Back in her old room, Jen lay on the bed in the dark feeling sick; it was as if there was a huge gap where her stomach used to be, an aching void. It wasn't the locked door, the pitch darkness or the lack of control that bothered her, it was the powerful emotions that churned within her; she felt nauseous, she felt dizzy, she felt as if she were falling into a pit, a pit from which there was no escape.
Right up front there was the anger, anger at being rejected, anger at being betrayed: how could Wendy have been so cruel? How could she have pushed her aside and flirted so openly with that slag, that dirt, that nothing? How could Wendy have looked on and laughed as Jen was forced to humiliate herself time after time? And then why did she have to top it all by showing the film of the party, letting that pathetic little whore see her like that, turning a special occasion into something cheap and tawdry? Jen pounded her pillow and screamed out loud, anything to vent this emotion.
Not far behind the anger there was the jealousy, the evil green-eyed goddess, that wanted to spit venom at the knowledge that upstairs, in Wendy's bed, in her bed, in her place was that whore, that hussy, that slapper, that nasty little chav from god knows where! To have been cast aside was bad enough, but cast aside for that! She would never, could never, forget the look in Sharon's eyes, that disdain, that look of victory that made it clear that, as far as Sharon was concerned, she was the dirt, she was the filth that was being thrown out.
And, as the anger and the jealousy receded for a while, then there was the frustration, the bitter sense of hopelessness. Never since her capture had it been so starkly brought home to her just how little control she had over her life. How she wished she could have stormed out, made it clear just where she stood, told Wendy and that little bitch just where to get off, but all she could do was take it, take the abuse, take the humiliation and furthermore, she would have to keep on taking it. There was the bitter knowledge that in a few short hours she was going to have to work with Wendy, to look her in the eye, to pretend that nothing had happened.
Finally, physically and emotionally exhausted, she was left with an aching sense of loss. She had been so foolish; she had dared to think, dared to dream that Wendy might, in her own way, care a little. That somehow there was a growing bond of respect, of understanding, of, dare she say it, love... but that flickering flame had been brutally extinguished; surely anyone who cared for her could not have done that, could not have sat by and laughed whilst she was being so badly hurt. Burying her head in her pillow Jen sobbed, howling in pain at her broken dreams. How could she have been so stupid to believe that she was anything to Wendy? Now it was all too obvious that Wendy didn't care a fig.
In the pitch black dark of the room there was no sense of time, only an endless living nightmare. Jen tossed and turned, crying the night away, waiting on dawn and the further nightmares that it would bring.
PARP! PARP! PARP! Jen had forgotten the brutality of the hooter used as an alarm clock in the cell. She would give anything just to stay under the covers, hiding until the day had gone away but she knew she couldn't. She dragged herself out of bed and over to the washbasin. The mirror on the wall told its own story. Jen had no idea if she'd slept five hours or five minutes but, from the look of her red-ringed eyes it was more like the latter. Vaguely she heard the click of the automatic lock on the door, \implying she was free to go for breakfast but she really couldn't bear the thought. She just stood, staring into the mirror, trying to find the energy to move. Eventually the door opened and Sally poked her head round.
"Come on, slowcoach. You're late enough as it is. I don't want a beating because you can't get up of a morning."
"Sorry, I...." Jen started, haltingly.
"Oh, god, you got it bad, didn't you?" Sally saw the state of Jen and was suddenly concerned for her friend.
"Oh, Sal, Sal," Jen sobbed. "Why does she do it? Why does she make me think she cares and then treat me like this?"
"Because that's what she does," returned Sally. "She did it to me and now she's doing it to you."
"She did it to you?" Jen questioned, her surprise breaking her out of her self absorption.
"Do you think you're the first? Don't you remember how I used to be when you first arrived? That trick I played when I marked your blouse? How do you think it felt watching her fawn all over you, knowing you had taken my place?" There was still some resentment showing in Sally's voice.
"So how did you cope? Why didn't you leave? You're not a prisoner, you could just walk away," Jen asked.
"Huh, well, I nearly did but, the money's good and she's a reasonable boss to work for and, at the end of the day, I always knew that I was never anything more than her plaything, I was fun in bed, that's all; there was never any real attachment. Mind you, I'm surprised that she's ditched you so fast; I thought you were different; I really thought she was getting fond of you." Sally seemed to pull herself together. "Come on now, have some breakfast, you'll feel better."
The two women went off to the kitchen where Juanita greeted them and fussed over Jen. Even with their support and comfort, Jen had little appetite. She drank some coffee and had a couple of slices of toast just to keep Juanita quiet. She was still sitting there staring into space when Sally tapped her on the shoulder and told her that it was time to leave. She went to get dressed and then met up with Sally on the way to the garage. After all the times she had left with Wendy it seemed strange being back with Sally; it was as if the last few weeks hadn't happened. They drove out and parked in front of the house waiting.
When Wendy appeared at the front door, Jen felt her stomach lurch again. There beside her, still wearing the clothes from last night was Sharon, tottering along in her platform boots. There was plenty of room in the back of the car but Jen was hoping that she would never have to see the bitch again. Once they were in the car Wendy told Sally to drive to the office and then take Sharon back home to Romford.
"Hello, it's piglet!" Sharon exclaimed. "A bit hard to recognize you with your clothes on."
"Oh, she's still ready and available," \commented Wendy. "Go on, piglet; show Sharon how available you are."
Jen was about to protest but one look at Wendy's face told her this would be a bad move so she gritted her teeth and lifted the front of her skirt. Wendy reached across and undid the buttons of her blouse, pulling it open, exposing her breasts.
"There, very pretty. Why don't you sit like that until we get there? Now, Sharon, where were we?" Wendy pulled Sharon into a clinch and Jen watched as her hand slid up under Sharon's mini-skirt. She sat there seething, her humiliation complete. It seemed to take forever before they pulled up at the office and, hurriedly buttoning up her blouse, she followed Wendy into the lobby.
The morning seemed to drag by. Sure, Jen had plenty to do but she couldn't concentrate and she spent most of her time just staring at her PC screen. At lunch time Wendy called her over to her desk.
"I don't see much work happening," she said, reaching for her desk drawer. "Maybe a few strokes of the paddle might liven you up."
