November

chapter 2

November woke up in an unknown bed. It took her eyes a while to adapt to the sunlight that seeped through the gaps of the window shutters and at first her groggy mind begged her to go back to sleep and ignore the increasing feeling of uneasiness that nagged at her in the pit of her stomach, telling her that something was wrong.

She forced herself to sat up and looked around her, and that was when she identified the feeling inside her as rising panic. Her subconsciousness was warning her that she wasn't in her house but in a room she had never seen before.

The first thing November did was frantically grasp the sheets in which she was wrapped and take a look at her body. She was wearing  nothing but her underwear and a huge coat that could only belong to a man. Touching her body to make sure everything was fine, she winced when she traced a few purple bruises that had bloomed overnight.

She tried to stand up but had to reach for the bedpost when a wave of nausea hit her. Her knuckles turned bone-white from the tight grip she had on the bed, and for a moment she doubled over as bile rose to her scratched and hoarse throat.

November had no recollection from last night except from the fact that her client had tried to force himself upon her and she had escaped. Then she remembered taking refuge in the dark corner of a street, but then a man appeared before her, asking her to let him help her. After that everything was a big black gap.

She was almost sure she had fainted, but nothing made sense after that. Had the man brought her to his house, and if so, what had he done to her? The knowledge that she could not remember what had happened last night was more than disconcerting, and combined with the fact that she was practically naked beneath the blankets made her feel like she would be sick right there and then.

November gritted her teeth and pushing the sickness aside straightened herself. At times like this her survival instincts took over. That was what made her grab a sheet and wrap it around herself and then creep out of the room as quietly as possible. The door of the room where she was was shut, but after carefully turning its knob she realised that it was not locked like she had feared.

She tiptoed into the hallway. It was darker than the rest of the house due to the lack of windows that didn't allow the morning light to brighten the space and she was thankful for that. November was on edge, waiting to sense the presence of another person and give up on her effort not to make a sound and flee, but the hallway was unnervingly quiet.

There were three more doors in the upper floor besides the bedroom where she had slept, all stood ajar. Peeking inside, she found a bathroom, a guest room and a second bedroom, which were all empty. Nothing suspicious, but that didn't help ease her wariness at all.

At the top of the stairs she stopped and strained her ears to catch the faint sound of cutlery clinking together in the kitchen, as if someone was making breakfast. Her eyes darted to the front door, visible from where she stood. She estimated the kitchen was way to the left. If she ran down the stairs she would be able to make it to the door before her captor realised she was trying to escape and tried to stop her.

She set foot on the first step, and when it let out a loud crack of protest she forgot all about her quiet tactic after hissing a "shit" . She flew down the stairs as fast as she could with her heart pounding in her ears. At least she would have the element of surprise on her side, or that was what she hoped for.

When her bare feet stepped on the old oak wood of the floor, two things occurred to her. First, the kitchen wasn't located to the left of the house as she had initially thought, but to the right, which gave whoever was in there a perfect view of her trying to get out. And second, the sounds coming from the kitchen had stopped and steps were approaching her.