Tom and Gabby Ch. 07 - Absconsion

I keep running for as long as I can, but my cardiovascular fitness is appalling, and I need to slow before I'm able to make any real progress, to catch my breath.

I reach the main road and whittle down to a brisk walk as I proceed along it, keeping my head down in case Tom and Linda have taken to pursuing me in one of their cars.

My heart is hammering in my chest, pummelling against my sternum.

As far as daring escapes go, I'll be the first to admit that this one wasn't the most thought out.

In my haste to get out of the house, I neglected to take any money. Or a phone. I had no real plan and no thought beyond being free.

A picture of Linda's face forms in my mind, captured at the moment she realises I'm gone. The thought provides some comfort.

I expect she'll be frantic, worrying about what I might do or who I might talk to.

I'm the one with the power now.

They've both got everything to lose by my departure. Neither of them is stupid. They can't be unaware of this.

I've never really seen Linda in any kind of stressful situation, but I suspect she won't handle it with grace.

Tom is the complete opposite. He's calculating. He deals with problematic situations meticulously, planning for every conceivable eventuality, and always keeping his cool. Despite what anyone might assume, he learned this long before he ever joined the army.

I take a second to contemplate their different ways of dealing with the situation and whether it might cause animosity between them. I'm almost disappointed to not be able to see them at each other's throats, daunted by the prospect of me ruining them both.

When I get my breath back, I pick up pace again, thinking about the magnitude of my situation, and how I came to be here. It's like something out of a low budget horror film.

When Tom and I first got together, we'd roleplay situations of me being chased. I'd hide from him somewhere in the house and he'd hunt me down. The roleplaying always ended with some form of consensual non-consensual sex, during which I relished playing the 'victim'.

The days of those games are long gone now, and my naïve fascination has dissipated along with them. I'm probably being hunted now for real, and it lacks the imagined excitement that our once playful simulations offered.

The thought of Tom and Linda now pursuing me is terrifying. Hair standing on end, pit in my stomach terror.

I'd used to love Tom finding me during roleplay and would spend every second of the nail-biting wait getting wet in anticipation for being found and the subsequent pleasure.

Now I can't think of anything worse than the prospect of being found.

There will doubtlessly be pleasure in the event of my recapture. Masses of it. Crazy amounts of undiluted ecstasy. My insides literally pouring out of my cunt. For hours.

All inflicted against my will.

Pleasure for the purpose of punishing me and forcing me into a blubbering, broken submission. And all the while, with me knowing that I could've run further and faster. I don't want to have those regrets.

I frighten myself with these thoughts, and run a bit further, breathing raggedly. I keep it in mind that Tom or Linda's car might pass me at any point, and they could seize hold of me.

When I arrive in the village, my lungs demand that I stop for air.

I stagger behind a large flower sculpture, out of view from the road, wracking my brain to think of some sanctuary that I might go to in order to be 'safe'.

I'm naturally very introverted and have never been good at maintaining friendships.

As a result of this, I don't have any friends to turn to for help now. Solitude suited me when Tom and I were happily married. We shunned social obligation and relied only on each other.

I now realise that my elective segregation from society made it easier for Linda and Tom to keep me isolated.

It's ensured that in my moment of need, I'm totally alone.

"Gabrielle? Is that you?" a voice suddenly sounds behind me, and I mewl out in shock.

I turn around to see a former colleague. She's looking at me concernedly.

Though I can't recall her name, I recognise her face.

"Are you alright?" she queries.

I take a second to compose myself before answering, wanting to appear natural, normal, but still breathing heavily.

This interaction and my handling of it could disprove Linda's claims of my apparent 'insanity'. In the event of needing witnesses, this woman could serve as an advocate for me, and testify to my rationality.

In light of this possibility, choosing this moment to confide in her about liberating myself from a life of forced orgasms and involuntary voyeurism would probably not help me convince her of my sound mind.

"I'm fine. Are you?" I croak out, using as few words as possible while trying to stabilise my panting.

"I'm...yeah. It's a bit of a surprise to see you," the woman says, looking around curiously. "Shouldn't you be..." she pauses to reconsider her words. "Is Linda with you?"

