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iving room, my hands still locked to my thighs. On the way I
looked in the full length mirror. My hair had dried while it was
pressed against my head under the hood. It was slicked straight back
on my head; I looked like a sort of nordic Ratso Rizzo; in fact from
the front it looked almost like I didn't have any hair at all. I
couldn't do anything about it with my hands locked where they were.
I wandered into the living room where he had already laid a fire.
It turned out he had prepared a light microwave meal while he left me
hanging from (well, not really hanging, but attached to) the bedroom
ceiling. He lit the fire he had la
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