Here’s the first chapter of my upcoming book, I Hate Nate. You can preorder it here.
Camille Salang
Naked and handcuffed to a bed wasn’t the best time to decide to break up, but I’ve never been someone who planned ahead.
Bill’s blue plaid boxer shorts were the last straw.
As he sat at the end of his bed and pulled off his khakis to reveal navy dress socks and those stupid boxers, I got upset. How many times had I worn special lingerie at his request, but he couldn’t remember to buy some nice boxer briefs? I was a very visual person.
This was the first time we were acting out one of my fantasies and the mood was already crushed. I was so done here.
“Bill,” I said. “Tomato.”
His longish hair flipped as he jerked his head around. “The safe word? But I just cuffed you. Does it hurt or something?”
“Take the handcuffs off. Please,” I added.
“Oh, okay. Where did I put the key?”
He searched every pocket of his pants before realizing it was in his shirt pocket. That was another strike against him. He acted like cuffing me was a crime. I wasn’t into S&M or rape fantasies, I just liked feeling helpless. But that fantasy didn’t work when Bill kept asking if everything was all right. Once we started, he was supposed to take over.
Right now, my only fantasy was getting out of here.
“Hurry up,” I said.
“Aww, baby. We haven’t even done it yet,” he pleaded. His eyes went up and down my body and then his cock tented out of those stupid boxers. It was all so predictable. “You look hot right now.”
“I always look hot.” I jangled my wrists, and he finally unlocked the right cuff. There was a clanging as the metal of the cuffs hit the wrought iron of the bedpost. Ugh. I flipped my freed hand around to get the circulation going. I had wanted the fuzzy cuffs in hot pink, but no, Bill insisted on the “realistic” leather and metal ones. But he wasn’t the one wearing them.
He leaned over to unlock the other side. As his body hovered over mine, I breathed in the tobacco scent of his expensive cologne. It reminded me of overflowing ashtrays, and I recoiled a little.
“Is something wrong?” Bill asked.
I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Yeah, this isn’t working out. Us.”
“What?” He sat back on his heels. “Camille, what are you talking about? We’re so good together. You’re the best girlfriend I’ve ever had. I even introduced you to my mother!”
Bringing up that event wasn’t making his case. Mrs. Fletcher had been a total snob who let me know exactly how lucky I was to be dating Bill.
“I don’t know. We’re just not compatible.” As in, I’m fun and you’re not. The problem was that I was attracted to guys with qualities like reliability, stability, and self-control. Strengths that I admired—mostly because I didn’t have them. But those qualities were boring in the long run.
“Not compatible? Of course we’re different. That’s the nature of male/female dynamics.” Bill’s tone was lecturing and whining at the same time, which was doubly irritating.
I tried to sit up, but my cuffed wrist pulled me back. “Look, undo me first. It’s impossible to talk like this.”
“If I free you, you’ll leave.” He scowled and his lower lip jutted out. “I don’t want to break up.”
Well, he was no dummy. The millisecond I was uncuffed, I would be dressed and outtie. Once I decided to break up, it was over. What was the point of autopsying something that was already dead?
Our emotional standoff was broken by a familiar ringtone.
“Oh shit. That’s work.” Like a robot, he rose and picked up his phone from the bedside table. “Bill Fletcher. Sure, Donny. No, you’re not interrupting anything.”
Excuse me??? I jangled my captured wrist, but he was already in zombie work-mode.
“Let me get to my laptop and see if we can resolve this remotely.” He turned towards the door.
“Bill, noooo!” I screeched. But he plodded out and the last thing I saw was his blue plaid butt. How long would he be gone now? His job as a systems administrator for a large financial firm meant that he got urgent work calls at odd times. That was the downside of a real career—apparently you were never off the clock.
Damn. If only I had waited five more seconds to mention breakups. Now I had to lie here until he finished guiding some clueless coworker through their stupid computer problems. And then he’d keep whining and pleading before he released me. That would be a torture worse than whips and chains.
Maybe I could free myself? I wriggled my wrist and tried to pull my hand out, but no dice. And pulling on the chain only made my arm sore.
“Why does it always look so easy on detective shows?” I muttered. Veronica Mars would have unlocked the handcuff with a nail file by now. Wait, did I have any tools? My purse was far away, but my clothes were lying beside the bed. I spotted a bulge in my jeans pocket: my phone.
Perfect. I could call my sister to come and get me. That would speed things up.
Easier said than done though. First I had to get the jeans. I stretched my foot towards the jeans. No dice. Okay, maybe if I rolled my body closer. I extended my leg as far as it would go—ugh, to have model-length legs right now. Just a little more…and success! My big toe landed on denim. I pulled on the jeans. It took ages, but finally I grabbed my phone.
I exhaled in triumph and dialled Elaine. But her phone went straight to messaging.
“Ugh. What a time to need privacy.” My older sister was soooooo responsible, why would she shut down her phone? Oh right, because we had planned a complicated lie so both of us could sleep over at our boyfriends’ places without Mom knowing. It was ridiculous that we were in our twenties and still scheming to stay out. How many times had she lectured us about men not respecting women who slept with them before commitment?
