Nothing can prepare you for waking up, disoriented, in a strange, foreign room, completely unaware of where you are.

The mattress beneath my back was much softer than mine. My clothes had been exchanged for a baby blue, chiffon chemise, and a piece of cotton was on my left arm, underneath a bandage.

I was in a large bedroom decorated with the warm colors of Sahara Beige and Light Elm. Glancing around, I zeroed in on the matching robe draped across the foot of the bed, and scrambled for it. I’d barely slipped the silk garment up my arms when the effects of a full bladder hit me full force.

I needed to find a bathroom pronto.

There were three different sets of white antique doors, each on a different wall. It wasn’t in my nature to barge through unknown doors. That had gotten me locked in the basement for two weeks when I’d done it at Glenda’s. But I also wasn’t going to defecate on myself.

Charging across the room as fast as I could on legs that felt like Jell-O, I passed a stone fireplace, a seating area, and what I assumed was a closet.

I sighed in relief when I found exactly what I was looking for. It wasn’t until I plopped down on the toilet to handle my business that I noticed how lavish my surroundings were. Everything was modernized, sleek, large, and clean.

Very clean.

After flushing the toilet, I walked to the sink to wash my hands. With my bladder no longer distracting me, it started to set in that I had been taken. Squeezing my eyes shut, I gripped the edge of the round basin and started to count in my head.

So far, I’d been changed and put in a bed nicer than my own, and it didn’t feel like anyone had touched me aside from the sore spot on my arm. Things could be worse, right? Technically, I was supposed to be dead.

Opening my eyes, I saw Mason in the doorway reflected back at me. Staring straight into the mirror, his eyes locked with mine.

He was no longer in a full suit. Just slacks, a white button-down shirt, and maroon tie. We stood like that for only seconds, but it felt like eons. It was he who broke the silence.

“You’ve been sleeping for almost forty-eight hours. I think I gave you a little too much sedative,” he mused.

That explained why there was a piece of cotton on my arm. What else has he done to you without your knowledge?

I didn’t realize how hard I was gripping the sink until my fingers began to tingle. Aside from my arm being a little tender, I felt fine. I was okay with being blissfully ignorant about anything else for the time being.

“Dinner’s ready. I’m sure you’re hungry,” he added after another minute. Huh? He took me so we could eat dinner? Shaking my head, I bit my lower lip, continuing to watch him. What if this wasn’t real?

What if my mother slipped me more pills? Or maybe she won and had finally succeeded in creating the girl she always said I was. Wait. Did he say forty-eight hours?

Someone kidnapped you. You should be thanking him for paying you any attention. You should be focusing on doing whatever you need to do to make sure he keeps you, and never sends you back to the she-devil.

“Stop,” I mumbled, staring into the sink, rubbing my temple in an attempt to quiet my head.

In the midst of my rambling, Mason pushed away from the door and came up behind me. For a man of his height and build, he shouldn’t have been able to move with the stealth of a housecat.

“I know that head of yours likes to make things hard, and I’m sure you’re confused, but try not to have a meltdown your first night awake. We haven’t even got acquainted yet.” He lifted the tie from around his neck and placed it over my eyes, binding it behind my head. Responding on instinct, I reached up to remove it.

“If you touch it, I’m going to do your wrists next,” he warned me, his voice still soft and gentle.

I quickly dropped my hands back down to my sides. Curling and uncurling my fingers into the center of my palms, I anxiously waited for what he planned to do next, stiffening when he ran a hand through my hair.

Trying to gain control of my frazzled thoughts, I barely heard his murmured, “Beautiful.” He grabbed hold of my left hand, grasping it firmly in his, leading me away from the sink.

“Where am I?”

“Exactly where you belong,” he replied casually.

The smooth marble floor of the bathroom turned into the plush damask carpet of the bedroom. There was a small creak and a little burst of air from a door opening; then, marble was beneath my bare feet again. We paused exactly fourteen steps later.

“Hold onto me.” He let my hand go, moving it to his bicep. My other hand was placed on a smooth, cool banister.

“Go slow.”  He guided me down the stairs, keeping a hand on my lower back. I could feel the firm muscle under his shirt, holding onto him as he advised. Every time I inhaled, I breathed his scent in. He smelled like the expensive scotch malt my father used to drink, moss, and spiced sandalwood.

The entire situation was surreal. He wasn’t hurting me; his touch was gentle. What was the point of all this?

He reclaimed my hand the second we were off the twenty-third stair. I didn’t think we were actually going to be having dinner. When he dropped my hand again, though, it was to guide me into a chair. I had smelled the food before I saw it.

