Chapter One
Olivia
The pounding behind my eyes rouses me awake. I grimace, massaging my temples. How much did I have to drink last night? I sit up slowly in bed. A slight pang of nausea shoots up my throat, but it’s nothing compared to this headache. I try to remember the bar last night. But the memories come in hazy snippets. I remember a bottle of tequila. That was probably the culprit.
My eyes are still closed. It’s sunny. The light is filtered through my eyelids. I clench my eyes shut to avoid the full force of it. I immediately think of my dissertation. I’d planned to get to the library at seven am sharp. It’s probably much later than that. Why had I decided to go to the bar last night?
I reach out towards my nightstand to grab my phone. All I feel is air. I open my eyes, and look down at my hand, suspended from the side of the bed. My mind goes blank as I try to make sense of what I’m seeing. There’s no phone, no nightstand. This is not the carpeted floor from my bedroom. Those are not my pale yellow walls.
I don’t recognize this room.
Where am I?
Fear throbs at the base of my spine. The headache takes a backseat to more important priorities. I sit straight up, fully awake. There’s a quiet voice in the back of my head, telling me that something is very, very wrong. But I’m not ready to listen to it yet.
There has to be a logical explanation. As I examine this strange room, I try to think of one. Did I meet a guy at the bar? Did I go home with him? Is this his place? I tug at my hair, trying to remember. I conjure an image of a guy at the bar. I remember talking to him for awhile, and dancing with him.
I stand up so quickly my head spins, throwing me off balance for a second. Gripping the edge of the bed, I survey the floor. My purse is nowhere to be found, neither are my car keys, or phone. All I have is the clothes on my back. My breath comes quick and shallow, making me even more lightheaded.
Don’t panic.
I take a deep breath, swallow down the burgeoning nausea, and force myself to my feet. My eyes are on the door. I’m a little apprehensive about what I’ll find out there, who’s waiting for me.
Probably just a drunken hookup. It’ll be a little awkward. But I need to get out of here so I can get to the library.
I try to open the door. It doesn’t budge.
It’s stuck, I tell myself, still trying to quell the panic. It must be old. Warped wood or something.
I push harder. It doesn’t open. I try again and again.
The door isn’t stuck. It feels like there are thick, steel locks holding it shut. I’m locked in here. I shake my head. No. No. This isn’t happening. This is dream.
I close my eyes, then open them. The white painted door is still there. I dig my fingernails into my palms. I pinch the soft flesh at the back of my arm. I jump up and down. I don’t wake up.
My chest constricts suddenly. I can barely breathe. Is this what a panic attack feels like? I bang my fists against the door frantically. I open my mouth and scream. I scream until the headache comes back.
I fall silent, and listen. Nothing’s there.
The fear has made me wild, feral. I scan the room quickly. There’s a window over the bed. I hop up on the mattress and try to force it open. I push so hard, beads of sweat form on my forehead. I almost rip my fingertips apart. But the window doesn’t move, not an inch.
Still in survival mode, I fall back on the bed, trying to think. My eyes dart from the door, to the window, and back again. Those are the only portals to the outside world, and they’re closed up tight.
My panicked breath echoes in my ear. My heart pounds so wildly I feel the rhythm through my entire body. It’s a wild feeling I’ve never felt before, the feeling of being trapped. I hug my knees into my chest, blinking numbly at the unfamiliar bedspread. This kind of thing doesn’t happen to people like me. It makes no sense. I shake my head, trying to process the sheer absurdity of it all.
I hear something, or at least, I think I do. I quiet my breath and listen. Thump, thump, thump. Footsteps, and the groaning of the floor beneath them. They are slow and deliberate, coming closer and closer, until they stop in front of the door. I jump from the bed, and huddle in the farthest corner of the room. I don’t know what else to do.
I count three heavy clunks as the locks are undone, one by one. I’m trembling, but my focus is sharp. I don’t blink. The door creaks open.
There’s a man. He’s tall, well of over six feet. His broad shoulders fill the width of the door. In my terror, I wonder if he’ll be able to fit through. He’s holding a tray of food. I blink up to his face, and gasp with recognition.
It’s not the guy I was dancing with last night.
It’s the beast.