A thick layer of haze distorted her vision of the room as she slowly opened her eyes. The tiny hairs on her arms stood on end. As she tried to hunch over and protect herself from her new cold climate, a stinging sensation shot across her wrists. She couldn’t move. It was as if she were attempting to wake herself out of a dream. She looked down. Her heart raced as she realised her nightmare. She was bound to a chair. The coolness of the thick, coarse rope plunged into her skin as she continued to twist.
How did I get here?
She continued to strain forward. The last thing she could remember was waking up in her hotel room alone. Wrestling against her bonds, she felt the polished wood of the chair brush against her skin, causing the pores to form goose bumps. The room felt like a fridge. She peered down at her bonds once more. Where her rose-gold watch once lay was an indent tattooed onto her skin.
She felt terrible because she had just left the man she loved and admitted defeat. There was no use pretending or hoping things would change. The kind and playful man that she fell in love with had morphed into a workaholic who showed no signs of slowing down or changing. He lived for his job, and it was demanding. It followed him home and consumed their weekends. Her partner had slowly morphed into a roommate. And she was left to vie for his attention, hoping he would hear her voice amongst the sea of many others.
Although she was proud of him and everything he’d achieved, she knew he would never change. He was an optimist, a hopeless romantic, and would always hold on and never let go. She loved him, but this was not the relationship she wanted. Three years after they’d first met, she found herself all alone in a strange city and facing a terrible decision. But she didn’t want to be the woman who pressured her man to give up a career he loved.
So she left. Now she was all alone in a dimly lit basement somewhere, knowing that she had broken his heart and he would never know to look for her. After all, she’d made it perfectly clear that she was returning to Paris and didn’t want him to follow her.
A sharp pain shot through Valentine’s head as her vision became a little clearer. She looked down at the thick, dark-red rings around her wrists. Over to the far right-hand side of the room were rows of shelves lined with stone jars, all bearing a thick layer of dust.
I must be in a warehouse.
Valentine leaned forward to loosen the rope that bound her to the chair. She paused and squinted into the darkness that lay ahead of her. For the first time since she woke up, a faint outline of a person appeared to be standing in the shadows. Something within her knew they had been watching the entire time.
Valentine pushed her tongue into her gag and tried to push it farther down her face as her heart raced. But it was no use. She wasn’t going anywhere. Valentine inched forward, and her skin burned as the rope dug into her.
‘What do you want from me?’ she asked, muffled by the gag. She attempted to lean forward to get a closer look at the person in the shadows.
The figure remained silent. An eerie sensation swept over Valentine as the silence continued. If intimidation was the game they were playing, it was working. But why? Why am I down here?