Mom had no clue what it was like to be young and dating in the 21st century. Women were equal to men, and that included the freedom to hook up. I did a mental eye roll as I called Marty Devonshire, Elaine’s boyfriend. Unfortunately, he didn’t answer either. He was too busy respecting the heck out of my sister.
Okay, one last option left. How desperately did I want to get out of here?
Answer: very desperately.
I exhaled and dialled my last resort.
A cheerful voice answered. “Is this a booty call, Peaches? Did you finally come to your senses and decide you want to do me?”
Marty played hockey for the Vancouver Vice, and his roommate was his teammate, Nate Jones. Nate was ridiculously persistent, but he was the last person I’d go out with. Or stay in with. He even had a nickname for me, which I refused to ask about since it must be sexual. Everything was about sex with Nate.
I heard Bill moving around in the living room and dropped my voice to a whisper, “I’m trying to get a hold of my sister and she’s not answering. Can you knock on the door and tell her it’s an emergency?”
“Uh, well, I’m not actually at home. I’m playing poker at Lepper’s place. Marty asked for a little privacy tonight. Did you know your sister is a screamer?”
“Oh god, don’t tell me stuff like that. I can’t un-hear it. What am I going to do?”
“Do about what? Why are you whispering? Is something wrong?”
“Yes. My boyfriend won’t let me leave. He knows I’m going to break up with him, so…” My voice trailed off because I really didn’t want to explain my situation to Nate, of all people.
“Are you kidding me? Is he hurting you? What a sick fuck. I’ll be right over to get you,” he declared and then hung up.
I did my second eye-roll of the night and turned my phone to mute. One minute later, it vibrated.
“Uh, Camille. Where are you?”
“Look, he’s not hurting me. We were doing this bondage thing, and I’m cuffed to the bed. I mentioned breaking up at the wrong time, so now he wants to talk me out of it.”
“Oh.” Nate thought this over. “So, where is he?”
“He’s on the phone in the living room. Working.”
Nate laughed. “Y’know, I can’t believe you won’t go out with me, but you’re dating this complete loser.”
“Stop it. Unit 34. 2140 Beta Street.” There was no point telling off the guy who could rescue me from this stupid predicament. “Bill Fletcher is the name on the buzzer.”
“Is this going to get weird?” Nate asked. “He doesn’t have a gun or anything, does he?”
“Not unless you count the controller for his PS4,” I said. “You could take him easily. You are a hockey player.” Whatever his personality defects, Nate had an excellent body: big, muscular, and totally cut.
“Okay. Sit tight.” Nate snickered. “Like you can do anything else. Hey, are you naked? Or are you wearing one of those tiny leather outfits?”
I hung up. Yikes. It was one thing to be naked in front of Bill, but another to be naked in front of a horndog like Nate. If Nate found me naked and chained to a bed, he would have sex first and ask questions later. That turned me on in a way that Bill’s playacting never had, and I shook my head to get rid of the disgusting thought.
I began worming my way into my skinny jeans, but with only one hand it was tough. Too bad I hadn’t worn my boyfriend jeans. As I finished zipping them up, Bill returned and sat beside me.
“I’m so sorry about that. Donny always has the same issue with his—hey, how did you get into your jeans?” he asked, looking down with confusion.
“With difficulty. Now will you undo me?”
He shook his head. “Not until we talk. Is your period due or something? Because you’re not being rational. We’ve got a good thing here. Maybe I’m jumping the gun, but I can see us having a future—once you settle down and find a real job, of course. I know women want commitment but there are stages for these things.”
Seriously? How many ways had he just insulted me?
“Here’s a tip for your next relationship, Bill. Don’t tell a woman all the things that are wrong with her while she’s trying to break up with you. Now, uncuff me.”
He frowned. “You mean the period stuff? But that’s the only logical explanation. I know you’re into me. Last weekend, we talked about living together.”
Ugh, were we going to relive our whole relationship? This was why quick breakups ruled. “We never said anything like that.”
He nodded with eyes wide and owlish. “We did. I said, ‘Too bad you live at home and can’t sleep over anytime you want.’ You said, ‘Yes.’ Then I said, ‘If you lived here that would solve that problem.’ And I meant that.”
I tried to sit up again but fell back onto the bed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, that was just conversation.”
He leaned forward and took my free hand. “I’m not like other guys, Camille. I mean every word I say. You’re so pretty and so much fun. I feel like my life has improved ever since we began going out.”
The utter ridiculousness of this situation struck me, and I began to giggle. Bill was holding my hand and acting like this was some normal, romantic situation—but I was half-naked and chained to his bed. Wasn’t this the exact scene from a horror movie?
“Why are you laughing?” he demanded. “I’m really upset here.”
Oh no. If I didn’t watch out, I’d never get out of here. I made my expression solemn and stifled my inner scream. And for the first time ever, I wished Nate Jones were here.
