"No!" I jumped off the bed and was halfway across the room in under a second.
"Don't be so dramatic," he began pushing the through pillows onto the floor, "It's not like I'm going to do anything to you."
"Then why do you need to sleep in here?"
"Its the principle of the thing."
"That's bullshit." I cross my arms.
"Language." He scolded as he climbed under the sheets.
"I'm not sleeping in a bed with you."
"You don't have a choice."
I crossed my arms and planted my feet on the floor.
"Fine then, have it your way." He said, and then leaned over and clicked the light off.
I didn't budge. Once my eyes adjusted I made sure to stare daggers at him.
For a while, he didn't seem to notice, which pissed me off. But after a few minutes, I heard a small sigh and the sound of the bed creaking. The light flicked back on and he sat up.
"You're seriously going to stand there like that?"
I nodded.
He let out a low groan and swung his feet over to the floor. As he stalked past me towards the door I caught a hint of grumbling.
When the door clattered shut a victorious grin spread across my face. I stripped off the dress and pulled on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Leaving the gown on the floor I went into my bathroom and washed my face. As I patted my skin dry I caught sight of my finger in the mirror.
I hadn't noticed before how much the rash had grown since I'd made a conscious effort not to look at it. But It was clearly visible peeking out from underneath the shiny silver. The red gem stared back at me in the reflection.
Our eye contact was broken, however, by a loud sound in the next room. I set the towel down on the marble sink and peaked into the bedroom.
Peter was lying on the floor, still clad in a now disheveled suit, with Randall standing over him.
"What are you doing?" I asked before I saw the glint of metal in his hand. Randall held the gun up to Peter's head.
"Go over to the night stand." He instructed.
Peter crawled backwards slowly until his back ran into the wooden bedside table. With his free hand, Randall grabbed a set of handcuffs from his pajama pants pocket and tossed them in Peters lap.
"Handcuff yourself to the drawer."
Peter did as he was told, threading one end of the device through the wide handle and squeezing each of the cuffs around his wrists.
When that was done he turned his attention to me.
"You," He pointed the gun in my direction, "Lay down."
I did as he said, not taking my eyes off of the firearm. Careful not to step on Peter as I crawled onto my side of the bed, curled up into a ball, and threw the blankets over myself, pulling them up to my chin.
"See? Was that so hard?"
I didn't answer, I just stared down the barrel of the gun. I'd never had one aimed at me like this before, and I didn't know how defenseless it could make you feel.
He lowered it to his hip and made his way over to the other side of the bed. I didn't turn to see him do it, but I could feel the bed creak as he got it.
The light sound of the gun sliding across the silk sheets made my skin crawl.
"Goodnight." He yawned, and then shut off the light.
Both me and Peter stayed frozen long after the room went dark. I stared at Peter as he slowly turned from a dark blob to a lightly silhouetted face. He was watching me too, his back almost as rigid as mine.
I could feel tears begin to well up in my eyes. I wanted to attribute it to the left over alcohol in my system, but I couldn't fool myself that well. It was fear, pure terror, that was causing the salty tears to stream over the bridge of my nose and down my cheek.
Crying didn't even properly describe it. There was no sniffling, no hiccups of sadness, just an uncontrollable flow of tears.
Peter lifted a corner of his mouth solemnly and opened up one of his bound hands. I slowly reached out from under the covers and took the slid my hand into his outstretched fingers. He gripped me tightly, a silent reassurance.
I might be trapped between the metal pressing into my back and the metal wrapped around my finger, but I wasn't alone. I would never be alone.