A Slave to Love

Chapter 2: Sitting in a Room Made Up of Only Big White Walls...

I woke with a groan, opening my eyes to see white. Panicked, I furiously rubbed my eyes but I couldn't see anything except white everywhere. It took me a moment to realize all the white was actually a white painted room, the walls and ceilings seamlessly blending together as my eyes struggled to find something concrete to focus on and anchor me.

I tried to sit up but I didn't have the energy, my body heavy like lead. So I twisted my head, struggling to figure out where I was, find some kind of clue. All four walls of the room were a pure white color, as were the ceiling and the floor. I managed to lift my head for a moment to see myself lying on a stiff cot, under an equally white sheet.

The room was empty of people and of furniture. The only other thing in this room besides myself and the cot was the door; it was white as well, directly in front of me when I lifted my head. It was only a few feet away from the end of the bed since this was a pretty tiny room.

So I lay there, flat on my back like a corpse, glaring up at the ceiling while I waited for some feeling to come back into my body. While I waited impatiently for my bodily functions to return, I tried to remember what had happened to me, piece together how I got here. And where here even was.

All I could remember was going dancing with my friends and being lost. I couldn't remember anything else. Maybe someone spiked my drink when I wasn't looking. But then I remembered I had held onto my cup for the entire night, not once tearing my gaze away from it to prevent someone from doing just that. It went from the bartender's hands to mine. 

I tried a bit harder to remember, but after a few minutes of hard thinking my head started to hurt so I gave up and just lay on the cot, bored out of my skull.

I don't know how long I laid there for, but after what felt like years the door in front of me opened.

My head snapped up to see a big, burly man enter my room. He set up a small table and placed a plate of food on it, then left without so much as glancing in my direction or making any sort of noise before he closed the door behind him.

I glared at the door before I glared at the food. My stomach growled hungrily, even though it was only a plate of bread, potatoes and a glass of water. It was torture having food practically right in front of my nose and not being able to get to it. But then that was probably a good thing since it was probably drugged too. 

I lay there for a while, still impatient, my annoyance growing with each passing minute until finally I felt some of the feeling returning to my arms and shoulders. I lifted my arms slowly a few inches off the bed, feeling like a zombie with my stiff and sluggish movements. I tried to wiggle my fingers but found I still couldn't so I dropped my arms and waited some more.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, hoping that maybe when I woke up I'd have a fully functioning body again. Or maybe I'd wake up in my own bed and this was all just a weird trippy alcohol induced dream.

I did sleep, but when I woke up my legs were still numb. I could sit up though, which was an improvement. I could also wiggle my fingers and wave my arms around again.

Of course, when I looked over to my right, the food was gone. I practically screamed, grabbing my hair as I tried not to lose my mind. These white walls felt like they were closing in on me and the fact that I couldn't move from this bed was making me feel even more claustrophobic than before.

Taking deep breaths to soothe my racing heart, the door opened and shattered what tiny semblance of calm I'd acquired. The same big guy walked in, set up the table again and put a plate of food on it.

"Wait!" I cried hoarsely, but he shut the door behind him without even acknowledging me.

It was yet another plate of bread, potatoes, and a glass of water.