He’d shoved her down, hard. The back of her head hit the table and she moaned, dropping her chin to her chest, dizzy. He didn’t use the handcuffs to secure her to the table this time: Rainy saw him reach for his pocket, where he pulled out pink zip ties. He secured her arms around the table leg with the zip ties before he took off the cuffs and tossed them aside. Pink zip ties. She almost asked if he’d ordered them on Amazon, but she wanted a shot at some water.

Pink, pink, your feet stink! She could hear her dad yelling that across their small apartment living room before charging for her: the tickle monster. Had he been high when he’d done that? Drunk? On a sober kick? Did she care? He was never scary to her; his sideburns were too big to be taken seriously and his laugh was contagious. Pink. She felt encouraged: this was so stupid and yet so real. Her dad had taught her how to break someone’s nose with her forehead; he’d demonstrated it many times in their living room. She’d thought it was hilarious, especially when he mimicked grabbing an imaginary someone by their shirt collar and rearing back his head, to “head-bash” them as he’d called it. “This is how you do it, Summer, are you watching?” Little had she known how that lesson would serve her now.

“Time out for noisemaking?” she asked. He didn’t look at her, not in the mood for jokes after getting his ass beat, she supposed. Oh, how smug you are, tied-up woman! she told herself. Either way, she could see the dark bruises beneath his eyes and it pleased her somewhere deep and feral: she’d got him good. Thanks, Dad.

Ginger had said no one could hear them because the restaurant was in a wing that was being remodeled, yet he was never winded when he arrived with his armful of groceries. That meant the elevators were probably working, and Ginger—as staff—would have access to the key codes that would allow him up here. He didn’t seem at all worried about the sound.

When she looked over at Braithe, she was sitting up. It took a minute for Rainy’s mind to catch up to what she was seeing. She tried to say Braithe’s name, but it caught in her dry throat.

“Rainy—” Braithe’s voice was so shocking in the silence that for a few seconds Rainy’s tongue stayed glued to the roof of her mouth as she tried to work it free.

“Rainy...” she said again, more desperately.

“Y—es. I’m here.” It had not felt real until now, a fever dream, but with Braithe’s cracked voice filling the room, Rainy started to wake up.