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Suddenly I'm glad I stayed where I am—as far away from the stranger on the other side of the cell as I can get. Not that that makes a real difference.
“Fuck you,” the man says. “I'm not going to rape her.”
“Okay. Starve then. But she'll starve, too. She's quite a little thing. I bet the hunger will get to her first. So you'll get to watch her die. Enjoy.”
It's no longer some great mystery why I'm naked and my co-captive isn't. I'm bait for the evil game of our captor. The music comes back on.
We both sit in stunned silence for a minute, staring up at the speaker in the ceiling, as if expecting the voice to return, but it doesn't.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I say to the man in the cell with me. Even though I know he's seen me naked, I don't want to just get up and walk in front of him to the bathroom.
He nods, stands, and turns around. “Tell me when you're in there.”
I hesitate for a moment but then get up and cross to the doorway. When I push back the beaded curtain, I let out a gasp. I expected the bathroom to be just like the cell. Plain gray walls, maybe a metal toilet, a sink, and if we were incredibly lucky, a drain in the floor and a shower head.
But this is a real bathroom. A luxury bathroom. This is the kind of bathroom only the very rich can afford. This room is probably twice the size of the cell, and the cell isn't tiny. I notice there is a speaker in here as well piping in the same classical music.
“Okay,” I say to the man in the other room.
I wonder why my co-captive isn't hanging out in here. I don't know what to look at first, but I settle on the roses. There’s a large bouquet of white roses in a vase on the marble countertop. The colors of the room are warm gold and cream. There’s a giant rain shower that can easily accommodate two people as well as an oversized jacuzzi tub. The actual toilet is at the back of the room in another sort of smaller room. There’s no door, just a curtain, but it does allow another layer of privacy.
I feel weirdly comfortable about peeing now because I realize with the distance, the extra enclosed toilet space, and the music, the man in the cell won't hear me. It's such a stupid thing to be concerned with right now, but still, it makes me feel marginally better inside the horror of this situation.
After I use the bathroom and wash my hands, I look through the cabinets. There are soaps and lotions and bath oils and bubble baths. No real help for escape here unless we can somehow MacGyver a bubble bath bomb.
There’s a full first aid kit. Bandages of all sizes, medical tape, salves, ointments, Hydrogen peroxide, and alcohol. I find this discovery more than a little disturbing. Why is our captor providing us with this stuff, and what will happen that requires it?
In another cabinet are stacks of neatly folded wash cloths and hand towels and bath mats and giant bath towels. I pull out one of the enormous towels and wrap it around myself then walk back out into the main cell, covered now at least.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey. What do we do now?”
We both know what we're supposed to do now, but of course we aren't going to do that. I'm not sure what he'll do if he gets hungry enough. I move back to the place across the room and gingerly sit back down.
“We wait,” he says.
“How long have you been here?”
“A couple of days. I've already looked for escape options. There are none.” He points up at the ceiling. “In the corners, do you see those shiny black things?”
I squint. I hadn't noticed them before. “Yes.”
“Cameras,” he says. “There aren't any in the bathroom, though. Though there are probably listening devices in there.”
I allow this piece of information to settle in my brain.
“W-when was the last time you ate?”
He winces at this. “Don't worry. I ate half an hour before he brought you in.”
“Have you used the shower or the tub?”
“The shower.”
“So he's not going to come in here and hurt us if I...”
The man shakes his head. “He won't come in until I eat. He drugs the food. So if you want to take a bath or a shower, you'll be safe.”
