Quote the Nutter

People say that you know a woman wants you by the way that she looks at you, but they never clarify if it is because she is looking for a good time with you or just wants to leave you tied to a chair while she snoops about your apartment.

The black shirt with "I'm the woman your mother warned you about" on the front should have been a warning rather than the invitation he had taken it for. There had been a moment as he was unlocking the door to his apartment and thought she was something special. There was a twinkle in her eyes and a playful grin that showed promise. However, as he closed the apartment door, she had slammed his head into the wall, and forced him to sit in a chair with an army knife to his throat while saying "Another hard lesson brought to you by reality." She had bound him to the chair quickly with rope tucked away in the messaging bag she'd had with her.

This woman (had he even gotten her name? Becky? Cara? Erin? Erin sounded close) had bound him, with both his arms crossed over his chest and hands tucked under into his armpits. The rope around his wrists bound him to the back of the chair and then looped around to tie his ankles to the legs of the chair. He thought it was odd, as they never did anything like this in the movies or shows on TV.

"Do you play house?" the woman asked, looking at him with narrowed eyes.

"No, a little old for that." he said slowly. She relaxed and continued to inspect the things in his apartment, pausing to touch personal items. Her attention fixed on the shelf where he kept a number of books and DVDs and pulled some of them off the shelf. Watching her, he found shifting made the ropes tighten around his wrists and send prickles of pain along his skin where the ropes held him. "Look, if you are going to rob me, just take the stuff and go. I won't call the cops."

"Of course you won't," she murmured, looking over her shoulder at him with an arched brow and spoke slow and deliberate, "You're tied to a chair."

He clenched his eyes shut and muttered, "This is insanity."

"Like the rest of your life is sane? Give me a fucking break." She picked up something and walked back over and sat down on a chair on the other side of the coffee table. She set the larger item on the coffee table between them and started to shuffles through the books and DVDs. "This is normal. Happens about four times a day, statistically. More often if people pay for it." She pointed to herself. "I'm just crazy." she said with some resentment. "Men in white say that I'm a nutter all the time." She gave him a grin that was more like a baring of teeth that made his insides tighten. Then she frowned. "But they say that to everyone. Do you think that makes me less special? Or them less sincere?"

He narrowed his eyes at the question and looked down at what she had brought over with a frowned.

"What are you doing with that?"

She ran her fingers along the edge of the chess board reverently, her eyes half "We can play a game." she cooed. Giggling suddenly, her toes danced on the floor. The pitch of her giggle made his hairs stand on end.

"Couldn't you play... from wherever you're from?"

"No." She pouted, "It's hard to play chess with people that try to eat the pieces. Or throw the board across the room. Or keep changing the person playing. Or--"

"I get the picture," he cut in, grimacing as the ropes tightened around his hands again.

Her eyes flicked down to his sides. "You know, when you cut too deep, you cut the tendons. Finger movement goes out the window." She drew the last word out, fluttering her fingers.

He clenched his eyes and jaw shut as she snickered at him. Trapped in his own apartment with a lunatic. He wished he was MacGyver with a paperclip just then. Opening his eyes, he found her own boring into him, studying him in a way that felt damn invasive, as if his very soul was on display to her. He suddenly wanted to scream at her, kick, thrash around, but he managed to keep still in the chair. They simply sat there for a few moments in the darkened apartment in tense silence. She was waiting to see what he would do and he wasn't sure what to do. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, taking that moment to calm himself. This wasn't any different than his tournaments. He just needed to plan his steps carefully. His heart was pounding in his ears, but his face and body gave away nothing; a well-worn poker face he seemed to wear all the time now.