Page 19 of Johnny

and out. A place for sleeping, and that’s about it. Still, there are two portholes on either side, which

are dark. And that’s good information because at least I have an idea of the time of day.

There’s two doors and I’m hoping one of them is a bathroom. I swing my legs off the side of the

bed and test my feet, unsure of how strong I am. I was pretty weak back there in that dungeon. And for

a moment my knees buckle and I almost fall. But I take a breath and lock them up until I’m standing.

“OK,” I mutter. “This is an improvement.” It’s literally eight steps to the other side of the cabin, so

I manage and pull the pocket door open to reveal the bathroom.

I sigh as I relieve myself. Even though it can’t have been more than a week since I was taken from

my home, my sense of time is all messed up and those days and nights in the dungeon made it easy to

forget I am used to luxury like this.

I sigh at that thought. I really, really want to think about my old life and forget the new nightmare

I’ve been dropped into.

But I can’t. I have to pull myself together.

There are clothes on the basin.

One package of white boxer shorts. New. One white t-shirt. Used, but clean. I get a whiff of sweet,

fresh laundry detergent when I pick it up.

I slip that on immediately, catching the scent of a man as it goes over my head.

I rip the package of boxers open with my teeth and pull them out. Too big, but they’re all I have. So

I pull them up my legs and fold the waistband over twice to make it work. Then wash my hands and

steady myself using the wall as I go back into the stateroom, looking at the plate of food as I listen for

sounds outside.

It’s within arm’s distance, so I reach over and poke a finger into the cheap, white bread. Still

mostly fresh.

Not that I give a fuck. I’m starving. I would be eating this sandwich even if that bread was hard and

crusty.

I pick it up, take a bite, and say, “Mmmmm,” even though it’s clearly some kind of pre-packaged

meal type thing.

Tangy mustard hits my tongue and then I reach for the drink box and suck on that tiny straw until

there’s nothing left but half-dry slurps.

Now what?