Time To Play by KA Richardson (best book club books of all time TXT) 📗

His thoughts wandered, and he didn’t take the care he should. Startled as she let out an agonised scream. Glancing down, he realised her injured foot had caught on the side of the cage. She turned to a lead weight in his arms, and he felt his back twinge in response as he struggled to hold onto her.

Half-dragging, half-lifting, he pulled her from the confines and placed her into the chair. Her ankle was now bent at an odd angle: bent like that it would catch every time he needed to move her. Making sure she was unconscious, he pushed it back into place and methodically tied a bandage round to hold it in position. He felt it crunch under his fingers and heard the fluid built up inside squelch.

Going to the workbench, he placed a few drops of antiseptic into a bowl and filled it with cold water. Turning the camera on, he turned to face her.

Taking great care, he said, ‘It’s time to play,’ and proceeded to wash the dried blood from her face and neck before continuing. ‘Day five. Subject six passed out today. This is the fourth time a subject has fainted after catching the broken foot on the cage. It may be time to review my storage methods. She is still being resistant and vocal, though less today than on day three. Today I will give her pain relief, the next stage will occur after the weekend.’

He felt her start to stir as the cold cloth caressed her face, and slowly she opened her eyes. He watched as confusion turned to terror as she registered him close to her. ‘Shhh, it’s time to play,’ he soothed.

He felt an intense pain surge through his groin as the girl’s knee connected with as much force as she could muster. Belatedly, he realised he had forgotten the restraints.

Tears pricked at his eyes as he dropped to his knees, his hand cupping himself as he struggled to breathe through the melee of stars now invading his vision.

He felt more than saw the girl get off the chair and hop towards the door, and pushing his pain to one side, he leapt to his feet and grabbed her by the hair, dragging her head backwards with a hard yank. She screamed as her weight adjusted and she landed on her bad ankle.

No longer gentle, he shoved her back into the chair and deftly applied the restraints.

What girl wants to escape playtime? Doesn’t she realise I’m trying to help her? She needs to be able to cope with the pain.

He was confused, he’d been nice. He’d been washing her face ever so gently when she’d come around. Now she’d have to be punished.

As her eyes finally focussed on him, he said, ‘I don’t tolerate naughtiness. Escaping is naughty. Now you will have to be punished.’

He unclipped his belt buckle and pulled the leather free from his trousers. Seeing her eyes widen and her head shake, he understood what she thought. It was what she knew after all, all the girls in the brothel he’d got her from did.

But raping her wasn’t his intent.

Twisting the buckle end of the belt around his hand, he extended his arm and swung it round with force. The leather strap connected with her thigh with a resounding slap and she gasped loudly. He repeated the motion another four times, surprised that the most noise she made was a whimper.

That’s good, she’s learning to cope with it.

Finally, he removed her from the chair and put her back in the cage, putting a couple of sandwiches inside, along with a bottle of bleach and a cloth.

Happy she’d be fine, at least for now. He locked the cage door and replaced his belt before leaving the room with a smile.

Ryhope, Sunderland – 4 November

He had just enough time for a quick check on her before he had to leave the house. Normally he would leave it longer, but there was a bad feeling burning in his stomach that no amount of Alka-Seltzer was settling.

He knew the minute he entered that something was wrong.

She wasn’t crying, and the smell of bleach was so powerful it almost overwhelmed him. Pulling the neck of his jumper over his mouth, he walked further into the room.

The girl was inside the cage, her red eyes open and glassy, obvious burn marks to her mouth and around her nose. Her head sat in a pool of vomit and her skin had blistered on her arm where it had been laid. The screw top from the bleach bottle was clutched inside her hand, and the bottle lay on its side next to her, obviously empty.

I can’t believe she did this. She’s a coward. After a week of teaching, I thought she was stronger than this.

As he made his way closer to her, he realised she’d also managed to get a tool off the workbench. The screwdriver was tucked under her, the open wounds on her arm congealed with blood as it had seeped from her.

She was definitely determined. What a waste.

He didn’t understand. Why would anyone choose this option? He was teaching her how to deal with life, that it was painful but that she could become immune, and this was how she repaid him? By killing herself in his room, with his bleach?

Now he would have to clean up, find another girl, start from scratch. He sighed loudly. Why does everything I touch turn to shit?

He felt himself drift off in his mind, trying to remember when everything actually had turned to shit.

It had been years.

He barely even recalled the exact moment. Not anymore.

Slowly he hung his head, and just for a moment he muttered a quick prayer for the girl. However she’d chosen to die, it probably would have been the end