He’s left the air con on and it’s blowing cold air down on me. He must have re-set the temperature to fifty-nine Fahrenheit and left me to freeze. The gag is pulling at the corners of my mouth, stretching my lips and making my jaw ache. Gag is the definitely the right word, for I’m in a constant state of wanting to heave.
Dwight has tied me too tightly. The twine is digging into the flesh of my thighs, wrists and waist, and is cutting off the blood supply, at least to a degree. I can only imagine the damage these restraints are doing to my skin, and I run through the concealers I’ll need to buy to hide the cuts and bruises. But these thoughts soon fade as I take in the image on my television screen.
I’m face to face with another version of myself.
Although there are key differences. For
