It's quiet.

You wait an hour at least, counting each minute. Did other kidnapped victims do that?

Then you stand up, stretching your legs. Your knees crack uncomfortably loud and so does your back. How long were you just laying there? You feel well rested, so you must have slept for quite some time. (Though the unbearable exhaustion and emptiness is still present, and you're drained from two panic attacks.)

You walk around the room quietly, testing the handle on the door. It's locked.

No use there, then.

You walk over to the other door; this one isn't locked. It's a bathroom. It's got a toilet, a sink, a mirror, a shower and a bathtub. (The two are separate! These people are fucking rich to have a shower AND a bathtub separate.)

You walk back into the bedroom and looks at the walls. They're plain. There's no shelves or anything. But there are however three sets of hooks against the wall next to a big mirror. (You pull at the weird handle on the mirror and discovers that it's a closet that slides open. There's a bathrobe inside.)

You rub your hand on the soft fabric of the bathrobe. You're eyeing the waistband of it. Your body moves on its own as you pull out the waistband and holds it with both hands. You turn your head and stares at the three hooks. (Would they hold your weight?)

The bedroom door opens, startling you, and a blonde man walks in.

They both stop and stare at each other.

The man furrows his eyebrows at you and squints.

"What were you doing, mate?"

Oh. It's Phil. You had forgotten about him