Glory and Gore

A Stranger's Bed

Lucy wasn't exactly sure when she'd fallen asleep, but she awoke with a headache.

She opened her eyes and flinched, pain stabbing through her skull; she rubbed her forehead, letting out an audible groan. It took her a few moments to gather herself enough to look at her surroundings.

A room. She was laid on top of a bed; the sheets were grey and the duvet was navy blue. The walls were a plain cream color. In the corner, there was a laundry basket with a few pieces of clothing tossed into it. A closet to the right of the bed, but the door was closed. The room overall was extremely plain and not terribly large.

Lucy swallowed; her throat burnt like she'd been sipping bad whisky. Her hand flew up and rubbed her throat, trying to soothe it. She let out a shaky breath as the achiness in her body became apparent. She peered down at herself. She was still in her skirt and heels.

A moment of fear flickered through her as her mind played over the previous couple hours, before she'd fallen asleep. The bar, the fight, the brutality...and then being thrown into the car. About to be taken to the bridge, driving towards death by the two men from the brotherhood. But...she wasn't dead. She was here, in a bed, aching and wearing a short skirt.

Lucy swallowed, fearing the worst. Maybe those men had changed their minds momentarily, thought of a better purpose for Lucy. Maybe that's why she was so sore, why her throat hurt so much, why she felt like her brain was going to burst. Maybe they'd drugged her, and...

She closed her eyes, not finishing her thought. The idea of it made her sick. To think that they would do that, to think they'd drug her and...rape her...it was horrifying. But then again, she'd witnessed these two men shoot down and stab roughly thirty people last night without even blinking. They were gangsters, part of Fiore's mob. They were bad people. Of course they would rape.

The word made her stomach turn, and before Lucy knew it, she was leaning over the bed and vomiting on the floor.

She felt awful, like a train had hit her. Getting sick hadn't helped—in fact, her throat ached more now, craving a glass of water. But she didn't know where she was, didn't know who she would face when she left the safety of the bed, so she stayed put.

Lucy didn't know how long she was there for—her purse and phone weren't in the room with her. She laid on bed and tried not to be sick again. She tried to think of how to escape, but she didn't think she had the strength; her body wasn't in good enough shape for her to make a run for it. Besides, these were mobsters—if they could take on thirty men without a second thought, they'd kill her instantly. She was lucky they'd spared her this long.

What had they done to her last night? Why was she so sore? Why did her head feel like it was splitting in two?

She would've cried, but the effort made her headache spread. She put her head in her hands and cursed girl's nights. From now on—if she ever escaped—she would never go on a girl's night again. Pyjamas in bed with a book was her go-to, now.

She must've laid there for an hour before the thirst became too much to bear. One hour of absolute torture—her head hurt, her throat ached, her entire body throbbed. She tried not to think of what those mobsters did to her, tried not to face the reality of her situation. She wasn't ready for it, not yet. But the thirst was all she could think about, and suddenly, she felt herself stumbling towards the door. She was so desperate for a drink that she didn't care what was beyond this little doorway—mobsters, murderers...it didn't matter. She needed something to drink.

So, Lucy swung the door open, preparing for the worst.

Instead, she found herself in a hallway. It was plain, just like the room. Neutral colors on the walls with wooden floors leading towards the rest of the building. There were a few photos on the walls, one with men smiling and laughing. Lucy frowned, rubbing her throat as she dizzily made her way down the hallway.