Kidnapped

Chapter 25 - Uneasy

“Come now, let me start you a hot shower. Would that be alright?” The olds mans voice, low and soothing, feels like a lifeline after the storm I just endured. I nod, unable to muster words, and follow him as he leads me down a narrow hallway. The floorboards creak under our weight, and the soft light from a flickering bulb casts our shadows long against the walls.

He opens the bathroom door, revealing a small, dated space with porcelain fixtures and walls tinged yellow from years of steam and wear. The air smells faintly of lavender and soap, a deceptive comfort. The old man turns the silver knobs, and the pipes groan before the water sputters to life, steam curling up and blurring the edges of the cracked mirror above the sink.

“There you go, warm as can be,” he says, turning to me with a kindly smile that feels out of place. His eyes linger a second too long before he averts them, stepping back to give me space. “Take your time. I’ll leave you to it.”

I murmur a shaky “thank you” as he pulls the door shut, the soft click sending a wave of exhaustion crashing over me. The heat from the shower seeps into the room, wrapping me in a humid embrace. My clothes stick to my skin, sodden and cold, and I peel them off, each movement releasing a shiver up my spine as I leave them in a wet heap on the floor.

I step into the stream, the hot water needling my skin, easing the ache in my muscles and washing away the grime and blood smudged along my arms. For a moment, I let the water run over my face, eyes closed, the sound a comforting roar that muffles the thundering in my chest. I draw in a deep, shaky breath and reach for the bar of soap, feeling the slick texture coat my hands as I run it over my body, from my collarbone down to my ribs,  the ache of my frantic run and raw emotions making my whole body tender under my touch.

It’s then that my skin prickles with the sudden awareness of being watched. The sensation crawls down my back, stiffening my spine, and I open my eyes, heart pounding harder as I look up.

Through the hazy steam and the thin, translucent curtain, I see a shadow at the cracked doorway—the old mans figure silhouetted and unmistakable. My breath stutters, a cold panic seeping into my chest as his eyes catch the dim light, glinting as they fix on me with an intensity that turns my stomach. He’s not just watching; he’s studying, devouring the sight of me in my most vulnerable state.

A startled scream bursts from my throat, sharp and raw, slicing through the sound of water splashing against porcelain. He jumps, eyes widening as he stammers, “Oh, I’m sorry! I just—I brought you a fresh towel,” he says, his voice thin and guilty, but his feet stay planted. The towel is clutched in his hands, fingers pale and knotted around the fabric, as if caught mid-crime and unable to move.

But he lingers, rooted to the floor, eyes flicking between my face and the slick curve of my shoulder visible through the thin, steamed-up curtain. Seconds stretch into an eternity. I shrink into myself, arm wrapping instinctively over my chest, trying to shield whatever dignity I have left. The soap slips from my hand, landing with a dull thud at my feet. The air thickens, steam mingling with the suffocating weight of his gaze.

“Can—can you close the door, please?” My voice cracks, more a plea than a command, the quiver betraying the fear that churns in my gut.

A heartbeat passes, then another, before he jolts to life. His eyes break away, and he mutters an apology, stepping back. The door shuts with a soft, final click, but his presence lingers, a shadow burned into my mind, as real as the droplets racing down my skin.

My heart thunders in my chest, a painful, frantic rhythm that makes my head swim. I stay under the stream, unable to move just yet, the water cascading over me in a soothing, relentless hiss. The heat seeps into my bones, easing the chill that has nested there, and for a moment, the exhaustion of my escape and the surreal horror of my situation bleed away. The water swirls down the drain in ribbons of brown and red, the grime and blood washing from my body until the water runs clear.