ADELINE
IT'S BEEN THREE days since I first arrived…or I think so at least. I've been trying to keep track of the days and nights as best as I can. Meals are delivered periodically throughout the day by young women that so far only speak Spanish. I tried to ask for help several times, but they disregard me completely. And the one time I tried to escape, I was manhandled by a guard posted outside my door and thrown back into the room like a bag of trash.
Let's just say I learned my lesson…for now.
The way the staff isn't surprised to suddenly see a crying girl locked in a room and asking for help only confirms my earlier suspicion that I'm not the first girl that's been held here against her will.
The thought makes me sick.
It's in the afternoon, and I'm lying on the bed doing my favorite hobby that I've picked up since being kidnapped --- staring at the ceiling and crying. I feel like I haven't stopped since I've arrived, but I can't help it. I miss my home and Gio. Perhaps most of all, I miss my books. I was accustomed to being holed up in my room at home a lot, but at least I had a book to keep me company, a far-off world to escape to when I needed to the most.
Sniffling, I sit up suddenly when I hear the familiar beeping and click of the door. An older woman with short, curly salt-and-pepper hair walks into the room, her brown eyes finding me right away. She's wearing a black and white maid's uniform with no shoes. I've noted all of the maids and servants before her also have not worn any footwear, which I find to be strange.
I haven't seen this particular maid before, but she exudes a presence about her that tells me she's in charge. Staring at her in silence, I wait to see what she wants before I start asking her for help. I have no idea who I can trust here, but so far no one has offered their assistance. This woman will probably be no different.
"Hello," she says in accented English.
My eyes widen in surprise. "Y-you speak English?" I ask her, astonished.
The woman narrows her eyes at me and holds her hand up as I scramble off the bed towards her. "Before you even ask, stupid little girl, I am not going to do anything you request. I'm not a slave to be at your beck and call. I am only here to get you ready for dinner tonight with Master Lucien."
Master Lucien. I still haven't discovered his last name. But he probably doesn't want me to know it so I can't identify him after I escape. And I'm determined that I will escape.
I think back to what she said. She wants me to get ready for dinner tonight with the man that kidnapped me? I don't think so. But before I can protest, the woman is yanking on my hand and pulling me towards the bathroom. She's incredibly strong even though she's a few inches shorter than me. But what she lacks in height, she certainly makes up for in width and muscle.
"You girls are all the same," she mutters, but it's loud enough for me to hear her. "You're always so resistant to do what you're told, but then you eventually give in." She turns to me and glares at me. "Why don't you just give in and save me the trouble?"
Give in to what? I ask myself. To being kidnapped and held against my will?
I'm about to snap at her; but then I see the weariness in her gaze, and I suddenly feel sorry for the woman. She reminds me of the nanny I had when I was a little girl. She always looked so worse for wear, but always kept a smile on her face even though I could see her true feelings in her eyes. I truly believe a person's eyes are the windows to their souls. And I believe that even more so since I gazed into the soul of the devil who's keeping me here.
Furrowing my brows, I snatch my hand away from her when she starts pulling me again. I step past her towards the bathroom. "I'll take a shower," I tell her over my shoulder. "Will you…will you pick out something for me to wear?" I ask. I almost add because I don't know what Lucien would like me to wear, but I don't because I don't give a shit what he likes or doesn't. But it may be easier for me if she just picks out the attire. I don't know if this Lucien has a temper or not, and I certainly don't want to find out by doing something wrong.
When the woman doesn't answer, I look back at her. She's standing there with her mouth gawped, opening and closing like a fish out of water. When she notices me staring, she snaps her mouth shut. "Why isn't it always this easy?" she asks herself as she disappears into the closet.
As I step into the hot shower, the woman's words return to me; and I'm completely unsettled by them. She confirmed that there have been girls before me, but how many? And more importantly, what happened to them?