by Rosette Lex
Had she fainted? Was it Rohypnol? She sucked air and squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. No, that makes no sense, we were about to get it on anyway. But her hands slid down over her body anyway, checking for missing clothes and soreness. Nothing, just the sleepy sense that she had missed something, and it probably hadn’t involved sex.
She opened her eyes and looked up at an unfamiliar ceiling. It was white, with a plain, circular light fixture and a single window covered by Venetian blinds. That was not a good sign, not at all. She sat up--and a wave of dizziness hit her, forcing her to lean on the bed’s carved wooden headboard for a moment before she could look around further.
No, not her bedroom. Not any bedroom she had ever seen before, either. Outside the window, she could see the top floor of an anonymous apartment building in broad daylight; she must have slept for many hours.
As for the rest of the room: plain, just the bed, a dresser, and single chair. One door, painted white like the rest of the room except for the blond wood floor. Where the Hell am I?
The door opened suddenly, admitting the man from last night. He was in his shirtsleeves, which were rolled up to expose his wrists, his suit coat missing and his tie loose. Despite his dressed-down look, his expression was very serious, eyes piercing and his mouth a line.
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