Chapter 28: Reconciliation Part 1

Brian lay on his bed unmoving, waiting for Helena to return. His kidneys and balls ached from the electric shocks, and his need to pee grew. Through the partially closed blinds, Brian watched the sun climb to its zenith, and still Helena didn’t return. Eventually, Brian realised she wasn’t returning. He’d believed the silence was Helena sitting somewhere, trying to regain control of her emotions. He hoped that meant she was reconsidering removing his dick and testicles, but now he knew she’d gone. Gone for good. Tears poured down his cheeks as he realised he’d lost the only thing that mattered to him.

He wailed at the Gods, “Why did I let my bruised ego control my actions?!” He promised, “I’ll suck a thousand cocks and take a thousand more up my ass if she forgives me!” Of course, he’d forgotten most religions banned homosexual relationships.

By nightfall, Brian’s thoughts turned to escape. He tried his binds, hoping. Unfortunately, unlike the first time, they weren’t tied loosely enough that he’d eventually be able to work free. Brian lifted his head to study the ropes on his ankles. His feet remained a good colour, and they weren’t throbbing, so he didn’t have to worry about the damage caused by the blood circulation to them being cut off. He flexed his hands and realised they were tied tightly enough to restrain him but not so tight they cut off the circulation.

Brian tried folding his hand over itself and tucking his thumb across his palm, but despite this action significantly narrowing his hand, it didn’t allow him to pull his wrist through the tied rope. He attempted the same with his left hand, only to achieve the same result—nothing. No matter how hard he pulled his legs back, they wouldn’t break free of his binds. Brian closed his eyes and took several calming breaths. Panicking now wouldn’t help and would make it difficult to figure out how to escape.

Inspiration hit. He wondered where his phone was. It was an Android phone with Google Assistant, and if it were within earshot, he could voice activate it and summon help. Cops or the ambulance, though? He didn’t want to get Helena in trouble, and if he opened that can of worms, she could enter a counter-complaint of assault. But Brian was sure that if he called an ambulance, they’d report what they found, which would mean police involvement, anyway. A friend? A golfing buddy? That would be embarrassing as all fuck, and there was little chance of the person he phoned not telling the rest of his friends. Still, better that than starving to death while unable to escape.

All his speculation was immediately rendered moot. He called, “Hey Google!” Nothing. Louder, he repeated, “Hey Google!” Nothing. In desperation, Brian bellowed, “Hey Google!” Either his phone was off or too far away to hear his voice.

Fuck!

Forcing panic down, Brian considered his options. They’d miss him at work on Monday, but how many days before they called to find out where he was? Would they follow up if he didn’t answer? Or would they assume he’d quit as others had? That he’d walked away, burnt out from the ongoing stress?

It was time to panic!

Brian stamped on his rising panic. Losing his head now wouldn’t help and would cause him to struggle, which would damage the skin on his wrists and ankles and not help him get out. Clenching his hands into fists, Brian strained to pull on the ropes, either to break them or to have the knots unravel. He thought, ‘Okay. That’s not happening. What else?’ Wincing at the damage he was about to do to his wrists, Brian folded his right thumb across his palm again, making it as narrow as possible. He pulled down with all his might, trying to force his hand out of the loop around his wrist.

Nothing! Not even a slight slip to give him some hope. Maybe if his wrist was wet? How? Straining and relaxing, straining and relaxing, Brian repeated these actions over and over until the exertion sprung open his pores and sweat flowed. After twisting his hands back and forth, hoping to wet the rope, he tried pulling his hands through the loop around his wrists again. First the left and then the right, then both.

Double fuck!

Okay. He had neighbours. This was a mostly owner-occupied suburb, and it was Saturday night, so most of them should be home. The problem was that they’d be cooking dinner or watching television and/or listening to music. Would they hear him shouting? He listened intently. He could hear cars going up and down his street, dogs barking, kids in their backyards playing despite it being after dark, and the blare of a television from Millie’s place. Would any of those people hear him if he yelled? Brian was doubtful.

A keen reader of survival stories, Brian knew the worst thing he could do was panic and start shouting when there was little chance of someone hearing him shout. If he did, his voice would be too hoarse for anyone to hear him when the ambient noise was quieter. Forcing himself to remain calm, Brian decided to wait until the morning before yelling out, hoping that someone heard. How to make it until morning, though? It was only spring, and it was just after dark, so it was maybe around six to six-thirty? He’d have to wait at least twelve hours to attempt to gain someone’s attention. He needed to time his yells to be between the time they woke up and got breakfast, and the time the inevitable lawn mowers and whipper snippers started up.

Closing his eyes and taking deep, slow breaths, Brian imagined the first golf course he’d played at. Taking his time to imagine each hole vividly, Brian pictured how to play each one. Brian is a tall, powerful man who has long arms and therefore long levers, which allow him to hit the golf ball prodigious distances. Shots others couldn’t consider were routine for Brian, and he could often cut the doglegs off by driving the ball over the trees on the inside of the corner and back onto the fairway. He completed his imaginary round of that course and then started another. He kept imagining successful rounds on every course he’d ever played until sleep took him.

