To Lose your Mind

Chapter 1 - Morning

   Light spills in, uninvited, through the large bedroom window against the wall to the left of the bed, assaulting the sensitive retinas of the figure curled up below the thick, white blankets as she slowly begins to stir. A dull ache in her temples elicits a soft groan from deep within her chest as she pulls her knees up closer to her body for warmth. She rolls slightly, pressing her nose deeper into the pillow beneath her head, taking in the impersonal scent of crisp, fresh sheets.

Slowly, her eyes peel open, although her mind is still too near unconsciousness for any form of sense to register as she tentatively lets her gaze sweep the portion of the unfamiliar bedroom within sight. It takes a few moments longer for the haze to clear and the confusion to set in as she finally begins to wonder where she is. The gentle beat of footsteps alerts her ears to the approaching figure's presence, and a moment later a dark young man is standing by the open door, gazing in over the girl as she remains curled up in the relative warmth and safety of the bed.

"Morning," he says, leaning casually against the doorframe as a hand dives subconsciously to sit in the depths of the pocket of his loose black jeans, hanging lazily off his hip and revealing a portion of the waist of his boxers. The heavy black jacket on his shoulders seems to almost weigh him down slightly, affecting his posture as he slouches against the wall. Beneath this is a loose red shirt, which sits comfortably around his torso and floats over his hips, although bunched up slightly on one side, as though he hadn't realised it was tucked partially into his boxers.

His voice, although only having spoken a single word, is deep and dark, rich with a thick, heavy Russian accent, and his tongue subconsciously dances over the letter 'r' before stuttering into the rest of the greeting. His voice sends cool shivers down the girl's spine as she carefully peels back the covers and sits up, using one finger to push a stray strand of soft brown hair back behind her ear.

"Where am I?" she enquires cautiously of this strange Russian man. His gaze hovers over her, allowing silence to engulf the room before suddenly taking in a sharp breath.

"Breakfast will be ready shortly," he states, glancing briefly down the hallway behind him. "Get dressed and join me in the dining room."

With that, the Russian turns and leaves the room, pulling the door shut behind himself on his way out, leaving her alone in her confusion.

Hesitantly, she slides her slender legs over the edge of the bed and rises to her feet, taking in her own dress as she does so.

A lightweight, near-see-through white singlet hangs off her shoulders, the hem lightly kissing the waist of the pale green satin shorts that hug her slim hips.

The cold nips at her arms and legs, drawing goose bumps to the surface as she treads lightly across the carpet to the wooden wardrobe against the wall to the foot of the bed. She notices a second door to the one the Russian had come and gone through, which she presumes is an ensuite.

She places both of her hands on the handles of the wardrobe and gently tugs the doors open before taking in the items lining the shelves within. She selects a light green top and a pair of black skinny jeans, as well as clean underwear from one of the drawers. She also takes a towel and, as an afterthought, a light grey jacket, then makes her way into the ensuite.