BROOKLYNN
They are talking about me.
I can just barely hear them outside of my— the— closed door. Five slightly distinctive voices filtering through the wood. Five voices, and only one of them female. That is truly distressing. Nothing on my body feels sore or in any other serious pain, so I will count that in the positive column.
The sheets on this massive bed smell of peppermint and something distinctly male. The scent is heady. I cannot help but to bury my face in the warmth of the soft cotton sheets.
“You don’t want her to feel like a prisoner.” A voice from beyond the door says.
I snap back to my sense of self-preservation; flinching away from the pillow so quickly that I nearly fall of the bloody bed. I yelp, hurrying to my feet, my eyes finally flying open to take in my sur
