“You hate what you’re wearing?” I ventured, now completely lost.“I hate that I have to wear it,” Beth countered. “Before you moved in, I w...re what I wanted. Or didn’t. Now, when you’re around, I have to put this stuff on all the time, and I just fucking hate it.”I took another sip of coffee and looked at her. I shrugged. “So do what you want,” I said. “You don’t want to wear something, then don’t. No biggie for me.” I meant it. I really didn’t care what Beth wore. Jesus.Looking hard at me. The more she fought, the tighter they got and the more they hurt. Her arms and legs were already numb. She wished to God that Lynn would stop struggling.Stop your goddamn squirming, she wanted to shout. Can't you see you're just making it worse? She'd have shouted that at Lynn had her own mouth not been stuffed with a wadded-up wool stocking, the stinking sock that the old bastard had pulled off his smelly foot and shoved into her mouth before tying the gag rope around her head. Thank God she. More

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