Page 26

As I’m tugged into another room, the first thing I notice is howcleanthis one looks compared to the one I was in before. There’s a toilet here, a sink, a bathtub too, and a mirror that’s placed on the far wall. The white tiles gleam under the dim light in the bathroom, but there’s nothing comforting about this space. It’s too clinical, and the man standing beside me is making it impossible to relax.
“Go, beauty.”
He orders, releasing my arm as he folds both of his across his broad chest.
I hesitate as I look up at him, feeling my throat bob as I swallow hard.
His icy blue eyes narrow down at me, and his lips press into a thin line.
He’s already losing patience with me.
“Do you need me to guide you all the way to the toilet?”
My face burns as he asks me that question, amusement clear in his tone.
I shake my head as I take a step forward, followed by another, and another.
“N-No.”
Though my legs are shaky, and his presence is unmistakable at my back, I shuffle closer to the toilet.
My mind races as my eyes dart all over—thoughts of escape playing in my head—but there’s no chance of escape. There aren’t any windows, or any other doors here.
There’s only the suffocating presence of my captor.
“Move before I make you, beauty.”
It’s a throaty growl, another order, as my entire body trembles.
I look down, finally taking notice of myself after being conscious again, and my stomach twists. I’m still dressed in what I was wearing out to Club 67 with Tamana, and I have no shoes on. My feet suddenly feel cold against the tiles.
Keeping my eyes on the ground, I drag my underwear to just below my knees, and I lower myself to the toilet.
I hate this.
I hate how powerless this makes me feel.
I hate how exposed I am.
I hate how his gaze burns into me.
“I’m not leaving until you’re done.” He mutters impatiently. “Do what you need to do, beauty.”
Again, another wave of humiliation washes over me, but I have no choice.
It needs to be done.
Closing my eyes, I try to ignore everything; the situation, the fear, and the shame.
My fingernails dig into the soft flesh of my thighs as I only focus on getting through this moment.
Finishing up quickly, I flush before moving to the sink, desperate to wash my hands, but also to do something that feels relatively normal. The water is cold as it splashes against my skin, and I barely waste time before I’m scrubbing at both hands, trying to get myself all cleaned up.
When I look up, and I spot my reflection in the mirror, I freeze.
It looks like there’s a stranger staring back at me.
Her eyes are bloodshot from exhaustion, and her face is pale and drawn. There are dark circles beneath her eyes, and this only deepens the hollow look in her expression. Her hair falls messily around her face, and there’s a faint bruise appearing on the side of her neck.