Her question dismays me. I don't know this woman at all, yet she seems to have unvalidated opinions about me.

Linda's deception has evidently been very convincing. Too convincing.

I barely exchanged five words with her while we worked together, but she's now in full belief that I shouldn't be out in public. Certainly not unattended.

My initial thoughts of finding some support in her crumble away.

I resign myself to not disputing her false perception of me, deciding that I haven't got time to convince her of the truth.

"Yes," I lie, in answer to her question, to keep her from suspecting anything untoward.

I twist my neck round to check my surroundings, wholly expecting Tom and Linda to appear.

Fortunately, they don't. Though I'm certain that they know I'm gone by now.

I'm wasting time by talking with this woman. I should still be running. I'm ten minutes away from the house, which isn't far enough.

"Where is she?" the woman enquires, interferingly, seemingly unsatisfied with my previous answer.

"She's just in that shop," I say, pointing vaguely at the shop behind her.

The woman turns to look and then returns her gaze to me, looking disbelieving. She's totally right to be. I only realise at this moment that the shop behind us is a craft shop.

Nothing about Linda suggests an interest in paper crafts or card making.

The woman appears to think to herself, trying to decide whether to accept my answer. If she doesn't, she's probably going to feel bound to do something 'helpful'.

I add another layer to my deception, hoping to dispel her doubts.

"I didn't want to go in, so I'm just waiting here until she's found what she wanted. I think she said it was something for the office? She knows where I am," I explain, going into detail.

I've always been an utterly unconvincing liar.

"Okay," she concedes, choosing to believe me. "I've got a few minutes, so I'll wait with you."

Her offer is entirely unwelcome.

I see now that my streak of good fortune is ending abruptly.

Meeting this woman was very unfortunate.

Her effort to be a 'good Samaritan' is even more so.

She tries to initiate small talk with me, uncomfortable with our standing in silence.

I only half listen, busy thinking about which way to go now. The more time I spend here, the closer Tom and Linda probably are to finding me.

I could probably use some of the backstreets to get to the town centre, if I planned it right? Travelling along the main roads was a mistake. I should have opted to avoid them. Even if they separated to search for me, Tom and Linda couldn't cover all the sideroads.

"Everyone at work was really sad when they heard about your, well, y'know," the woman says awkwardly, unable to find the words to finish her sentence, not knowing how to address my apparent insanity.

I widen my eyes and look at her, straight in the eye, snapping out of my attempts to make plans.

"My what?" I demand, purposefully being confrontational to make her uncomfortable.

"You know," she stammers. "'Your...mental health problems."

She lowers her tone, practically whispering, as if it's a 'dirty word' before continuing.

"We all think it's amazing how Linda and Tom stepped up to help look after you. They're good people to do that. Not everyone would be so lucky," she imparts.

I look at her in stark disbelief. I'm getting fed up with people offering their opinions on me being lucky today.

I lament for a few seconds, conscious that the damage Linda has inflicted upon my reputation is devastating. She's made me completely uncredible.

This woman and probably everyone else I used to work with thinks I'm a complete basket case and I don't have a way to prove otherwise.

I turn around again, looking out for Tom and Linda. They're not here. Yet.

I look around the village square, while my back is turned to her, needing inspiration of some sort.

My eyes linger on the convenience shop, about three hundred metres from where I'm standing, over the road.

I study it, thinking back to the odd times I've had to go into it.

I visualise the aisles, and what is stocked in each one, mentally walking around the shop. There are probably a thousand things I could use inside, but with no means of payment, I have no way of obtaining anything. Theft is out of the question.

A stroke of genius seems to slap me around the head.

Last time I was in the shop, about six months ago, there had been a recently installed freephone for taxis inside.

I try to disguise my smile, becoming more and more confident that I've worked it out.

Tom and Linda must be out searching for me by now, hopefully somewhere in the woods.

They'd never expect me to go back to the house.

A taxi could collect me from the shop and take me back there, while they're away. I could claim to have forgotten my purse and go into the house to retrieve it. I don't actually own a purse anymore; Tom and Linda don't feel there's a need for me to have one. Anything I need, they procure for me. I've never stolen anything in my life, but I have no objection to stealing from them.

