I STEP OUT of the shower and instantly notice a small pile of clothing on the countertop that wasn’t there when I first came in. That means someone was in here while I was showering.
Was it him?
Was he leering at me, staring at my naked body, planning all the sick fucked-up things he wants to do to me tonight?
Even though the heat from the shower had warmed me, a cold shudder suddenly runs through me straight to my very bone marrow.
I take my time towel-drying my hair and body. Then, I sift through the clothes. They seem simple enough — a plain black t-shirt and black leggings. They don’t appear to be new, though. I can see some signs of pilling and wear on them even though they smell and feel freshly laundered.
My heart skips a beat when my imagination begins running wild with ideas as to who these clothes could have belonged to. How many women has he bought? How many women have been here before me? And where are they now? Did he rape and murder them all?
Shaking from head to toe from that last thought, I snatch the clothes and quickly put them on, not wanting to be naked and vulnerable a second longer. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My long, dark, wet hair hangs down my back, soaking into the cotton of the shirt. My eyes are wide, and I can see the fear swimming around in my irises.
“What am I going to do?” I whisper out loud.
This man just paid seven million dollars for me. There is no way he’s going to just let me sleep in his bed. No, he’s going to demand that I screw him, offer him up my virginity willingly. And if I don’t go along with his plans…I have no doubt in my mind that he’ll take whatever I won’t give him.
I need some kind of weapon, I think to myself.
Focusing on that mindset, I go to work, checking every drawer for something that can be used against my captor. Panicking when I come up empty, I rummage through the cabinet below the sink. I sift through body washes, soaps, bath towels, hand towels, some extra unopened toothbrushes, and toothpastes.
Nothing. There’s nothing here I can use.
“Shit!” I hiss before standing up.
I stare into the mirror once more, hoping that it will open up into a portal from another world and swallow me whole, taking me away from this place once and for all.
Dropping my head into my hands, I realize I’m out of options. The mirror obviously isn’t going to save me…
Or is it?
My head snaps up, and I stare at the glass, seeking answers. The mirror itself isn’t a weapon…but it can become one.
Before I can internally entertain any doubts about my decision, I reach into the cabinet below and grab a towel. Placing the soft cotton over the bottom corner of the mirror, I grab a heavy-looking soap dish from beside the sink. I breathe deeply, in and out, in and out, gathering up the courage to do what comes next. I hope he isn’t in the next room, and I pray that he doesn’t hear what I’m about to do, giving away the element of surprise.
As hard as I can, I drive the square edge of the soap dish into the corner of the mirror. The impact is muffled by the towel, but I can hear the glass cracking underneath the pressure.
Removing the towel, I look at my handywork. A large circle is punched into the mirror with shards of glass splintering out from around it. I take the dish and use it to knock out some pieces, which subsequently fall onto the counter.
Grabbing a washcloth from under the sink, I wrap it over my hand before I pick up the biggest shard of glass that is on the counter. I feel like a crazed woman as I swing my makeshift weapon forward, slashing through the air, practicing for what’s going to come.
It feels like do or die at this point. Fight or flight; that’s what they always say.
Well, I choose to fight.
