Page 32 of Lost Petal

“Hush.”

This time his yank is so strong it evokes a groan of pain from me, and I hurry to keep up with his fast stride, if only to minimize the pain in my wrists. We’re moving to the right, then to the left, and to the right again, leaving me guessing how far we’ve actually moved away from the stairs when he stops so abruptly that I bump into him. It’s not until I hear a door being closed behind my back that I realize we must be inside a room.

He lets go of the rope, and I lower my hands in anticipation, breathing heavily as I turn my head from left to right, feeling his presence behind my back. I flinch when I feel his hands on me again, resting on my shoulders for a moment before he moves them up to untie the knot of the blindfold.

“Welcome home, Petal.”

The words embrace me like a heavy cloak, providing an ominous sense of premonition while he removes the dark velvet from my face in a solemn gesture. I’m finally allowed to take in my whereabouts, hope and fear blending into a wild mix of emotions before they are replaced by something else.

Disappointment.

Because just like the cell downstairs, this room also lacks a view to the outside. It’s much bigger than the basement, and there are two big windows at the wall opposite to the door, but both of them are shielded, boarded up with wooden planks, not letting in a single ray of light, making the room just as dark and hopeless as the one downstairs, with just a single light bulb at the center providing a source of light that allows me to see anything at all.

However, other than that, this chamber couldn’t be more different. I’m standing on a thick carpet, feeling soft against my naked feet that have known nothing but concrete for as long as I can remember. The entire room is kept in bright colors, white, light beige and blush pink accents scattered across the interior. It looks like the bedroom of a princess, with a big canopy bed standing against the wall to my right, adorned with a superfluous amount of pillows in blush pink and white; matching nightstands on both sides of the bed and an upholstered bench at the foot of it; plus a small round table surrounded by two chairs at the other side of the room. There’s a glass vase on top of it with a single long-stemmed white rose inside. My eyes linger on the rose for a few moments, comforted by the sight of its bright and healthy blossom. It’s beautiful, much too splendid to carve out a miserable existence in this plush prison.

Still, I can’t stop myself from smiling. It may just be a plant, but it’s still a living thing, someone to share the room with. My deep yearning for company shows in the way I instantly feel less alone at the prospect of sharing this chamber with a pretty flower.

There’s nothing else, but I notice two doors, one on the left wall and one to my right, next to the bed. Both of them are closed, and if I should guess, based on my experience, probably locked.

“So,” I hear his dark voice behind my back, foreboding as his gesture as he reaches for my shoulder to turn me around to face him. His gaze is hard and unyielding, faint creases appearing between his brows as he regards me through narrow eyes.

“I didn’t hear you say thank you.”

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