There were no windows and only two doors—the one to the bedroom and the locked one. I inspected the locked handle for a discreet latch, but there was nothing.
Hotels locks are on the inside of the room.
All the cool I’d gathered disappeared. Fear seized my heart as I yelled, “Let me go! Please!” I knocked, again and again until my knuckles hurt, and then I switched to slapping the thick wood. “Please, please, please!”
I’d just given up to rest my knuckles when I heard it.
Footsteps.
I scurried away from the door as the knob began to turn.
This is how I die.
I’m the slutty cheerleader in the horror movie of life, screaming my way to an early grave.
Wishing like hell I’d found a weapon, I braced as the door opened.
It wasn’t the boss or one of his goons, thankfully. Instead, an older woman came in with a tray. My eyes went behind her, but before I could make my move, the door slammed closed.
She set it down and smiled. “Pretty girl,” she said with an accent. “Eat. You’re too thin.”
“I’m not hungry,” I lied.
Tsking, she shook her head. “He does not like liars. You haven’t eaten since you got here yesterday, you must be starving.”
I rocked back. “I’ve been here since yesterday?”
That meant it’d actually been two days since I’d eaten because I hadn’t had anything before running my errands the day before.
“Yes, you were tired.”
“I was drugged,” I hissed.
There was no shock on the woman’s face. No confusion. No denial.
She merely shrugged. “That only lasts a few hours. You slept the other sixteen because you were exhausted.”
Sixteen hours?
“What time is it?”
“Ten. I was told not to wake you until noon, but the men said you were awake.” She gestured to the food. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.” My growling stomach contradicted my repeated lie.
“He hates liars,” she emphasized, a heavy warning in her tone. It lightened when she began fussing with the dome on the tray. “The food is good. Mr. Freddy only uses the best ingredients. Better than sludge and bland microwave porridge.”
I didn’t want to eat. I wanted to be stubborn and petulant and on guard. But the food smelled so good, my resolve quickly weakened.
It would be stupid not to eat. I can’t escape if I’m too weak. I need my strength.
Nervously approaching like she was going to jab me in the neck with a needle, I asked, “It’s not poisoned?”
She looked at me like I was an idiot. “If Mr. Freddy hears you ask that, he won’t cook for you again. Ever.”
“Got it,” I mumbled. Lowering myself to the couch, I removed the metal dome to reveal a pile of food. The large plate was piled high with eggs, a mountain of home fries, toast, and a stack of bacon. A separate bowl of fruit sat next to the plate with little containers of butter, jelly, honey, and some sort of thick cream. There were also small glasses of OJ, apple juice, and milk.
It was more than I ate in one day, much less one meal.
Still, a vital piece of my DNA was missing. I would need the caffeine boost if I was going to find a way to escape, so I tentatively asked, “Would it be possible to have coffee?”
Thankfully she didn’t call me greedy or take the tray away. She just gave me a motherly smile—or what I guessed was a motherly smile, I didn’t exactly have a reference. “No, coffee is bad for young girls.”
Tell that to Starbucks’ main demographic—high school girls who can’t live without their daily frappe or PSL.
“It’ll stunt your growth,” she continued.
Yeah, I’ve been five-three for two years. I’m done growing.
Keeping my thoughts to myself, I dug in.
“Do you have food allergies?” she asked.
“No, ma’am.”
“Call me Ms. Vera,” she corrected.
“Juliet,” I said because it seemed like the right thing at the time. After I said it, I wished I’d given a fake name.
I suck at this.
“Pretty name for a pretty girl. Do you have any foods you hate?” she asked.
“Breakfast sausage, squash, and tuna. Oh, and oregano and rosemary, but that’s it.”
Her brow raised. “Ones you don’t like?”
I picked up a perfectly cooked piece of bacon, crunchy but not too crunchy. It was thick, not the cheap, thin stuff we microwaved. I shook my head. “No, ma’am. I’m not picky.”
She gave a soft sound of acknowledgment but otherwise left me to eat as she fussed with righting cushions and wiping down surfaces that were already immaculate.