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If only I hadn’t walked home that night.
If only I’d left with the other girls.
If only I’d been more careful…
“You look deep in thought, little one,” the voice said. “Worry not, like I said. You will have a woman’s company today, and I think you might make a new friend.”
I perked up at those words. A woman? Surely she wasn’t here willingly, and surely, she would share my despair at being forced to be a prisoner. Maybe together, we could concoct a plan to get out of this place, whatever the hell it was.
“She will be with you in about an hour,” the voice told me. “And be ready to let her do her thing. I’ll see you after.”
The speaker crackled into nothing, but the red light on the camera was still flashing, telling me I was being recorded the whole time. It made me angry and I pursed my lips as I made my way through the room towards the en-suite bathroom. It was beautiful, the pink marble high quality and it looked like the whole bathtub, which took up most of the room, was made of a single slab of stone.
I felt a sudden urge to undress and scrub my body clean, but a quick look up at the ceiling revealed a flashing red dot just like in the main room. So they were even filming me in the bathroom… I would have no privacy in this place. They would attempt to rip the last shred of dignity away from me.
I spent the next hour filing systematically through everything in the room. There were no weapons – no cutlery I could use and no scissors. I found I was starving and realized it had been God knows how fucking long since I’d eaten. But I kept going, exploring the room until I finally came up empty.
If I had enough time later, I could maybe fashion a weapon out of the wiring in the bedside lamp, or maybe from the hooks of the hangers in the closet. But with the camera’s eyes permanently on me, I felt hesitant. Would I be punished again if I tried something? I couldn’t risk that. I couldn’t go back into that cell room, be treated like a violent prisoner. I would do anything – well, almost anything – to avoid it.
There was no clock in the room, but the door clicked open a while later. A pretty woman entered, wearing a white and black maid’s uniform. She didn’t speak, didn’t even look at me as she rolled a food cart inside the room.
“You have to help me,” I begged her, running up to her, fighting back the tears. “I’ve been kidnapped. Please, please help me get out of here!”
Nothing, just a look in my direction and a small smile as she lifted the cloches, revealing delicacy after delicacy that made my mouth water.
“Please!” I begged at the top of my voice. “You have to believe me, you have to help! I’ve done nothing wrong!”
“I wouldn’t waste your breath.”
A sexy, rich voice interrupted. I looked up in time to watch the maid leave the room, taking her cart with her. After a few seconds, another woman stepped into the room and locked the door behind her with a card.
She was so beautiful it was distracting.
Her features were incredible. Big, stunning gray eyes, a small pointed nose, and small, but incredibly plump lips. She was petite but curvy, and she wore her long, glossy dark hair in rich waves falling all the way down to her shoulders. Her voice was slightly accented.
I was taken aback by her beauty, and I just stared at her as she approached. She wore a skin-tight black pencil skirt with a crisp white blouse and a thick leather belt around her waist. On her feet, she wore impossibly high heels I would struggle to even stand up in. She was still shorter than me though, but immeasurably more beautiful.
“Who are you?” I asked, feeling too in awe to say another word.
“My name is Pia,” she said simply, offering me her hand with a gracious smile.
The way she turned it, it also seemed like she expected me to kiss it. I shook it awkwardly instead, and stared at her, waiting for her to go on. I needed her to explain. The maid was probably instructed not to talk to me, but surely this woman would show me some mercy.
“Why don’t we sit down and have some breakfast,” she said in a friendly manner. “Maybe I can answer some of your questions.”
She sat down at the small table in the room, daintily folding a white cloth napkin over her lap. I plopped down next to her, eyeing her suspiciously as she filled her plate.
“Well?” she asked pleasantly. “Aren’t you hungry?”
She cut into the French toast with precise tiny motions, and I glared at her before loading my own plate with my bare hands.
