A dark head pops in, her eyes friendly as she enters. “Hey there,” she murmurs. “Don’t freak out. It’s okay. You’re safe here.” She saunters toward the bed.
“Where am I? Who are you? What the heck is going on?” My voice trembles as I clutch the blankets tight. “My name is Shyla. You’re at a friend’s house. Do you know what happen to you?”
“No. Do you?” I blurt.
“My friends found you in a trailer car unconscious. They brought you back here.”
“Here?” When I realize I’m pointing at the very bed I’m lying in, my face heats in embarrassment. My glasses slide down my nose. Shyla nods, her dark hair shimmering in the light. “Why not the hospital? If you found someone passed out, wouldn’t you get them medical help instead of taking them home with you?”
“It’s, ugh, complicated,” she stammers. “Look he’ll have to explain.”
“I want to go home,” I whisper, eyes burning with unshed tears.
“Ugh, well, I guess I can understand that.” She shifts her weight from foot to foot. “We need to make sure you’re safe before that happens.”
“Why do you care what happens to me?”
“Like I said, he’ll have to explain everything to you. It’s not my place. Rest assured that he’d rather cut out his own heart than hurt you and he’ll make sure you’re safe.”
“Safe? From what?”
“The ones who snatched you.”
“How do I know that wasn’t you and your friend? Why should I believe you?” The words stutter as the fear grips me. I don’t know this person from Adam. What if she’s the reason I’m here? They use women to lure others for sex trafficking and stuff.
“I didn’t lure you anywhere,” she says dryly. My eyes widen in surprise. “You said that all out loud,” she admonishes. “Look, I don’t know how to convince you you’re safe here. Nothing I say or do will change that.” She shrugs a slim shoulder. “You’ll just have to go on a little faith. Nothing’s happened to you so far.”
“I don’t know that. I don’t remember anything.” I sit up allowing the blanket to drop into my lap. I pinch the top of the purple t-shirt. “This isn’t mine.”
“No, it’s Slash’s. I grabbed it out of his drawer. I changed your clothes. The ones you were wearing were filthy and smelled. I didn’t take off your panties. That was a little too personal even for me.” She motions to a bag on the floor. “I dropped by the store and picked you up a few things to tide you over until you’re able to get your own clothes. Nothing special just some yoga pants and shirts, new undies. I had to guess your size, so I hope they fit.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll hang in here if you want to take a quick shower or I can go. The bathroom door locks as does the bedroom.”
“I think I’ll be okay.”
“Just come out when you’re ready. My mate, uh man and I will probably head home for the night.” She turns toward the door.
“Wait!” I order frantically. Her hair slides over her back as she glances over her shoulder. “Slash? Is that a person?”
“He’s the one that rescued you. This is his house.” She winks at me before slipping out the door.
Slash? What the heck kind of name is that? It sounds like a freaking serial killer. Climbing out of bed, the shirt drops all the way to my knees. How big is this guy? Rummaging through the bag Shyla brought, I pull out a pair of gray yoga pants and a black t-shirt with a swirly pink and purple design on it. I open the package of plain old cotton bikini underwear and pull out a pair of pale pink. At the bottom of the bag is a plain black bralette. At least I’ll be comfortable for whatever the heck will happen to me.
The bathroom is surprisingly clean for a man’s bathroom. No funky smells. Just the same woodsy scent that was on the pillow. The shower is a huge tiled walk in with several shower heads. Who the hell is this guy? On the dual vanity there is an unwrapped toothbrush, shampoo and conditioner no man in his right mind would own, and a bottle of body wash. The side cabinet reveals fluffy beige towels and washcloths. Turning on the shower handle, the room quickly fills with steam. The hot water feels amazing on my aching body as it flows over me. I didn’t realize how sore I was until the water hit the abrasions on the back of my calves. Quickly I clean and condition my hair, then soap up. The towel may be the softest thing I’ve ever touched as I dry off. When I look in the mirror, reality sets in as I examine the bruising on the right side of my face. My eye is slightly swollen and my jaw aches when I move it around. How the heck did I not notice that before when I was talking? I tug on the clothes, suddenly claustrophobic in the spacious room. The doorknob turns easily under my hand, and I realize I never even locked the damn thing. So much for self-preservation.
The bedroom remains empty.
“Shoes. Shoes would be good. If I were shoes, where would I be hiding?” Scanning the room, there’s nothing. Everything is neat and tidy. Only a picture of a family mars the top of the dresser.
“Kind of makes making a run for it a little harder,” I utter to myself as I flip the blanket back in place after checking under the bed.
A knock at the door startles me, and I fall on my butt in