The light coming through the blinds awakened Brian. His need to pee was extreme, but he sure as fuck didn’t want to piss himself and lie in his own urine. He was about to, anyway. He forced his eyes open and, to his surprise, saw Janey on a kitchen chair beside his bed. Brian couldn’t believe he’d slept so soundly he hadn’t heard her coming into the house, let alone his room.

Janey showed him the knife in her hand, and Brian’s heart thumped. “I should do what Helena couldn’t and cut your fucking nuts off,” she said coldly.

Tears poured from Brian’s eyes as huge sobs wracked his body. “Do it,” he said. “I deserve no less.”

“Why did you do it? Because she challenged your masculinity? Made you feel less of a man? You dumb fuck! If you were still a bullshit narcissistic macho asshole, she would have dumped your ass years ago. It’s because you allowed her to sissify you that she wants you. Our dad made us fear macho men. Macho men abuse us, hit us, make us feel less than what we are! All you had to do was accept being her sissy, and she would have been yours forever! But did you? No! You had to show you’re just like all the fucking rest—a wife-beating, narcissistic, macho cockhead whose masculinity is so fragile that he has to beat his woman to shore it up!

“You’ve broken her heart, Brian. Helena hasn’t gotten out of bed since she came home. All she does is lie, cowered under the quilt, weeping. Fuck you, Brian! Fuck you for hurting my sister and destroying what remained of my trust in men!”

Janey had moved to stand over Brian as she raged. She unawarely waved the knife in her hand around, convincing Brian she was about to stab it into his heart. He thought Janey’s doing that wouldn’t hurt as much as it did now.

Janey took several deep breaths, trying to calm down. She’d shocked herself with how close she’d come to stabbing Brian. “Yet, when I came into her room this morning to see if I could get her out of bed,” Janey continued in a calmer voice. “Does she rant about you and the perfidy of all men? No! Instead, in a voice so full of devastation that it broke my heart, she asked if I’d come over here and set you free. If that isn’t love, Brian, I don’t know what the fuck is. And you blew it.”

Janey cut the ropes holding Brian’s wrists and ankles. He’d have to undo the knots and remove them from around his extremities, but at least he could now move to do so. He didn’t. Although he pulled his hands in and lifted his knees, relieving the strain of being tied in one position for so long had placed on them, Brian lay there weeping.

Looking down at him disparagingly, Janey said, “Tell me this, Brian. How the fuck are Helena and I ever supposed to trust a man again? Abused female children often choose abusive husbands, and you just confirmed that stereotype.” Janey dropped the knife, which she’d gotten from Brian’s utensil drawer, on the floor. “Arsehole!” She spat as she walked from the room.

Brian rolled onto his back and sat up. It was get up and go to the bathroom or piss the bed. He got up. After peeing, he walked to his kitchen naked. Brian put the kettle on and then examined his wrists. Straining against the rope had tightened the knots to where undoing them was impossible. He returned to his bedroom to get the knife Janey had dropped. Easing the blade between the rope and his skin, Brian carefully sliced the rope and let it drop. Being right-handed made cutting the rope on his right wrist more difficult, but he got it done. His ankles were easy, although he carelessly nicked his left ankle. Cursing, Brian got a band-aid from his medicine cabinet and put it over the slight cut.

Brian spent the day sitting at his dining table, staring into an abyss of his own making. He automatedly made and drank coffee, got up to pee when he needed to, but otherwise stayed where he was.

Monday morning arrived with Brian still sitting at the table. He sighed. Gathering his strength because failing at work when he was this close to being asked to be a partner was as stupid as backhanding Helena, Brian showered and dressed. As he walked from the bus station to his firm, Brian slowly gathered his typical type-A work personality around himself, and pretending a confidence he didn’t feel, he strode to his desk. He needed to do some quick research because he hadn’t spent the weekend studying the Friday reports from the overseas markets as he typically did.

Chris Strange stopped by. Chris’s computer was tapped into everyone’s broking applications, and he noticed there wasn’t the flurry of sales and purchases from Brian’s there typically was on a Monday morning. “All good, superstar?” Chris asked, noticing Brian had The Nikkei and Dow Jones weekend reports on his screen.

Knowing the only response that Chris would accept, Brian turned to his boss and said, “Yeah, you know how it is, Chris. I picked up a hot slag on Friday night, and I was too busy fucking her various slut holes to get out of bed. Fuck what a slut she was! I’m telling you, she loved it up her ass more than in her sloppy cunt! Anyway, she just about wore my dick off, and I had to stop cumming in her holes and get some sleep last night before I fucking dried up and blew away. That meant I didn’t have time to go over the reports. I’m on it now, and I’ll bet you a bottle of that Glen Livet you love so much I still kick your ass this week.”