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She got up to use the bathroom. Wherever she was, it was clean but sparse. The room had a wood floor, an old bed, and a dresser with drawers that stuck. The window was painted shut and all she could see was the side of another building. The adjoining bathroom was tiny, with a pedestal sink and a small shower. Her backpack had been brought in for her, but she was going to run out of clean clothes soon. She’d have to remember to tell John when he came again.
Her grogginess lingered, but for the first time since she’d been brought there, her head was beginning to clear. A craving in the back of her mind made her wonder if she was getting addicted to whatever John had been giving her. She glanced around the bathroom, wondering if he’d left her more pills. Should she search for some, or would that confirm she was hooked? Could she hold out until he came back?
She decided to wait. She’d always liked partying—it was one of the things she’d fought about with her parents. But she didn’t want to turn into a drug addict.
Instead, she took a shower, hoping it would help her clear her head. Part of her wanted to sink back into hazy oblivion so she didn’t have to think too deeply about her situation. Yet her old self was in there somewhere, telling her things weren’t right.
Her old self? When had she started thinking of herself that way? When had she become different?
It was all so confusing.
After finishing her shower, she put on her last clean outfit—a gray sweatshirt and jeans. It was raining outside, and the room was a little chilly.
She wished she knew what time it was. And where she was. And when John was coming back. Her stomach rumbled and she wondered how long it had been since he’d brought her something to eat.
Which made her think about the other thing she couldn’t keep ignoring. The door was locked.
She was being held there.
John had said it was for her safety. But why? Couldn’t she at least have access to the rest of the apartment? She was capable, she could get her own meals. And eventually she’d need to do some laundry.
That made her wonder, was the door still locked? Maybe this was like the cabin. She’d thought he was locking her in, but when she’d finally decided to try the door, she’d found it was just stuck.
She was almost afraid to try.
But her mind kept clearing, things coming into sharper focus. She needed to know.
Her heart beat hard and her body trembled as she walked to the door and put her hand on the doorknob. She twisted.
Locked.
She tried again, twisting it the other direction. It didn’t move.
Panic rose like a lump in her throat and tears stung her eyes. She pounded on the door a few times. “Hello? Is anyone out there?”
Nothing. No sound.
Had he abandoned her?
She knocked louder, using the side of her fist. “Hello? Please, is anyone there?”
Footsteps came from outside the door. She stepped back, her heart racing.
The doorknob turned and she braced herself to see John. He’d be calm and soothing and tell her everything was all right.
But it wasn’t John.
A young woman she didn’t know came in, smiling warmly. She was dressed in a tight-fitting blouse and high waisted black pants with tall stilettos, and her dark hair was curled in a vintage pinup style.
“Hey,” she said, her voice friendly. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were awake.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Desi.”
“Where am I?”
“Don’t worry.” She walked over to the bed and sat. “You’re safe here.”
