Letting her go, he backed away to the window, hands raised in case she sprung at him again.

She sighed as she rose to her feet. “You’re so disappointing. I’m going to spend the day thinking of ways to punish you. It will give you something to look forward to.”

Scott returned to bed and Casey returned to her vanity unit.

It was like nothing had ever happened, except for the stinging cuts on Scott’s neck and face, the pulsing in his chest.

If somebody had been watching them, they never would’ve guessed they’d just had a fight. It was becoming depressingly routine. Casey attacked him – or hurt him in some other way – and then they went on with whatever they were doing.

Casey finally stood, brushing down her designer jacket, beaming at Scott from the end of the bed. “How do I look?”

“Beautiful, as always.”

Physically, she’d never been more stunning. Her hair was always immaculately styled and she wore a new outfit every day. Her make-up – if she didn’t attack him halfway through applying it – highlighted all her best features. But Scott found her ugly.

Before leaving, she went through her regular routine of threatening him, telling him to stay home, reminding him of the power she held over him. Scott barely heard it. He was looking at her, but not seeing her, not seeing anything.

Even his cuts didn’t hurt anymore, throbbing distantly.

Scott pulled the covers over himself once she was gone, burying his face in his pillow. He willed the dream to return, for Natalie to come back to him.

Gary and Lauren were going to try their plan, but Scott didn’t feel much of anything about it. Maybe it would work; maybe it wouldn’t.

It didn’t matter when the blackout curtains kept the room dark, when all he had to do was lie there, eyes stubbornly shut, ignoring his bladder each time it willed him to his feet.

He was putting his friend’s life at risk. Or maybe not his life, but his freedom. They were going to commit a crime. If it worked, Scott might be able to fight back. But nothing had worked. Scott had stopped trying, stopped hoping.

Lying there, forgetting – or trying to – that was enough.

Such a snivelling little nobody. Such a little baby.

Eventually he had to get up. His belly was aching with the need to piss. He dragged his tired, sore body across the room towards the bathroom, stepping on countless pieces of designer clothing, each one discarded every time it was worn.

How long had it been since Gary and Lauren were there? A few days ago, he thought: three or four. They had to wait for a convenient time, they said, and he needed to hold in there; he had to stay strong.

Stay strong, but Scott’s strength had already left.

He stood at the toilet, staring down into the bowl, thoughts flitting unwillingly to the previous night. He’d taken a piss in the dark and Casey had inspected it. He’d got some on the rim, apparently, so Casey had forced him to lick it.