Page 8

I put it down.

There are bottles of nail polish arranged beside the mirror. One is almost exactly the color on my nails now.

I look at my hand. Then at the bottle. Someone noticed.

A jewelry box sits at the end of the vanity. I open it. Necklaces, rings, bracelets, earrings. Everything silver. I pick through them carefully.

There are a few pieces I wouldn’t wear, but not many. Whoever bought these knows I don’t like gold. Knows I prefer thinner rings. Knows I’ll wear something delicate if it has enough edge to keep it from looking sweet.

At the bottom is a choker.

Black velvet, narrow enough that it won’t swallow my neck, with a tiny silver ring at the center.

“Oh.”

I lift it out. That’s fucking gorgeous. I look at myself in the mirror. My eyeliner is smeared from sleeping in it. My hair is a disaster. There’s a crease across one cheek from the pillow.

Still.

I fasten the choker. It sits exactly where it should, snug around my throat. I tilt my head.

“Oh, fuck you.”

It looks incredible. I turn the other way. Still incredible.

There’s a hairbrush beside the jewelry box. I stare at it. Then at myself. I sit down.

The brush slides through my hair without catching. I work out the tangles sleep left, then part my hair properly and brush it forward over my shoulders.

Better.

I tuck one side behind my ear. No. I pull it loose again and arrange it around the choker instead.

Much better.

I sit back and look at myself.

Whoever picked this knew exactly what it would do to my neck. Exactly where my hair would fall around it.

I touch the little silver ring. I smile at my reflection. Whoever locked me in here knows exactly what I like around my throat.

The chip in my front tooth catches the vanity light. And suddenly I remember why I was asleep.

Closing the store. Feeling sick. The woman who comes in on Thursdays.

I’m on my feet before I realize I’ve moved.

My bag. Where’s my fucking bag?

I yank open the dresser drawers again, throwing clothes aside this time. Nothing. I check beneath the bed, inside the wardrobe, behind the curtains even though there’s nowhere for it to be.

No bag. No phone. No keys. My coat is gone too.

“No, no, no.”

I go back to the door and wrench the handle.

“Hey!”