But he doesn’t, he hands me the water. He’s thought of everything. If it were glass I could hit him with it. Then he twists off the top of the pill bottle and I know what he’s planning. He’s going to try to give that last pill to me. To sedate me.

But I have a better idea.

He drops the last of Anne’s pills onto his hand and then reaches for my face as though to force me to take it like I were a dog.

But I turn my face just before he grabs my jaw and I bite.

Hard.

I get the fleshy part of his hand.

I taste blood. His blood this time, not mine. And he lets out a yelp, his eyes wide.

And now his blood is in my mouth and he’s going to have to explain away having a bite mark on his hand when he goes into work.

I let go. And keep my eyes trained on him as I put my fingers of my free hand straight into my mouth. His DNA is under my fingernails now. On the tissue inside my mouth. He raises his hand, his bloody hand, but before he swings, he stops.

He steps backwards.

He heads out the door.

And I don’t know whether he’s suddenly developed a conscience or whether he simply didn’t want any more of his DNA mingling with mine. Or whether perhaps he just wants medical attention. But no matter the reason, he’s retreating.

The door closes with a bang and I hear it click as he locks it. His engine starts. Tyres over gravel fade to silence.

And now it’s just me, the taste of his blood, and the certainty that I need to figure something out.

I turn my head quickly, looking around me. There has to be a way.

And it’s as my head swivels that I hear a jangle.

A blessed fucking jangle.

I’m wearing earrings. Earrings with hooks. Wire hooks.

Wire hooks that bend, baby.

My hands are trembling as I reach for the left one and slip it from my lobe. I don’t know if this will work. I don’t know when he’ll be back. But I have to try.

I straighten out the metal wire and insert it into the lock on the handcuff, bending it backwards so it kinks, just like I did with that paperclip when I was sitting on the sofa in my apartment.

My forehead is covered in a thin layer of sweat as I take a deep breath, insert it under the lock pin and lift it up. I expect it not to work. But, in the silence of that big and sparse wooden cabin, I hear the sound of hope.

Click.

I swallow hard and slowly pull the two sides of the cuff apart.

And now I’m free.