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“What’s your name?” he barks out, and I flinch. He was soft and gentle yesterday, and now he seems angry. I didn’t grow up with a father and being an only child, I had no brothers that pushed me around. All the kids at school stayed away from me because I was the poor kid that wore the same clothes every day, so I never had friends. It was always just Mom and me, and now just me. I am not used to rough and grumpy men, so his tone is startling.
“Annie,” I whisper to him, not sure how much to tell him and what to keep to myself.
His eyebrows raise at my answer, and I assume it is because my accent gives away that I am not a New York native. My twang is not easy to hide, but it’s possible with the craziness of yesterday that he didn’t catch on to that.
“Not from New York?” His tone softens and his shoulders relax somewhat.
“No,” I reply with an uneasy shake of my head.
His nostrils flair at my one-word answer, obviously wanting more from me, but I am not yet willing to give it. Clearly, this guy is used to getting things his own way and not at all used to people not being forthcoming. So, I try to make amends.
“Thank you so much for helping me yesterday. I apologize for falling asleep, but if I can call a taxi, I can get back to my hotel and out of your hair,” I say as I start to move off the bed.
“No,” he replies firmly, and I stop still again, my bare legs halfway out of the blankets.
“What do you mean, no?” I whisper in disbelief, my eyes narrowing.
“It isn’t safe for you. Those men from back at the club have security camera footage of what happened. They will be looking for you just as hard as they are trying to get to me. You are safer here.” He leaves no room for questions, and I just about balk. Not safe for me? Staying here is safer? I can’t believe that being here with him is the safest option for me, but with nothing and no one else, what choice do I have?
And as my eyes dart around the room, I can’t help but think, if I am captive anywhere, then this luxurious bedroom is not a bad place to be.
“What hotel are you staying in?” he asks, and I look at him again.
“Happy Holidays in Ozone Park.” His face scrunches up. Apparently, he knows the place and has just cemented to me that it is, in fact, a dive.
“I will get my men to go and get your things today, so you have everything.” I notice his jaw ticking and a sour look on his face. Why do I frustrate him so much? Maybe I am putting him out by being here. Maybe I should demand he take me somewhere else.
“Where am I?” I ask quietly.
“My private residence. You can sleep and rest here. There is food here, so eat.” He gestures toward a tray full of food on his buffet.
“So I can’t leave?” I ask again, needing to be completely sure I understand this situation. He stands to his full height and shakes his head, staring at me for a moment, before he walks out of the room and closes the door behind him without a second glance.
What the hell have I got myself into?
I take some deep breaths, feeling like I am getting air into my lungs for the first time since I woke up. His overpowering presence sucked up all the air in the room. I look around again and catch a glimpse of the time. 5:30am, the same time it was yesterday when I decided to go for a run. A run that appears to have changed my entire life.
Sighing, I slide the rest of the way off the bed and nearly topple over as I feel the thick carpet underneath my feet. Walking over to the dark buffet, I look at the tray of food. It is all fresh, pastries and breads, both of which make my stomach curl into itself. I no longer have the appetite I once did, so I grab the small bowl of fruit and take it to the armchair. Sitting down, I pull my legs underneath me and pick at the fresh fruit. I can’t remember the last time I had fresh fruit like this, every piece juicier and more flavorful than the last.
As I take another deep breath, trying to relax and ease the stress that is building within me, I smell him. I don’t know how long he sat here waiting for me to wake up, but his scent is stronger in this seat he just occupied. Having a man watch me while I sleep makes my skin prickle a little, but in a good way. It is his room, he can do what he likes, but the fact that he lets me sleep in his bed and watches over me brings an entirely new feeling to settle in my chest. I spent many nights watching over Mom, making sure she was okay, but never once has anyone watched over me. He may be ensuring I don’t run, don’t go to the police, or break his expensive furnishings in his room. But like the daydreamer I am, I’d like to think that he was being protective.
Surprisingly, I finish the bowl of fruit and feel extremely full, and for lack of anything else to do, I decide to go to the bathroom and shower. I want to be prepared for the day, even though I am not sure what the day will have ahead of me.
I coat myself in his soap again, the lathers and scent making me feel a sense of comfort, like the large grumpy man himself is here. I finish up and once I am out and dry, I put on the same white shirt I slept in because I have no other clothes. Brushing my hair with my fingers, I decide to braid it to keep it off my face. I love doing my hair in two braids; it makes me look like Lara Croft, and I feel invincible… even though I am anything but.
My body is flushed, and I realize I must have had the shower too hot because I can’t cool down. Just as I tie the last braid, my vision starts to go. I grip onto the vanity as I fall, but I don't feel the pain of my landing, as I am out before my body even slaps onto the floor.
* * *
Coming to, my head pulsates in pain, and I wince as I start to get up from the hard tiles. The sun is now streaming through the bathroom window, and as I sit and try to steady myself, I wonder how long I was out for. Fainting spells are not new; I know I don’t eat enough and having the shower too hot never helps my already weakening state. I run my hands over my body and feel nothing new, the lump in my breast still the constant reminder that my life is on a timeline.
Early breast cancer is still very treatable, but if you are like me, with no money, no family, and no medical insurance or support, the options for treatment are pretty nonexistent. That coupled with the fact that I saw what the drugs did to my Mom, and I never want to have them in my body. Ever. So, fainting is just something I have to deal with in the interim.
I stand up slowly and rub my hip, which is sore. As I look in the mirror, I pull up the shirt and see a big blue bruise starting to appear. I already know that it is not going to look good in a few hours. Likewise, it looks like my head took the brunt of the fall as well because my temple and eye are going purple and a headache is thumping through my forehead. I sigh in frustration.
I hate feeling weak. I feel pitiful.
Taking a cloth, I run it under cold water and apply the compress to my head and neck for a few minutes before I open the bathroom door and step into the bedroom. As I make my way out, I notice there’s a variety of freshly pressed and folded clothes on the bed, all in my size. The breakfast tray has been cleared and replaced with a lunch tray, and the bed is fully made. It is just like a hotel, only better.