If they left the house in a hurry, they're bound to have left their respective wallet and purse behind.

Even if they've had the foresight to pick them up on the way, I know that they keep a jar of loose change in one of the kitchen cupboards.

I'll take whatever I can find and enlist the taxi driver to take me to the police station.

If my plan works, and I'm positive that it will, I'm going to do what I should've done all along,

I abandon the conversation with my unwanted companion without a word and begin briskly walking towards the convenience shop.

"Gabrielle?" the woman calls after me, confusedly. "Where are you going? We're waiting for Linda, remember?"

I walk faster, ignoring her fading calls after me.

When I reach the shop, I briefly turn back to see the woman with her mobile pressed to her ear. I can already guess who she's ringing.

She's staring right at me, keeping me in her sight. I utter a few choice insults for her under my breath as I slip through the automated doors.

I head for the back of the shop, where I clearly recall the phone to have been. I'd regarded it as nonsensical when I'd first seen it. This shop is small, stocking only essentials and is exclusively used by locals, none of whom have requirement for a taxi. I'd scoffed at the thought of it ever being used.

I now regret everything I ever thought or said about the unnecessariness of it. That nonsensical phone is going to be my liberation.

People in the shop aren't secretive about actively moving to avoid me. I know my attire is off-putting, and according to Linda, I'm in need of a shower, but I don't pose any threat to them and I'm not a public menace. I muse on the idea of perhaps coming back when I'm restored to my former respectability.

When I get to the back wall, where the phone should be, I'm horrified to find that it's no longer there, having been replaced by shelves of alcohol.

I swear to myself quietly. This small detail has broken my plan. I try to think of another idea quickly, looking around, paranoid that I'm being watched.

A shopworker appears from one of the aisles, and positions himself at the end of it, under the guise of tidying stock.

He doesn't try to conceal the fact that he's there for the sole purpose of making sure I don't steal anything.

I realise that someone I've passed must have alerted him to my presence, perhaps mentioning my unsuitable clothing, apparent malodour and determined journey to the back of the shop. If I worked here, I'd probably be inclined to do the same thing.

I look up and down the shelves of wine, making it look like I'm trying to choose one, before turning up an aisle behind me, filled with magazines and newspapers.

As I make my way along it, my former colleague appears at the other end, putting herself in the way of where I'm going. Her phone is still pressed against her ear and she's nodding her head, frowning.

I hear her speaking. "Hang on, I can see her now... No, she's not doing anything... Yes, she's definitely seen me...It looks like she's thinking about where to go."

I know instinctively that Linda is on the other end of the phone and that her liaising with this woman means she and Tom know exactly where I am.

The woman nods again. "Okay... I'll try now," she says, taking a step forward towards me, with her phone stretched out in front of her, appearing to offer it to me. "Gabrielle?" she tries. "I've got Linda on the phone. She wants to talk to you."

I have no intention of speaking to Linda; on the phone or by any other means and I refute the offer by spinning around hurriedly.

As I turn around, I see that the shop assistant has moved himself into the aisle behind me and is blocking my exit from it.

Panic starts to set in. I can't see an easy way out of this predicament.

I turn back to the woman and snatch her phone from her, before rushing toward her and shoving past her roughly. She's thrown backwards but doesn't go down to the ground. I'm confident that she can't communicate my whereabouts to Linda if she has no way of speaking to her.

I dart towards the shop entrance and stand impatiently under the sensor to trigger the doors, hopping from one foot to the other.

Even a couple of seconds feels like too long to wait for them to open. Adrenaline is coursing through me. I'm veiled with a thin layer of sweat, a combination of stress and physical activity.

It was a mistake to come here, I should've just kept running.

As the doors glide open, I'm horrified to see Tom and Linda standing on the other side of them, almost directly in front of me.

They seem to see me at the exact same time as I see them, and they display relief, expecting me to voluntarily offer myself back over to them. I don't intend to do any such thing.

I freeze in place for a half a second in a stunned alarm, before making to run back into the shop. I know despairingly that I'm caught, but I don't want to be.

