Page 69 of Blindsided

Tilly

Iblink my crusty eyes open and immediately regret that decision. The stabbing pain in my head has me hissing in pain. Jesus, what happened?

I try to think back to my last memory, and Desmond’s angry face comes into focus. My heart thumps along with my head as tears form in my eyes again. He’s never going to forgive me. Heaving a sigh, I try to sit up in bed but am immediately yanked back down. A metal cuff bites at my wrist, and my eyes fly open with adrenaline.

Where am I?

The yellow glow of a lamp is my only source of light, further confirming I am not where I’m supposed to be. Grey walls and white furniture fill the room. I’m in bed, thankfully, still wearing the clothes I was wearing when I went to see Desmond.

How did I get here? I have no memory of what happened when I left Des’s apartment, and panic begins to seize my chest.

I pull at the cuff in an attempt to free my hand. The bite of pain makes me hiss, and my heart begins to pound.

“Oh, good. You’re finally awake.” A man walks into the room, and I scramble back toward the headboard. Something about him is vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him. His light brown hair and brown eyes are nondescript. He looks like any random guy walking down the street.

“How are you feeling? I brought you a sandwich and some water. It should help get rid of any lingering effects from the roofies.” He smiles at me as if what he said wasn’t batshit crazy.

If he roofied me, does that mean he… I clench my legs together. I don’t feel sore. And I’m still wearing the same clothes.

“Don’t worry, baby. The drugs were just to help you relax.” He sits down on the side of the bed and places the tray in front of me. “You were so sad. I couldn’t take it anymore. Besides, I want you to be fully conscious when we can finally be intimate. I’ve been dreaming of it for years.”

It’s then I finally understand what’s going on. This man is my stalker. But he saidyears. How did I not know about him until a few months ago? And when did he drug me to get me here? The missing memories are driving me crazy.

“Eat. You need to regain your strength.”

“Why?” I plead. Why is he doing this to me? What did I ever do to get on his radar? My one word encompasses many questions.

He misinterprets me—intentionally or unintentionally, I’m not certain—when he says, “We’re leaving tomorrow, and you need to build up your strength. It’s time to start our forever.” Then he gets up and walks out of the room. His words linger in the air long after he’s gone, like a weighted threat.

He left the tray of food on the bed. It could be drugged, but I highly doubt it. I’m at his mercy. He could just stick me with a needle to knock me out if he wanted. There would be no reason to hide it in my food.

I wolf down the sandwich, barely tasting what’s on it. It doesn’t matter. I need the energy if I’m going to figure out a way to escape. The curtains on the window are drawn closed, so I have no idea what time it is or where I am. I hope we’re still in the city, but if he was smart, he’d have taken me as far away as possible.

I chug the water when I’m done eating and feel marginally better. My brain is working a little faster now, which is both good and bad. Good because I’ll be better equipped to think logically about my next steps. Bad because I’m not going to be able to hold back my freakout for very long.

I test the limits of my cuff. I’m able to put my feet on the floor and stand, but that’s as far as I can go.

The room itself is incredibly sparse. There’s a dresser on the wall across from the bed and a door to the right that I’m guessing is a closet. The nightstand is bare except for the lamp, and there isn’t a single knickknack, picture frame, or personal item anywhere to be found.

I open the drawer of the nightstand and immediately regret that decision. Stacks of pictures are piled up, and every single one of them is of me. Bile rises in my throat when I notice a pair of underwear and a tube of lube next to the photos.

I snap the drawer shut and sit down on the bed. It takes multiple deep breaths before the nausea dissipates. How the fuck am I going to get out of this?

Tears burn behind my eyes.

Get it together, Talia. You do not have the luxury of breaking down right now.

Oddly enough, the voice inside my head is Desmond’s. It’s effective, though. I swallow down my emotions and force my brain to think critically. There’s no way I can escape with my arm cuffed to the bed. Which means I’m going to have to figure out a way to get my stalker comfortable enough to let me go.

I shiver at the thought, but I don’t have a choice. I’ll do whatever it takes to get out of this alive.

Time passes slowly. It could be one hour or five before he comes back into the room.

“All the arrangements have been made. We’ll be leaving bright and early in the morning.” He smiles.

I force a smile onto my face. “Where are we going?”

“I don’t want to ruin the surprise, baby. I’ve been planning this for too long to just tell you now.” He slides a hand down the side of my face, and I have to close my eyes to keep from flinching. This is going to be so much harder than I thought.

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