SMOTHERED LIES

ten (Adele)

That is all.

In fact I cannot even remember leaving the party. Maybe I haven't left. Maybe I am still here, someplace safe, within the club.

I glance down and breathe a sigh of relief, noticing the short black dress still clinging to my body. My eyes travel further, to my feet, where I realize one of the black heels I wore tonight is missing.

Must have fallen off.

Great. Something else I don't remember.

I prop myself up on one elbow, eyes surveying the small room, settling on a firm wooden door standing elevated a few metres away. Something stirs within my chest and I inhale, a single word lighting my thoughts.

Escape.

On hands and knees I scramble forward, legs far too weak to bare the weight of my body. The seconds stretch into minutes and when my fingers finally latch onto the door knob I am out of breath, my head tossed in constant circles once again. As an anchor I use it to heave myself upright, my legs still weak, my weight against the door. My back arches and with a deep breath in, I try the handle, suddenly afraid of what might lie waiting on the other side. Half way down, it comes to an abrupt stop and my throat closes.

Locked.

Now is about the time to panic.

I try the handle again, furiously jerking it back and forth, up and down.

No no no. This can't be happening. Not here. Not now.

This can't be happening.

My breathing increases then, escaping in short fragments, the air not quite leaving, not quite reaching my lungs. I clutch my chest, thrust my fist against the door, so hard it hurts like nothing else, my knuckles soon a ghostly white.

“Help!” I scream, hearing my voice for the first time, tasting it in the base of my throat. It is raw and hoarse, cracking with every letter.

It's pointless really. As the people behind the door are most probably to ones who locked me here in the first place. So why would they do anything but laugh at my pleas for help?

Despite this, I continue smashing my fists against the door, teeth clasped shut as the pain ricochets up my arm. I do this for hours it seems, content on the thought that maybe, just maybe, someone, somewhere might catch onto the noise and do something. But the chances are so little my best efforts seem pointless.

And it is only a matter of seconds before I sag into the door, my legs giving way from beneath me, my face pressed to the cold timber. I embrace the ground and just lie there for a moment, unmoving, without sound, listening to the rise and fall of my chest.

Am I alone? Or are the girls here as well? Somewhere hidden within the labyrinth of this building.

What happened to Nate? To Kade? To Henri?

How long have I been asleep? Minutes? Hours? Days?

Surely not days. It couldn’t have been that long.

My stomach growls as though there might be a beast inside and I clutch it. So hungry.

Thirsty too.

Maybe it has been days. Maybe the others are gone, dead.

No! Don't you dare think that for a second.

My father had warned me of this, on numerous occasions. He had insisted that all these rules, these regulations were for my protection. He told me of the people out there, willing to do almost anything for money. I had never given it much thought, had always cast it aside as yet another excuse to keep me locked up. But maybe, and while I hate to admit it, he might have been right. For once in his retched life he might have been right.