Page 148 of The Professor's Wife

I nodded.

Inside the cabin, he showed me the bathroom. The windows were latched, and the telephone that usually sat near the kitchen was gone.

“Call me when you’re dressed,” he said.

He left humming to himself.

The door shut.

I heard the lock turn.

My body moved before my mind did. I pulled at the bathroom window, but it wouldn’t open. I searched the cupboards beneath the sink.

Nothing.

No phone. No clothes. No shoes.

I discarded the filthy robe and stepped shakily into the shower stall.

The water struck my skin in hard streams, hot at first, then cooling as it ran down my arms.

I pressed my palms against the tiled wall and let it wash the dirt and sweat from me.

I wept quietly, my tears disappearing into the water.

For a moment, I was grateful.

Grateful to be clean.

Grateful that I had answered correctly enough for Oliver to let me out of the shed.

The gratitude frightened me.

He had starved me, chained me, and left me in the dark. Now he had given me a shower, and some part of me wanted to thank him for it.

I pressed my forehead against the tile.

I had to remember what he had done.

I had to remember that being allowed to bathe wasn’t kindness.

When I finally turned off the tap, the silence pressed against me.

I wrapped myself in the towel he had left, the fabric scratchy against my skin, and stared at the nightgown folded neatly on the counter.

Bathe.

Change.

Cook.

I dried myself and put it on.

By the time I entered the kitchen, the counter had been prepared for me. A slab of raw steak. Vegetables waiting to be chopped.

And beside them, a tall glass of water.

My throat tightened at the sight of it.