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What’s wrong with me?
One minute I was just fine, talking to…
I blink. Who was I talking to?
My memories refuse to come to the surface when called, hiding behind a haze.
A guy. Tutoring. He wanted tutoring. Offered me money for it. I think I said yes.
Navigating through my memory feels like swimming through mud, but another interaction comes back to me.
Dark hair, sharp cheekbones, a five-o’clock shadow, and those icy blue eyes, pale and piercing. He was as beautiful as always, smirking arrogantly, infuriating me as his mere presence reminded me of his shoving his cock in my face.
I definitely saw Marius Goltz. Then I crossed campus to head to the library from the Dome and—
And nothing. All of a sudden, there was nothing else.I think I was sick.
Bile rises up my throat. Scratch that. I think Iamsick.
Shit, shit, shit that’s not good.
If I’d been at a party, drinking excessively, that would have made sense—though that’s not in my character. But I wasn’t. I didn’t have a drop of anything except for my coffee.
There’s only one possible logic explanation. I was drugged.
Where am I?
I painstakingly force my eyes to comply, clearing the fog blocking my vision until I can take in my surrounding.
I don’t recognize a thing. The room’s dark, moody, on the minimalistic side. The walls are sage green, the furnishings mahogany, and a dark, metallic gray mural takes up most of the space behind an enormous bed.
I’m definitely not back in the dorm.
My heart starts racing. What the hell happened?
Curtains block all lights from the outside: a beige layer that seems on the sheer side, then another one, opaque and dark blue.The only light comes from a candelabra with five black candles, all lit, close to me.
I make myself get up, though the very thought of moving sounds like a herculean effort. Only when I attempt it do I realize I'm bound, zip ties around my ankles and wrists tied to the feet and armrests of my chair.
Fuck, fuck,fuck, what's going on?
Terror quickens my pulse as I take a mental inventory of my physical state. I’m tired, groggy, thirsty, and nauseous, sure, but I can’t feel any aches or pain. I haven’t been raped. Not yet.
I know better than to find that reassuring. It likely only means that my attacker prefers his victims conscious.
The fact that I don't know this place is strangely a little reassuring. If I’d known the room around me, I could have been in serious trouble. It would have mean Brandonfound me and dragged me back to Lone Pine.
I do my best to fight against the restraints, although it achieves nothing other than cutting my skin.
"I wouldn't bother," says a low, familiar voice.
Shit.I didn't realize I wasn't alone.
The voice comes from behind me. Bound as I am, I can't turn completely, but Iknowthat voice.Strangely, I first think of someone completely unrelated. Someone I've never met—a masked stranger whose songs I can't get out of my head.But of course, my captor isn't Specter.That sort of shit only happens in movies.
For some reason that likely means I am completely insane, my hectic heart slows down to a healthier rhythm, seconds before my tired brain connects dots.
Of course it wasn’t Specter, but I still recognize someone I know, even before he steps in front of me.
