"I'm trying. The chain keeps—here, duck your head. No, the other way. Okay, now?—"
It takes us a solid five minutes to get her dressed in clean clothes. By the end of it, I'm exhausted and we haven't even started on me yet.
"Your turn," she says.
I grab clothes from the dresser—black shirt, black jeans, because variety is overrated—and we repeat the whole ridiculous process in reverse. Her arm threads through mine. The chain tangles. I curse under my breath while she stifles a giggle.
"This is fucking stupid," I mutter.
"Agreed. Want me to tie you to the bed?"
"No."
"Then stop complaining."
By the time we're both dressed, I'm breathing harder than I should be for such a simple task. Bells is flushed, strands of white hair escaping from behind her ears.
"I need to pee," she announces flatly.
I stare at her.
"What? It's been hours."
"Then take off the cuffs."
"Nope. Not unless you want me to cuff you to the bed."
"Bells—"
"You'll bolt the second you're loose and we both know it."
She's not wrong. The urge to run is a constant pressure behind my sternum, building with every minute that passes. Everyminute closer to facing Carmine. To facing questions about the photos. To facing the reality of what comes next.
"The bathroom door won't close with the chain running between us," I point out.
"I'll figure something out."
Bells tries increasingly creative angles with the door. She attempts to thread the chain through the gap between door and frame. The chain almost breaks. She briefly considers letting me in there with her, remembering I've "already stalked her into the bathroom once" as if that wasn't for her protection, then changes her mind.
Finally, she points at the floor.
"Lie down."
"Excuse me?"
"If you lie flat, arm extended toward the door, the chain should have enough slack for me to slip it under the door and close it all the way."
I stare at her like she's lost her mind. Because she has. Clearly.
"I'm not?—"
"Rex. Ireallyhave to fucking pee. Lie down."
I lie down with a growl. "This is fucking ridiculous," I growl to the hardwood.
"Yep." The door swings shut and locks. "But it's working."
The toilet flushes. Water runs. The door unlocks.