She refills the glass from the sink on the other side of the room and sets it on the laundry table. “Put your hands out in front of you,” she says.
“f**k you!” I say.
She just grins at that, as though she is enjoying the prospect of a real catfight. She is the one with all of the weapons. I win by staying alive here. Every new day will be a little victory. If I continue to be of interest to her, she will want me to enjoy reasonably good health. When tedium sets in, my ass is in real jeopardy. I have to be the ultimate Sammy. (That’s an acronym for Smart-Ass Masochist, if you haven’t heard.) I have to pretend to be broken to her will, but slowly, because she has to be enjoying the game, and I have to buy time until I figure a way to burgle my way out of here.
I have to do that without ge
