Four Walls

The first thing I notice is his tattoo.

A black eagle with extended wings, soaring at a forty-five degree angle. It looks like an ink wash painting—as if it had been brushed on instead of tattooed—and covers half of his upper back, accentuating his broad shoulders and muscled arms.

I shut my eyes, trying not to panic, trying to remember how I got here. My head feels foggy as I sort through vague memories from last night.

The texts from Jackson. Going out alone. The nightclub. Dancing at the promoter's table. Having a drink with a cute guy at the bar.
And then ... nothing.

I can't remember.
My eyes fly open. I take comfort in the fact that I'm fully clothed. I'm wearing the same outfit from last night. But I'm in bed with a stranger. A man who I have no idea who he is.
He must be the cute guy from the bar. I must have gone home with him, as hard as it is to believe. I've never done such a thing. I've never had a one-night stand.
Then again, I've never had a boyfriend dump me over texts before. Without ceremony. As if our three-year relationship meant nothing to him.
Yes, I was clearly upset, but I don't remember drinking that much. I had one vodka tonic at the promoter's table. Another one at the bar. So why can't I remember anything else?
I look at the guy sleeping next to me again. He's facing the other way so I can't see him, but I notice his hair. It's dark brown and unruly. It looks like he hasn't had a proper haircut in months. But most importantly—it's not blond.

The panic starts to take form this time. He's not the cute guy from the bar. That guy was as blond as they come. Probably the reason why I started talking to him in the first place. He was the opposite of Jackson.
God, what I have done?

This isn't good. It becomes clear to me that I need to get the hell out of here before whoever this guy is wakes up. I quickly look around me before spotting the door. I move towards the edge of the bed as quietly as I can.

Thankfully, I find my shoes right underneath. I don't stop to put them on, holding them in my hands instead. I don't want to waste any more time in getting out of here, as much as I'm not looking forward to my upcoming walk of shame. At least I live in New York City, where most people don't care what you look like or even bother to look at you.
I search around for my purse, but I don't see it anywhere. I risk a glance behind me, trying to see if I can spot it somewhere in the bedroom.

What I find terrifies me.

There isn't a single piece of furniture in the room apart from the bed. The walls are completely bare. No windows. All I see is an open shower at the end, and what appears to be a small bathroom next to it. And ... why are the lights so bright?

I lift my head, only to be blinded by the strip of lights from the ceiling above me. They're the type you usually see in hospital corridors.

What the hell is this place? I need to leave. Right now.

Deciding the contents inside my purse aren't worth it, I bolt towards to the door. I push the handle down. It doesn't open. I drop my shoes and pull the handle toward me, trying to force the door open. It doesn't budge. There isn't even a lock on the door—only the handle and what appears to be some type of mail slot at the bottom.

I kneel down to inspect it, opening up the small flap, only to be greeted with pitch-black darkness. Against my better judgment, I stick my hand out through the slot. Nothing besides cold air. I can't tell what is on the other side of this door, but I get the feeling that I'm in a basement. The lack of windows in the room backs up my theory.
When I pull my hand back, I notice the bruises around my wrist. I lift my other wrist, only to find the same marks. It looks like they've been bound.

My heart is now pounding in my chest and I'm struggling to breathe. My head drops at the realization that I'm trapped.

And just when I thought this situation couldn't get any worse, a sound from behind me makes me jump, and I'm forced to look into the eyes of my captor.
"Impossible."

The first words out of his mouth confuse me, but the way he looks at me from where he sits on the bed cripples me with fear. My legs feel like jelly, but my survival instincts kick into gear as I stand up and attempt to open the door behind me once again.

I yank the handle several times, pulling at it with all my might, willing it to open. I scream when I feel him grab me, taking hold of my arms. He spins me around, pushing my back against the door. I struggle against him, but he traps my body with his own, covering my mouth with one of his hands and pinning my wrists together with the other.
"Quiet!" It's a harsh command, emphasized further as his fingers dig painfully into my cheeks.

I feel the immediate strength he has over me. I feel powerless under his hold. As if he could snap my neck with a single flick of his wrist. I surrender and can only pray that he doesn't hurt me.

He loosens his grip on me, but only enough so that it doesn't hurt anymore. He takes a step back and looks into my eyes. They're as shocked and confused as I feel. His gaze runs down my body, lingering at my chest. Even though I'm fully dressed, I've never felt more naked. Fear shoots through me. I can't help but whimper when I think about what he might do next.
His eyes flick back to mine. They narrow before he speaks. "Who are you?" He slowly uncovers my mouth, but the warning not to scream is there as his hand still grabs my face.

My mind is yelling at me not to trust him. The rough way he's handling me. His unkempt appearance and scruffy beard. The wild look in his eyes. But the concern I see buried deep inside makes me think he might not be what I first assumed.

Despite this, I'm not willing to take any chances. And so I do the only thing I can do in a situation like this. I knee him right in the groin.
He doubles over in pain. I take the opportunity to run as far away from him as I can. It only takes a few strides to the other side of the room. I hide inside the bathroom, only to find it doesn't have a lock either. I look around for a possible weapon, but there's only a small sink and the toilet. The tank doesn't have a lid.

I don't have much time to think as the door is suddenly yanked open. The menacing look on the guy's face automatically makes me scream again. But this time I can't stop as I scream for help over and over again at the top of my lungs.

"Stop screaming! Calm down!" I can hear him yelling over me, but I simply can't stop. I know now it's only a matter of time before he does something to me.
He grabs me again, kicking and screaming, and drags me over to the bed. He throws me on top and it's not long before his body covers mine, securing both of my arms on top of my head with one hand.
Despite this, I'm not willing to take any chances. And so I do the only thing I can do in a situation like this. I knee him right in the groin.

I feel his heavy breathing against my neck. I cringe, assuming the worst is about to happen. I try to move, but he has me completely pinned down with his weight. He grabs me by the jaw and forces me to look at him.

So I spit in his face.

I almost regret it when I see the fury overcome him, as he wipes it off with the back of his hand. I start screaming again. My screams soon turn into sobs when his hand wraps around my neck, crushing my windpipes together with my ability to scream.

"They'll turn on the gas! Is that what you want?" he yells, shaking me. I can barely register his words as I try to breathe. "I'm not going to hurt you. Now stop crying!"
My chest is heaving and my lungs are burning. My vision is blurry through all the tears, and my throat is so dry I can't swallow. But it's the sound of faint hissing in the room that paralyzes me.

The guy restraining me lets out a string of curse words. He removes his hand from my neck and turns us over on our sides. "Don't move," he says.

The room quickly fills with white gas. The smell is suffocating. Intoxicating. I try to cover my nose, forgetting that my hands are pinned down. "What's happening?" I whisper in fear.
"Relax. It'll be over soon," he says, releasing my hands. His entire demeanor changes, as if he's just given up. He sighs and closes his eyes.

I'm off the bed before I realize what I'm doing. I can't think or see straight, but I know I have to do it. If I'm ever going to get out of here, now is my only shot.

"Don't!" the guy shouts behind me. "You'll hurt yourself!"

I walk around, disoriented and zombie-like. If only I can get to the door and breathe through the slot.

"lie down. Goddammit"
It's the last thing I hear before I tumble to the ground.