me here for several more hours? Or days? I might need that water.

I throw on my jeans and a fresh T-shirt, then I examine the pile of books on the floor. Andrew said he wanted me to keep those books resting on my belly for three hours and then he would let me out of the room. I don’t quite understand the purpose of this ridiculous game, but maybe I should just do it. Then he’ll let me out and I can get the hell out of here forever.

I stretch out on the uncarpeted floor. It’s the beginning of summer, which means the attic is unbearably stuffy, but the floor is still cool. I rest my head against the ground and pick up the book on prisons. It’s a thick textbook that has got to weigh several pounds. I lower it onto my belly.

It’s pressure, but not exactly uncomfortable. If I had done this before my trip to the bucket, I would probably have peed my pants by now. But this isn’t so bad. Then I pick up the second book.

This is the one on torture. I suppose the title of this textbook isn’t entirely a coincidence. Or maybe it is. Who knows?

I lower the second book onto my belly. This time the pressure becomes more uncomfortable. The books are heavy. And the protuberance of my scapula and my tailbone bite into the hard, uncarpeted floor. This isn’t enjoyable, but it’s tolerable.

But he wanted all three books.

I pick up the final book—the phonebook. This one is not only heavy, but bulky. It’s hard to even lift it with two other books already on top of me. It takes a couple of tries, but I manage to get the phonebook balanced on my abdomen.

The weight of all three books almost takes my breath away. Two was doable, but three is awful. This is very, very uncomfortable. It’s hard to take a deep breath. And the edge of the bottom book bites into my rib cage.

No, I can’t do it. I can’t.

I shove all three books off me. My shoulders heave as I suck in air. He can’t expect me to keep all three books balanced on me for hours. Can he?

I get back on my feet and immediately start pacing the room. I don’t know what game Andrew is playing here, but I’m not going to do this. He’s going to let me out of here. Or else I’m going to find a way out myself. There must be a way out of this room. This isn’t prison.

Maybe there’s a way I can unscrew the door hinges. Or the screws on the doorknob. Andrew has a tool kit downstairs stashed in the garage, and I would give anything to get my hands on that right now. But I’ve got lots of stuff in my dresser drawers. Maybe there’s something I can use as a makeshift screwdriver.

“Millie?”

It’s Andrew’s voice again. I abandon my search for tools and rush over to the door. “I put the books on top of me. Please let me out.”

“I told you three hours. You only did it for about a minute.”

I have had enough of this shit. “Let. Me. Out. Now.”

“Or else what?” He laughs. “I told you what you need to do.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“Fine. Then you can stay locked in there.”

I shake my head. “So you’ll let me die in here?”

“You’re not going to die. When the water runs out, you’ll realize what you have to do.”

This time I can barely hear his footsteps retreating over the sound of my own screams.



I have had the three books on my abdomen for two hours and fifty minutes.

Andrew was right. After the third water bottle had been drained, my desperation to leave the room heightened considerably. When fantasies of waterfalls started dancing before my eyes, I knew I had to complete the task he wanted. Of course, there’s no guarantee he’ll let me out if I do it, but I hope he will.

The books are really, really uncomfortable. I’m not going to lie. There are moments when I feel like I can’t stand it another second, that the weight is going to literally crush my pelvis, but then I take a breath—best I can with these stupid books on top of me—and I hang in there. It’s almost over.

And when I get out of here…

At the three-hour mark, I shove the books off of my belly. It’s a massive relief, but when I try to sit up, my abdomen aches badly enough to bring tears to my eyes. There are going to be bruises left behind. Still, I push forward and pound on the door. “I did it!” I yell. “I’m done! Let me out of here!”