Soft II

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Soft I

After only an hour of frantically searching the room, she concluded that it was impossible to escape.

The tiny round window near the sloping ceiling was sealed shut with thick glass, to obscure any sound from the outside, which meant she could scream herself hoarse, and nobody would listen. It was a little too high to reach even if she put the desk and the comfy chair together – which she couldn’t because both of them were too heavy to move or lift – so she gave up on that.

The room was rather plain; a twin bed, a desk accompanied by a chair, a nightstand, a chest of drawers, and a soft rug near the bed. There was a built-in closet too, large and filled with clothes she hadn’t bothered paying much attention to because they weren’t hers. She was hoping he wouldn’t force her to wear them. What if there had been someone here before her and the clothes belonged to them? If so, what had become of them? She shuddered to think of what might become of her, so she pushed the thoughts aside.

There was also a small, albeit squeaky clean bathroom attached. It had a sink, a toilet, a shelf, and a shower. She found the absence of a mirror odd. Had he excluded it on purpose? She couldn’t make out any marks that would give away a mirror being removed, so she presumed it had never been there in the first place. Given the situation, her appearance shouldn’t have mattered much, but somehow, it made her feel out of place and insecure. There was something comforting about being able to see one’s own reflection, a habit she’d adopted when practicing for any public speaking event in her school days, of which there were many.

Another interesting thing was the clock. It was wide and round, hung above the chest of drawers, with an ebony frame to match the rest of the room. It ticked and would bring her back to the present every time she got lost in her own head. However, the clock wasn’t the only interesting thing. There was a single piece of paper lying atop the chest of drawers.

She was afraid to approach it.

Everything in this room, including her, was there for a reason, so the thought of a paper randomly lying there wasn’t realistic. It took her five more minutes to draw the courage to pick that paper up. She frowned at the neat handwriting:

Follow the instructions carefully. Complete them before the clock strikes seven.

  1. Color coordinate the clothes in the order of the rainbow.
  2. Open the desk drawer, and answer the packet of questions inside.
  3. Shower using the products in the bathroom.
  4. Change into something black.
  5. Wear maroon lipstick.
  6. Do not wear any jewelry.
  7. Do not wear any shoes.
  8. Sit down on the chair facing the desk.

Failure to comply with the instructions will result in punishment.

She couldn’t fathom any rationale behind those set of instructions except the need for control. She almost smacked herself. Of course, he wanted control, he was holding her captive against her will, so why wouldn’t he? The obedient child inside of her wanted to comply with his demands, but the larger part…

She wasn’t going to give in to the requests of some crazed man, by dressing in someone else’s clothes and putting on lipstick. She’d checked the toiletries, and hadn’t liked all of the strawberry scented products on the shelves. The thought of him smelling her on purpose sent shivers down her spine.

She thought of giving in to the urge of obedience once again but came out rebelling against the need.

However, she did want a change of clothes; god only knew how long it had been since she’d been unconscious and dragged into the alien room. She felt as if the very walls were spying on her, and decided if she was going to be here until she escaped, she needed to feel a little at ease. Not completely at ease – mind you – being alert was the best method to cope with this but she was still slightly groggy and she couldn’t bring herself to completely focus, even after the thorough search of what might’ve been the attic, given the sloping ceiling.

She went to the chest of drawers and rummaged through until she could find something comfortable to wear. The blue skinny jeans were too constricting, and her black camisole offered no protection whatsoever since she couldn’t find her jacket anywhere. She came up with soft black sweatpants and a white t-shirt. She quickly changed into them, wary of any cameras watching her.

Instead of sitting on the chair like he’d told her to, she sat on the bed. The room was warmer now, so he must have increased the heating. She settled into a more relaxed position and found out that she was far too tired to come up with escape strategies. Her eyes began to droop, and before she knew it, darkness found her again.

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Soft III

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