I shouldn’t feel comforted right now. This man is probably just as bad or maybe even worse than the one who attacked me. That one just saw me as easy prey. A woman with a handbag. He probably wanted money for drugs. I get that. I want money for drugs too, a lot of the time.
As I calm down, I start to take my surroundings in. And that’s when I notice that they’re not my surroundings. This isn’t my bathroom. This is about as large as the whole living area of my apartment. It has marble tile on the floor and on the walls, and in addition to the raised bath, there’s also a shower that has one of those rainfall showerheads as well as three hand-held heads, which mean I guess you could get a small group of people in there and they’d all get clean. There’s a big sink area with a whole lot of sinks, at least three. His, hers, and theirs, maybe.
“You’re rich,” I say, speaking into his broad shoulder.
“I have been blessed with wealth.”
“Why are you wasting your time chasing a waitress around?”
“Money doesn’t buy love,” he says. “But it can facilitate fantasies. You are my dream girl, and I have decided I will have you. Anybody who tries to stop me will die.”
He says those words almost casually, but I remember what he said about Dave, that the only reason Dave wasn’t dead wasbecause he was trying to protect me. The man who tried to hurt me tonight won’t ever have a chance to make another mistake.
“Are you an organized criminal?” I ask the question knowing very well it’s not the sort of question anybody is supposed to ask, and it’s definitely not the sort of question an organized criminal would answer directly.
“I’m a man who the world has been unkind to in action, but not in finance,” he says. “You’ll know more soon enough, Laura. I am going to make it so you are never in danger again. Nobody will ever dare lay a finger on you again. You won’t be exposed to those losers who believe they have some right to take what they want.”
As opposed to him, who has only ever taken what he wants when it comes to me. I try not to point out the hypocrisy. He’d reject it, I’m sure.
“I’m going to get you to bed,” he says. “You need rest. You will feel better in the morning.”
He picks me up in his arms and carries me off to the bedroom, which is large and masculine in decor. The bed has deep blue sheets and pillowcases, all of which feel deliciously smooth when I lie down on them.
I don’t want to sleep. But I am not going to be given any choice. He says it is bed time, and so it is bed time.
I fall asleep feeling so satisfied and comfortable, but not recognizing my environment. My brain feels addled in a way that makes me aware of my surroundings, but makes it almostimpossible to recall the reason for them. I feel as though I am trying to think through a head full of Jell-O.
I’m not in my bed, that is for sure. I don’t own silk sheets. The room I am in is also as big as my entire apartment. The floor is polished concrete. The walls are dark paneled wood. When I look up, there’s a fancy light ornament over the bed. It’s so fancy I don’t even have the words for describing the particular kind of fanciness. There are five flared bulb holders at intervals, and they’re sort of made out of glass that reflects the light in red and yellow and green.
The bed is otherwise empty.
I get out of it, and find that I’m wearing a short white mesh-type nightgown. I don’t recall putting this on at all. Did he dress me overnight? How did I not wake up? Did he drug me?
???
I drugged her.
I slipped a little something into the hot chocolate she probably doesn’t even remember drinking at this point. Her apartment was always going to be a short-term thing. It was fun to break into, but the thrill was starting to fade from repetition. Keeping her captive will be much more amusing and satisfying. I’ll have complete control, and she will be entirely safe.
I watch her on the cameras that cover the room from several different angles. When I fuck her, I’m going to be able to watch it back in an almost cinematic fashion.
Right now, I am cutting grapefruit for her breakfast. I have croissants warming too with ham and cheese melting into them. I think she will enjoy this simple repast. I watch as she tries the door and finds it locked. There’s a moment in which she panics, but she settles pretty fast after that.
Laura doesn’t know it, but she has all the mental qualities of a good captive. She’s adaptive, she’s open, and there’s a softness to her that melts into submission whenever it is given the slightest warmth.
From the first moment I saw her, there was something about the way she looked at me that made me feel as though she was begging me to take care of her. She looks at the whole world that way, but most of the time it doesn’t answer. This time, it does. I do.
I go up to her room, unlatch the door from the outside, and carry the tray in.
She is sitting in bed looking adorable and confused.
“Have you kidnapped me?”
“Yes,” I say. “I suppose I have.”
“It’s going to suck wearing a balaclava in your own home. Who are you?” She’s got some attitude this morning. She didn’t like finding that she was locked in, I’d bet. It gave her a fright. Her mouth becomes much rougher when she is afraid.
“I like it,” I say. “It’s lightweight.”
