The One That Got Away – Flash fiction

So…here’s The One That Got Away

This is my offering for this weeks Blog Hop flash fiction challenge (see Leanne Sype’s original post – http://leannesype.wordpress.com/2013/05/08/blog-hop-photo-reveal-19/

The 5 must-use words were butter, evil, wardrobe, rescue, ballroom. Here’s the picture courtesy of Flikr Commons:

The One That Got Away

‘You be a good girl while I’m gone won’t you, poppet?’
He stroked her cheek with his nasty fingers and she fought the urge to recoil from his touch. If her hands were free, she would have scrubbed at her skin to get rid of the lingering vileness but the ropes held her wrists tightly. Instead she held her breath to block out the smell of his foulness and nodded.
A grin split his face, hideous teeth jutting out like sunken tombstones.
‘That’s right. See, it’s better when we love each other isn’t it?’
His hot breath smelt of stale whiskey and decay. She wanted to be sick but forced herself to smile sweetly into his twisted evil face instead. As if butter wouldn’t melt, her mum always said. Mum. The thought made her throat close up. No. She mustn’t cry. Not in front of him. Not ever.
‘I’ll try not to be away too long, poppet. You’ll be good won’t you?’
She nodded. Anything to get him out of the house. Anything to give her time.
As soon as the  key turned in the lock she started on the knot again. Wriggling, twisting, picking. One free hand; that’s all she needed. Come on. COME ON!
She wrestled with the rope until she was drenched with sweat and on the verge of giving up in despair. Just as she abandoned all hope of escape, she felt the knot give. Not daring to breathe, she made her hand as small as possible and pulled. Inch by inch her hand slipped between the coils until the rope released its hold.
With trembling fingers, she worked to free her other hand. Within a moment or two, she was on her feet and rubbing her wrists to get the feeling back.
She tried the door and window. Both locked. She was still a prisoner inside four bleak walls.
The room was empty apart from the bed, a chair and an old wardrobe. She ran to it and flung open the doors. Empty. Of course it was. He had taken everything. Her clothes. Her shoes. She was never meant to leave so why would she need them again? She looked down at the ancient nightdress he had made her wear. She hated it like she hated him. But better freedom like this than no freedom at all.
Grabbing the chair, she swung at the window. A crack jittered across the glass but the chair bounced back into the room. Strong with desperation she swang again. This time there was a crash and the pane shattered.
Clambering out onto the ledge, a shard of glass caught her leg and drew blood. She ignored it and kept going. A drainpipe ran down the wall an armslength away. She made a wild grab for it and half fell, half slid to the ground.
Trees reached for her with their gnarled branches she ran blindly along the path like Cinderella from the ballroom. Somewhere behind her a twig snapped.