THE POWER PLAY

She’s been in the granny flat for nearly three weeks. Well, granny flat is a misleading term for old garage.  When she moved in she was aware that it was going to be rough, the only water coming via a hose through a hole in the fly screen, the old outdoor lean o dunny, the only means of cooking a little gas camping stove. But she didn’t realise that the landlord’s promise to provide her with electricity was empty. He was never going to do it, at least not without a cost to her that she would not pay.

Now it is winter and the walls weep. The concrete floor is so cold, even through the shabby static-y rug, that she has to put two pairs of socks on before getting out of bed.  At least she can heat water for her hot water bottle but that is her only comfort. No heating, nowhere to charge her phone, and the only means to wash, her dishes, her underwear and her self, is by heating a small saucepan, over and over.

The door lock is broken again, but it never works to deter him anyway. One sharp knock and he lets himself in. “Just checking you’re alright,’ he says, looking her up and down as she lies on her bed. She’s grateful that she’s wearing every item of clothing she owns.

He never touches her, with anything but his eyes, but his desires hang in the air. She knows that he would give her power if she gave into him, but giving her power would take power away.

She’s not a prisoner, why doesn’t she leave? She has nowhere to go.