13. Alena

Pain, dull and throbbing, skips through my skull the moment I wake up.

There's pressure, like a ponytail pulled too tightly for too long, and I wince faintly. Despite waking up, the allure of more sleep is almost too much to resist, and I try to roll over, but pressure against my wrists and ankles prevents me. My limited movement brings my sluggish attention to an ache in my shoulders, so I roll them and try to roll over once more.

Something is stopping me.

Opening my eyes, I expect to see the ornate ceiling of my bedroom above me, complete with my floral lampshade and gold trim around the edge of the room. Instead, a ceiling of large, stone grey tiles greets me, separated by several soft, twinkling lights that force my eyes closed once more. I screw up my face and groan, then immediately regret it as my rough throat and cotton mouth drag against one another.

Fuck.

I'm never drinking again.

It takes three attempts to open my eyes fully, and immediately, I regret it.

I'm cold, covered in only a single sheet, and there's a light chill in the air around me that turns into a biting shiver as I take in my surroundings and the reason I can't move becomes clear.

Rolling my head to the side, jet black rope encircles one wrist. At a glance, I see my other wrist in the same trouble, and it takes no guess to figure out what the pressure around my ankles is.

Is this some kind of joke? It has to be, right?

I test the rope, wiggling my wrists back and forth as tension snaps across my chest and my next breath is haggard. Racking my brain, last night is caught up behind a fog wall, and I can only recall flashes of faces I can't quite connect to names just yet.

"Fuck," I whisper softly, pulling harder at the rope, but other than dragging the fibers painfully against my wrist, the knots don't budge. The rope is secure, and by extension, so am I.

How the hell did I get here?

What the fuck happened last night?

I remember Katja and two men whose names are lost to the drunken depths of my mind. They were cute but nothing compared to—Kristof! He bursts sharply into my mind, and I wince, screwing up my eyes as a whole host of memories floods to the forefront of my mind. Memories that don't feel real. That was a dream, surely?

Did he really fuck me?

Or did I fuck that guy and just fantasize that it was Kristof? Honestly, that's more believable, given how Kristof consumes my thoughts more than any other man has. With that certain in my mind, I open my eyes and cast a quick glance around this new room.

What I see makes my heart freeze in my chest, and terror lances down my spine.

The room is bare and simple, four walls and a thick-looking door at the far end with no visible handle. There are no windows, and the only light comes from the four small, twinkling circles above me. A shallow alcove in the far left corner houses a silver toilet without a seat and a shower nozzle attached halfway up the wall. To my immediate left is a simple wooden nightstand with a tall glass of water. To my right, taking up a large portion of the room, is a sleek black cage with straight bars. It's empty, and from the size of it, I know I don't want to meet the dog that surely lives there.

I take it all in, and something terrible unlocks inside me.

This isn't my home.

This isn't a dream.

Did the man from the bar… did he kidnap me?

Terror seizes me. I open my mouth and scream for all I'm worth.

"Help! Help me! Please!"

I scream until my throat burns and I dissolve into a flurry of short, sharp coughs. Then I groan and begin pulling harder at my restraints. Moving my body alerts me to other aches and pains that litter my body. My shoulder throbs, my breasts ache, and my core throbs painfully in time to my pounding heart. There's no denying that I definitely slept with someone last night, and reality collides with fantasy in my mind.

Whoever it was, they've taken me and bound me here, naked.

Tears start to well in my eyes. I can't remember what happened to Katja, either, and my fear for her makes me scream louder. We got separated at some point because I remember seeing her upset, stumbling through the crowd, but my mind blurs with what happened after.

I'm so stupid, so fucking stupid!

This was supposed to be a night of fun, a night to let loose and have fun, and somehow, I've ended up in the hands of some crazy serial killer. No one knows where I am, no one knows to look for me, and for all I know, Katja is lying dead in a ditch somewhere.

Fear, cold and clammy, wraps around me like a wet blanket, and I shiver desperately as I rock back and forth. My wrists and ankles rub raw, but the ropes don't budge, and soon, my desperate screams are interrupted by sobs.

I don't want to die here. I don't want to be a piece of meat for whatever coward snatched me.

I just want to go home.

I scream until my voice starts to break and each breath drags over my raw throat with flickers of pain. I switch between screaming and begging for help, desperately hoping someone like a neighbor or a pedestrian might somehow catch wind of my screams and come looking to help me.

No one comes.

Nothing in the room changes other than the warmth of the sheet as my temperature rises with my panic. I scream until I can't anymore, and with a last, scared wheeze, I slump down onto the bed and sob softly. Tears trickle down my face, landing in the shell of my ear, and I ache to wipe them away, but I'm trapped.

I'm completely and utterly trapped in a room that looks like it's from a Saw movie. There's a desperate moment when I look around, half expecting to see a tape with the words Play Me scrawled over it, but there's nothing.

Just me.

I'm tired. The throbbing in my skull has grown tenfold, and now that I'm fully awake and no longer thrashing, every part of me aches. I can hear Mara in my ear, telling me how dangerous it is for me to leave the Estate and warning me of all the dangers.

I'd been so naive, so sure I knew better.

So certain that one night couldn't bring any harm.

Dehydrated, tired, and sore, I relent to my bonds and cry until I have no tears left. The silence and closeness of the room are almost smothering, and the tight band around my chest constricts regularly, making my breath catch in my throat every so often. My heart pounds so hard that my entire body quivers, and eventually, a sense of defeat steals across my shoulders like a shiver.

No one can hear me. No one knows I'm here. And the only thing left of my body is my pendant, which is usually a comforting weight, but right now, it's crushing.

I'm so fucking stupid.

It's impossible to tell how much time passes. I think I fall back asleep at some point because suddenly, the metal door clunks loudly, and it jerks me awake from my light slumber. My tears have long dried, and what faint calmness had settled in my heart vanishes immediately.

The door clunks again, the sound of locks sliding free, and my chest tightens painfully. I try to move and find a way to hide from whoever is coming in, but I can't. I can't do anything.

Slowly, the door swings open, and an impossible darkness greets me. I can't look away, frozen in fear as I await the man from the club. A silver tray appears first. The man holding it is tall and broad. He's cloaked in shadow at first, and I shake my head as he approaches. Behind him, a set of stone stairs ascends beyond my sight.

Panic reaches a new height, and then he steps into the light.

Every fiber of my being screeches to a halt in utter confusion.

"Kristof?"