Tom's forearm roughly loops around my waist and heaves me backwards towards him, before I can take a step. My feet try to keep moving and my shoes squeak noisily as they're dragged across the tiled floor, in the opposite direction I wanted to move in.

Tom holds me firmly against his strong frame. I can feel his muscles engaging as he resists my pulls to get away.

"That's enough Gabby. The joke's over now," he murmurs intimidatingly into my ear, and secures my arms with his other hand, to prevent any potential strikes I might try to throw at him.

"Get your hands off me," I squawk hysterically, frenetically straining against him.

He ignores my demand and tightens his hold of me, despite my wriggles and squirms to pry myself free.

I can feel people in the shop gathering to watch the scene, whispering amongst themselves scandalously.

"Gabrielle!" Linda exclaims, casting herself in the role of some kind of concerned ally to me. "We were so worried about you! What were you thinking?"

She gives an award-winning performance, acting flawlessly to convince people that she cares about my wellbeing.

I continue to struggle, adamant that I won't be reclaimed without doing everything I can to not be.

"I'm so sorry about all this trouble," Linda says, turning her attentions to the gathering witnesses.

She's very comfortable in speaking to audiences and isn't daunted by being looked at. I'm the stark opposite and have always recoiled from speaking publicly.

She seems to captivate everyone listening.

"I'm sure that she was in her right mind, Gabrielle would be very sorry too..." she deceives. "Unfortunately, that isn't the case. Gabrielle here, has extensive mental health problems. She completely lacks the capacity to consider any implications of what she says or does. She lives with us, under our constant care."

I can see people's need for an explanation lessening as Linda offers them an 'acceptable' one.

"Up until now, we've managed to avoid anything like this happening, but we made a mistake this morning and left the front door unlocked for a couple of minutes. We turned our back for a few split seconds, but she must have been waiting. She hasn't physically hurt anyone has she? I'd never forgive myself," she asks, feigning worry.

I look along the row of gawping faces, from one to the other and a see as they shake their heads unanimously, totally absorbed by Linda's reimagining of the truth. Not one of them seems wanting to challenge her version of events.

"I don't have fucking mental health problems! They keep me..." I blurt out, angrily.

"It's a shame really," Linda cuts me off swiftly, knowing what I'm about to say. "She just can't seem to accept that reality isn't the way she sees it. It's alright Gabrielle," Linda embellishes. "Nobody here wants to hurt you."

I stare into the crowd, wanting someone to speak up for me. Nobody does.

I've always been fascinated by people's love of drama. This scene must be exhilarating for them all.

Tom constricts me harder. "Easy," he warns, in a low growl, subtly advising me to stay quiet.

I notice the shop assistant resuming his position behind the counter, satisfied that the situation is now being managed and that he can return to his work.

My former colleague steps forward.

Linda greets her warmly. "Gina, are you okay? Thank you so much. Tom and I owe you so much. Without your quick thinking, something really awful could have happened," she praises.

The woman, apparently named Gina, tries and fails to adopt a modest expression. "It's honestly no problem, Linda. Anyone would have done the same thing if they knew. I'm just pleased she's safe now. Are you okay?" she retaliates the question.

Linda feigns a troubled expression, as if she's just been through something awful. Why is she the subject of sympathy here? I'm the victim of the situation, not her!

"I'm okay Gina. I'm just glad we've found her. In the state of mind she's in, anything could have happened. She's totally unpredictable when she gets herself worked up like this," she falsely portrays. I glower at them stonily.

"Oh goodness," she says, spinning to face me and belligerently prising the woman's phone from my clenched grasp.

"No," I protest.

"It's not yours Gabrielle," Linda belittlingly insists, persisting in her attempts to wrestle to phone from me, eventually obtaining it.

"Here you go Gina" she says, as she returns it to my former colleague.

"I'm going to put Gabby into the car love," Tom says, sensing that I'm not ready to give up yet.

"The sooner we get her home, the better. It's going to be one of those days with her, I think," Tom tells Linda, loud enough for the onlookers to hear him. It's a double entendre but I interpret its true meaning.