Cassandra slept on and off throughout the night. The temperature dropped and left her fidgeting to keep warm. If it weren't for whatever poison he put into her body, she wouldn't have slept at all.

She laid in the corner thinking about how her abduction reminded her of her mother's death. Cassandra was young, a mere eight years old, but she remembered it still. Someone was there, she told herself. It was because of those beliefs her father took her to see a psychologist. In time, along with the help of medication, they convinced her the blue-eyed man she imagined didn't exist.

That doctor continued to council her and became her only therapist. Cassandra shook her head when she remembered the stranger asking her why she connected with the therapist on social media. They were friends, she reminded herself, and he would report her missing. The therapist cared enough to escort her to Europe where he continued with his treatments. She knew he would look for her.

She turned and noticed the man staring at her. He doesn't exist, she heard the voice in her head say. Cassandra wondered why her captor reminded her of the man medication helped her to forget. His eyes, she thought. Cassandra obsessed with blue eyes. She didn't date much, her therapist said it wouldn't be a good idea, but she'd always been attracted to men with eyes of blue. It was all because of the man who saved her, she smirked.

Looking back, Cassandra understood why her doctor advised her against relationships. Although he was twice her age, he wanted her for himself. She liked him, but not in that manner. He once told her, "I don't see what you like in those colored eyes." Cassandra sneered, knowing he said that because his eyes were brown.

She sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. Cassandra had a morning routine which involved taking her medication before she even got out of bed. The stranger continued to watch her. "I need my medication," she told him, assuming he had it.

He shrugged and leaned back in the chair. "No, you don't."

Her mouth gaped at his reply. This man didn't know who she was or what she needed. Then it occurred to her that she didn't know who he was, not that it mattered much. "What's your name?" she quizzed.

"What do you care?" He snorted in return.

Cassandra thought about it. "I don't," she replied. "But, since you have me locked up here with nobody else to talk to except you, what harm is it to call you by your name?"

He hesitated but answered, "It's Anthony."

"You mean like Tony," she asked.

Anthony picked up the gun and twirled it around. "You call me Tony and you'll wish you died." Cassandra gulped hard. "They called my no-good father Tony. Don't make that mistake."

She nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. "Anthony, can I please have my pills?" Cassandra hoped that being polite to him would help her.

"No."

"I need them," she muttered. "They help me, keep me balanced."

Anthony stood and leaned against the wall that faced her. He placed his fist in his front pocket and stared at her. "You don't need shit. Those pills do nothing for you," he told her.

Cassandra worried. If he didn't plan on medicating her, what did he plan? She feared the worst and assumed he wanted to kill her. "Don't you have my purse?" Cassandra asked. "Can't you at least give me my birth control?" She didn't have a reason to ask for it, but if her purse was in the room, she'd be able to sneak her medication when he didn't look.

He chuckled at the thought. "You don't take the pill. You get the shots, and you're not due for another two-and-a-half months."

Cassandra couldn't believe her ears. "How do you know?"

"I know a lot of things Cassandra Frame." He grinned as she studied his face. She said nothing for a while. Anthony stood still, telling her he wouldn't back down. She wiggled and held her breath. "Now what's wrong with you?"

"I haven't gone to the bathroom since I've been here," she told him. "I can't hold it much longer," Cassandra admitted.

Anthony walked over to the table and opened the same drawer that held her cell phone to pull out a set of keys. He went to the door and unlocked all the locks. "Well," he turned to her. "Do you have to go or not?"

Cassandra jumped up and followed him out the door. They stood in a long dark hallway. Anthony allowed her to walk in front of him. Cassandra thought of making a run for it, but noticed he carried the gun with him. Her feet were bare, and the floor debris covered the floor. She continued walking in the direction he pointed to.

Anthony stopped her at a door. "I'll be right out here," he instructed her.

Cassandra nodded her head and turned the knob. Inside the bathroom was dirtier than the room he held her in. Like the other room, the bathroom had a small basement sized window that let in the sunlight from outdoors. Cassandra almost wished it were still dark.

Cobwebs hung in every corner, and under the sink along the rusted pipes. She neared the toilet and almost vomited. An inch or more of dirt covered the seat, and a stench of death rose from inside. Cassandra cried at the thought of sitting. Her bladder pained her, and she knew she either had to sit on the toilet or let the pee run down her pants.

Cassandra removed her jeans and used them as a barrier between herself and the toilet. It felt good to relieve herself, but she realized there wasn't anything to wipe with. Tears fell down her cheeks as she tried to figure out what to do. Even if there were toilet paper, she told herself, it would have been worthless. She prayed she'd see a clean bathroom before she died.

"You can't flush," Anthony yelled from the other side of the door. "The water is off."

Just great, she snickered to herself. Thinking like a man, she wiggled on the seat and tried to get as much of the moisture off as she could. When she stood up to replace her jeans, she could feel the rest of the urine run down her thighs. She couldn't end like this, she thought.

Cassandra looked up at the window. She knew her body wouldn't fit through it but hoped she could at least get someone's attention and call for help. Cassandra finished zipping her jeans and knew Anthony could hear her move around. She had to act fast. Cassandra stood up on an empty trash can, reached for the glass, and pushed. Her footing slipped from the can and she stumbled back to the floor and screamed.

The door burst open and Anthony pulled her out by the arm. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I tried to wash my hands," Cassandra lied to protect herself. "But a spider came out of the faucet and scared me."

"If there's no water for the toilet, how did you think you could wash your hands?" Anthony yanked her arm and forced her back into the room.

She turned to face him once they were back inside. He re-locked the door and headed back to his chair. Cassandra eyed the locks and wondered if she could figure out which key he used on each of them.

Anthony must have read her mind. Before he sat down, he placed the keys in his front pocket. "If you want them," he teased. "You're gonna have to get them."

Cassandra's face flushed when she realized she looked at the bulge in his pants. Anthony smiled, and she knew she kept her eyes there much longer than she should have. She looked down and raced to the mattress. Cassandra crawled across it and faced the wall.

She didn't want him to see her blush. Her breasts ached, and she knew it was because of him. The man kidnapped her, she reminded herself and wondered why her body heated when she thought of him. Now, more than ever, she needed her medication to keep her from growing insane.