Once the tie was pulled off, it took a few blinks for my eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. There was a buffet of food spread out on a long twelve person dinette. With furrowed brows, I took in everything from the fajitas to the chicken confetti. It was all my favorites.

How does he know what I like to eat?

“I assume you remember how to feed yourself?” he checked, loading up a plate for himself. I watched him sit down and begin to eat, as if this were an everyday occurrence. It could be, a little voice whispered in the back of my head.

That was true. I knew absolutely nothing about him except his name. His house showed his wealth, he knew my father, and there was an air of familiarity about him.

He cleared his throat, wiping his mouth with a sanitary napkin before standing again.

“Do I know you?” I questioned, managing to find my voice. He didn’t answer right away, continuing to load another plate I assumed was for me.

“I plan for you to know me very well,” he finally replied, sliding the round dish in front of me.

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll see soon enough.” He sat back down and resumed eating, ignoring me. After watching him a few minutes, I picked my fork up and reluctantly started picking at my chicken. I could feel the hunger pains in my stomach, but my appetite was obsolete.

The atmosphere was a different quiet than I was used to. It was comforting, almost.

I’d seen more than a few documentaries and reenactments about kidnapping. Not a single one went like this. None of the perpetrators looked like him. None of the victims got to sit down and indulge in a deluxe full course meal. Those girls had all fought back, begged to be released, or let fear win.

I watched Mason eat through lowered lashes, trying to conjure up any one of those emotions, but they wouldn’t come. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. There was no fear or despair; it was just me and a handsome stranger having dinner.

What I suppose was most mind-boggling, in spite of everything, was that I didn’t mind being there with him. An odd sort of calm had washed over me the second he held my hand.

He had my interest piqued. I wanted to know everything there was to know about him. As long as he wasn’t hurting me, what was the big deal? Hadn’t I just been about to end it all? I had been alone in my own home for so long that the change of scenery was refreshing. Another human being was speaking to me like I was more than a trash receptacle. 

But I didn’t understand why he took me the way he did, or why he took me in the first place. Was it about money? No. I doubted that. The large room we were in was just as lavish as the upstairs bed and bath were. The ceiling was high, the windows were tall – thick drapes covering each one – and, just like upstairs, the room was immaculate.

When I looked back at Mason, I found him watching me with a studious look on his face. What was he thinking?

Say something, Katie. Can’t you act normal for once?

I looked down at my plate, growing frustrated with myself. My brain could produce questions, but my mouth wouldn’t speak words.

“Why do you think you’re here, Katie?” Mason leaned forward, resting his elbows on the glass top table. I didn’t have an answer for him. I was trying to determine that myself. After a few silent moments, I told him as much.

“I don’t know.”

“Guess.” He steepled his fingers beneath his chin, giving me his full attention. It took a large amount of effort not to look away. He seemed to be looking right through me, seeing everything I wasn’t ready to show. I didn’t like being beneath his microscopic lens. It made me feel claustrophobic. It was invasive.

Fortunately, the moment was stolen when his cell phone made a chirping sound. His whole demeanor changed the second he glanced at the screen.

When he looked back up at me, his gaze was ten times more intense, like he was searching for something. He sighed, reaching for his drink and downing it, before pushing his chair back.

“I hate to cut this short, but there’s something I have to take care of.” He stood up and rounded the table, offering me his hand. I eyed it warily, wondering how far I should push my limits for a man I knew nothing about.

Do you see any other men lining up to hold your hand?

“That’s not the same thing,” I snapped out of frustration. Why was I constantly battling with myself? He took me. Wasn’t it normal to be hesitant?

His hand grabbed mine before I could decide. I let him help me up, keeping my eyes downcast. He had to have heard me chastising myself. It was impossible not to; he’d been standing right beside me. So why wasn’t he saying anything?

I trailed behind him, waiting for questions that never came. My mother told me people would never want anything to do with me once they found out I had full blown arguments with the voice in my head.

If he was waiting for an explanation, he wouldn’t be getting one. I didn’t have one to give, and I didn’t want him to take me back home yet. I remained mute, looking around his house as we walked towards a spiraling staircase.

We went up much quicker than we had come down. I had to move twice as fast to keep up with his long strides. When we reached the door of the room I woke up in, he planted a firm kiss on my cheek, before gently pushing me inside.

“I’ll make dinner up to you.” He flashed me a stoic smile, reaching for the doorknob.

“You’re leaving? You’re locking me in?”

I have questions.

Coming to a standstill, he gave me a look I couldn’t decipher. He muttered something under his breath and stepped into the room, using his back to push the door shut.

If I had been a little more prepared, things might have gone differently. I would have known the night was about to go from calm to life altering for the second time in a row by a man I was foolishly unafraid of.