"I want to go." I demanded, once more searching for the nonexistent exit.
"You can leave." She replied with a promise to deliver my demand. I turned to her, a brief spark of hope ignited by her sudden acquiescence, only to have it extinguished by the condition that followed. "Once you've met him and taken what you've wanted."
I felt a whirling wrath within me, stoked by a sense of betrayal. "I don't want to meet anyone." I bit out, my breath hitching in a jagged pull, "Just let me out of here!"
My mounting frustration broke against her suave demeanour, like water against stone. "I told you." Her tone, a silken thread of calm. "Only you can do that."
In that agonising moment of entrapment, realization settled upon me; my words were falling on deaf ears. She was merely a vessel for this place, designed to serve. There was no other way. To escape, I had to walk deeper into the cage.
"I'll meet the guy." I announced, laying an offer for an equal exchange, "but how do I trust that you'll not harm me?"
Her response was unfaltering, a calm stream which never thundered, "as I said, I would've by now. If I wanted to."
Next thing I knew, I was standing in an elevator, glaring at her with contempt in my eyes and a helpless silence sealing my lips tight.
"You will not regret this choice." She spoke, trying to console the bitterness she faced. But to me her words were like a deliberate defiance of my instincts—a premonition, that I was stepping towards the gravest mistake of my life.
She pressed the elevator button, her costume of a smile and that crimson red dress the last thing I saw before the elevator doors slid shut. Her presence was eclipsed, wrapped up like the end of the movie as the elevator began its mechanical churn upward.
As I stood there, moving up to my destination, I wondered if I should have put up a greater fight to leave, or not go on the hunt to return the flower. The fear of a possible mistake on my part consumed me to stunness, a hurricane brewing inside the pit of my stomach, constricting my whole being— ping.
My breaths exempted from the tight fist of the dread as I watched the doors slid open revealing an empty and quiet corridor – only my breaths.
Bleak doom set upon me. The silence was so absolute, I could almost hear it, a low hum as my eyes followed the stretched misty corridor – stretching beyond my sight. My stomach stirred, my eyes wavered, and landed upon the scarlet walls, that carmine carpet and those golden lamp walls illuminating amber above it all.
A horror scene — no better explanation could describe the sight before my eyes. Panic swept away the minute of the courage left in my core and I was left frozen before I even took a step.
Only one question echoed in my head – what should I do? What should I do? My mind steamed like a pressure cooker with just that question, until it blew up with a steaming release.
A blazing tremor frickled from the end of my spine to the center of my head as my insides constricted. I knew there was no other way, so I came to accept it once again.
I put my foot forward, and began a gut wrenching trip to room number 503. In mid-way, passing by room 409, I came across pictures of different people in different places, — places that had nothing to do with the hotel.
But I hardly knew anything about that place so my judgement fell under the brackets of being unimportant yet an alarming observation.
I suppressed my curiosity and returned to the grueling task at hand, passing by room number 501, the shrinking feeling never leaving my chest. As I crossed by 502, my legs became limp, while my head for a second became a black hole.
There it was: the result of my choice looming closer to me with each struggling step. I was caught in a cruel paradox — I could neither run from it nor towards it. I could only continue my slow, inevitable advance.
My breaths swallowed in my chest, constricting my throat, and cold sweat coated my skin. The thumping of my heels halted, my eyes landing on the numberplate on those enormous double doors. 503.
In that moment, my ears could reach my heartbeat pulsing in my head, an itch to run away growing stronger than ever.
But, with a resisting palm, I knocked – "knock three times to let him know it's you. He'd be delighted to finally see you there." The woman had suggested, — knock …. Knock …. Knock.
Before swiping, my gaze fell to the keycard in my hand. It resembled the color of the void in my head. My shoulders weighed. I could taste the color of that corridor. I was going to swipe the card on the lockpad with insecurity of my safety —beep, beep beep.
I twisted the door knob with a looming density upon my head and pushed the doors open.
Thud.
The result — there it was.
Anything could happen. I was either going to be left dreadfully regretful or fulfilled with the greatest treasure of my life.
But all that surpassed my mind and body was — numbness.
A color black stroked my eyes, my feet declining to step inside. I could see nothing under that dull light that was barely beaming over from the ceiling, making the room seem like a lion's den. Curtains were carrying in an icy breeze through the large glass windows up front.
My eyes hadn't pried over every corner of the room at the first glance, the tremor over my skin was just so powerful, but at the second glance they noticed a man, sitting.
I don't know why. It was stupid. But that sight offered me a slight courage. I filled my chest with fuel to exercise it, clutched my bag and the rose, —- it was the moment where I told myself, if this is supposed to be a mistake, I will not be wrestled down without a fight.
As I entered, he suddenly stood up with a grace of a predatory charm. My throat went bone dry, tenacity still booming in my chest like the last breath of a flame.
"You're late." He said. His tone, like the thick cold ice creaking under a sharp tool. My heels couldn't move, the floor sucking it under. My chest hitched while he strode to me with smooth movements, his red shirt, and wavy hair peeking through the dim light.
His insane frame filled my vision — he stopped, looming over me. I was practically a kitten against a giant wolf, gazing down at me, merely an inch away.
Silence.
Blood surged from hands, blazing my ears, my eyes trailing his doe, black eyes, his pale skin and that jaw line sharper than a blade — "why are you so late?" His question, a cold note jittered me.
Suddenly, his palm reached behind me, his face closing even that inch in an instant like a wave in a calm sea, click — the room brightened up, dusty red but bright.
I hadn't noticed the expression on his features, I got consumed by the breathless beauty he possessed, —- an expression with furrowed eyebrows, a glint of red anger in his eyes and watery fragility.
Once again — I was diving in, my eyes tracing the thickness of his lips, and their movement as they spoke, "you were out drinking again." The hoarseness in his tone made me realise the stupidity I was performing.
I was there to get out, not sway away with that man's beauty. He could be harmful, he could do anything.
"Say something!" He huffed, in his own separate world, unaligned with the train of thoughts in my head.
I had no response other than the beating confusion and need to survive in my chest.
"What is it?" His tone boomed, a hint of worry and anger mixed in it. I felt my hand lifted and saw it in his palm, his eyes widened as if he'd seen a fragment of his worst nightmare.
I looked to check, a pulse of life slowly beginning to rush in my veins, and noticed dry blood clinging to my palm like it was my own. It didn't hurt.
"Why are you bleeding?" He queried, his eyes seeking an answer from me. I was once again entrapped by a question I had no answer to. I was just as surprised as him , — maybe not that much.
Abruptly, I was pulled inside, the doors closed behind me and sat on the bed. The fear had suddenly vanished even from the air, confusion took its place. Was he not supposed to hurt me?
He panicked through the room, in search of something, and then suddenly returned to me with a white box in his hand.
He shifted to his knees as smooth as breathing and asked angrily, "why are you so careless?" grasping my hand carefully, followed by his through sanitization.
The alcoholic liquid zapped my senses, I hissed at the pain brewing from the wound in my hand, I recalled — I had not only clutched my bag but the rose as well, becoming a victim of its thorn.
Hypnosis of the confusion lifted over, and I met the logic once again. He was someone who could hurt me. This show of care could be a way to relish my misery.
That returned tremor yanked my hand away from his gentle yet thick grasp, and I asked, "What is – what is your name?"
END OF THE CHAPTER
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