bouncer ☓ h.s.

3. wake up call

I wake with a gasp, lightning briefly illuminating the room. Thunder rolls loudly outside, shaking my bed. The headboard cracks against the wall. Briefly disoriented, I curl up in the covers until another lightning strike brightens the dark room.

Beige walls, complimented by dark brown furnishing. A few pictures are framed on the desk and I recognize none of them. White comforters cover the bed and twist around me. They don't smell of my familiar lavender laundry detergent. Even the clothes I wear, hanging off of my frame loosely, obviously too big for me, aren't anything I remember. Obviously males' clothing, they smell faintly of cologne, but it is not Ray's. I bought him a designer bottle last year for Christmas, and this smells nothing like it. It's too. . . musky.

The other side of the bed is cold, meaning that I slept alone. Or whoever was with me left a while ago. This room, though not much unlike mine is Ray's and my apartment, is foreign to me. No part of it is recognizable except a small pile of my clothes in a hamper.

How did I get here?

I don't sleep around, or really sleep with anyone at all. Besides, I don't feel like I did anything last night. Because this place is completely unrecognizable to me, I didn't  come here on my own. But who would've taken me here?

Showing signs of having been lived in, I'm sure this isn't a hotel or inn; it's someone's house. Through the window I see dimly lit streets, quaint houses on either side. Trees line the sidewalks and the neighborhood itself is completely manicured. I pass neighborhoods like this on my way to work every I struggle to remember where I was last night.

The bar. I'd gone to the bar last night, the small one near the apartment. A dusty little place no one know's the real name of but everyone's been to at least once. The reason why I'd gone, I can't imagine. I don't drink, nor have I ever. Alcohol has repulsed me ever since those presentations in ninth grade health class. And 10th grade driver's ed. 

But Ray drinks. He's been an alcoholic since high school. Plus, the bar is close to the apartment. He usually walks to the bar so he doesn't need to drive home. Smart,  but half of the time I'm the one who has to go pick him up if he can't catch a ride. That must've been what I was doing last night; picking him up. I vaguely remember getting a call from the owner about threatening to throw Ray out.

After that, I don't remember anything.

Slowly I climb out of bed and pad barefoot across the carpet; it's soft against my bare feet. I hate the idea of not knowing where I am, and as each minute goes by I'm becoming more and more anxious. Quietly I grab the doorknob, twisting slowly. It turns easily; unlocked. The door opens to a small hallway. All of the other doors -from what I can see in the dark, there at maybe three- are closed. Afraid of what might be behind them, I don't move to turn the knobs.

I leave my door open. The floor of the hall is carpet as well, though a dark tan shade. Thankfully it is sound and sturdy, and my movements are quiet. The small hall opens to a quaint living room. Unfortunately I see no pictures or indication of any kind of who may live here. It seems that the more I search the more unlikely it is that I'll find anything.

Except my keys. My set sits on a side table next to the love seat, another set of keys next to it. I remember not seeing my car by the street or in the driveway. So I was driven here.

I'm getting scared, but I try to calm myself down. All signs point to me being safe, just quite confused. I wasn't kidnapped, my door was unlocked. My keys are here, so we probably decided to get my car later. Whoever's keys are here too, so most likey they go to the car sitting in the drive. If someone really wanted to keep me in this house, I would've been better. . .  restrained, I guess is the word, and not given an easy escape.