Abandoned ComfortPosted: June 28, 2015
Samantha opened her eyes as she rolled over. The bed felt strange. She soon realized the reason for that was that it wasn’t hers. Canary yellow and slate gray bed linens covered a much firmer mattress than she was used to sleeping on. The pillow was different as well, and when she tilted her head enough to read the spine of the book on the bedside table, she nearly laughed out loud: Buying Guide for Pillows. She had no idea how there could possibly be enough tips and tricks for pillows to fill an entire book, even slim as the volume was.
The book was a distraction, but she quickly came back to the problem at hand: she had no knowledge of how she ended up here, wherever here was. The bed was comfy enough; still, she was beginning to get the heebie-jeebies from the stillness in the room. Was it just a room? She hadn’t seen enough of it to make that call.
Trying to push aside her worries for a moment longer, Samantha closed her eyes as she rolled to her back and stretched her arms and legs all together, pointing her toes for the maximum benefit. She sat up and opened her eyes at the same time. That odd feeling had been correct; it wasn’t just a room. It looked like a movie set of a hotel room, placed inside a gigantic warehouse. A vague sense of unease crept up her body as she scanned the warehouse for someone, anyone, even a homeless derelict bent on murdering her.
She flopped back to horizontal, making an oomph sound as she hit the firmer-than-she-liked mattress. A quick run-through of what she remembered from the previous day gave nothing of her present position away. Resigned to not knowing the whole story until someone was around to tell her, Samantha threw the covers back and swung her feet to the floor.
It was concrete, and ice cold beneath the area rug on which the ‘hotel room’ was set up. Samantha hated cold floors.
She noticed that she was still in the last outfit she remembered putting on before work the day before, a red peplum top and white capri pants chosen to flaunt her shapely calves. She had an unexpected vice: barbell seated calf raises. she knew it was an oddly specific exercise to be particularly devoted to, but she couldn’t help herself. Defined calves were the thing that made her feel the most like herself. She even had a peculiarly painful loyalty to a certain weight bar at her gym.
Her sandals were placed at the edge of the rug, next to one of the chairs. She sat and quickly buckled them on.
Time to go, she thought to herself. She stood and walked purposefully toward the nearest door, which she hoped led outside to a place that she would recognize.
When Samantha reached the door and rattled the knob, she nearly gave up and cried when it didn’t even budge. With a sigh of relief, she noticed the deadbolt slightly above her head. She thought it seemed strange to mount a deadbolt so high, but when she flipped it open and the door gave way, she didn’t spend another second wondering.
She stepped out into early morning sunlight, and had her bearings in just a few seconds. She was only a couple of blocks away from home, and the building she was exiting was one that she’d passed a hundred times if she’d passed it once, without ever giving it a second glance.
She was curious if she’d ever find out what had happened the night before, but since she felt fine, even exceptionally well-rested, she decided it wasn’t worth wasting a worry over.
Two steps from the door, Samantha stopped in her tracks. She felt her right pants pocket and pulled out her phone. She could have slapped herself for not even considering to check her phone; for crying out loud, that’s what they’re for. No missed calls or texts, no weird Facebook posts on her wall, but when she opened her photos folder, she found exactly one hundred shots of her sleeping face, on those gray and yellow sheets.
Extra fancy instructions today from The Blog Propellant. Did I start out well enough?