Peter sat on the couch. Melisa’s outburst made him feel uneasy. He smiled nervously. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?” he asked.

“No, it’s…I’m fine. Thanks for helping me.”

“I didn’t do much. You practically dragged me along with you.”

“Yes, but you listened. You believed me.” Melissa’s voice faded into a whisper.

“Hey, tell me something about yourself,” Peter tried to change the subject. He did not want her getting all emotional again.

“Like what?”

“What’s your surname?”

“It’s funny actually. My surname is Peters and your name is Peter.”

Peter didn’t find it particularly funny, but he was glad that she saw humour in something.

“What are we going to do now?” he asked.

“Promise me you won’t call the police.”

“I promise, Miss Peters. Melissa.”

“You know, sometimes I didn’t know whether it was day or night. I hoped that he would just come in and kill me. But he just kept me there like I was some kind of trophy. I had to get out.”

“Well, you’re safe now. Why can’t I phone the police?”

“He has friends. He has friends everywhere.”

“He’s not my friend. I don’t even know him.”

“Thanks. But I can’t go to the police. He’ll hurt my family.”

“Who is this guy?”

Melissa looked away for the first time since they had started talking.

“He’s sick man, that’s who he is. He tortured me. Found it funny when I screamed.” Melissa’s voice was quiet and small. “He raped me, over and over again. He tied my hands and gagged me. I wanted to die.” She spoke mechanically as if the events she was describing had happened to someone else.

Peter was stunned. This girl had gone through hell, far worse than anything he’d expected. She had flung his life into a melodrama and he’d become one of the main characters. He wanted to escape, but that wasn’t an option. He had to help her, somehow. But how? What was he supposed to do? Especially if she was freaked out about the police? He needed some advice. “Melissa, I need the bathroom. Excuse me.”

Melissa was staring into space, her face a frozen mask. Had she even heard him?

Peter headed towards the kitchen where the telephone hung. Using the phone, letting someone into the house. Breaking all the rules. Somehow they didn’t seem all that important. He picked up the phone and punched in Philip’s number.

His best friend answered.

Peter was relieved to hear a familiar voice. This chick really had him feeling freaked out.

“Yo, bra. I need your help.”

“Who is this?”

“It’s Peter.”

“Oh, Peter. Sorry bra, didn’t recognise the number. What’s happening? How’s the Plain?”

“Not kwaai. There’s this chick in the living room. Says that she was kidnapped.”

“Is she hot?”

Typical Philip. He’d be making jokes at his own funeral.

“Ja, but this is serious, bra. I don’t know what to do.”

“Phone the cops. Let them handle it.”

“Ja, but she says…”

The door opened. Melissa was standing there, a shocked look on her face. Peter hung up the phone slowly. He had done something horribly wrong. He had betrayed her.

“Who were you calling?” Melissa said in a soft voice.

“A friend,” Peter replied. “I was asking him for help.”

He hoped that the truth would reassure her. It did not.

“Don’t lie!”

“I’m not lying. You can trust me, Melissa.”

She laughed, but her eyes were empty, like someone had scooped all hope from them. “I thought I could, but you’re just like him! I thought I could trust him too!”

Peter could not speak.

Melissa turned around and headed for the front door.

“Melissa, wait!” he yelled. “I can help you.”

“You have no idea what Cupido is capable of!”

“Let me help you.”

“No-one can help me!”

She wrenched the door open and ran off, leaving the door ajar. Icy outside air filled the house. Peter stood still for a minute, uncertain. She had asked for his help and he’d treated her like a crazy person. He needed to find her. He ran out of the house, down to the end of the road and retraced the way they had come.

Melissa Peters was nowhere to be seen.

***

Tell us what you think: Should Peter have called the police instead of his friend?