Page 1 of Darkened Promises

ONE

ROSY

My brain’s weighted and sluggish, thoughts drifting but unable to stick as I struggle to blink myself awake.

Why does everything feel so heavy?

My head lists to the side, and sharp pain shoots up my neck. Shit. I must’ve slept funny and pulled something. I try to get my mind to move, to think, but concentrating is hard. I whimper when needle-like pain stabs into my brain. This is worse than any headache I’ve had before.

I tug at my hand to ease my sore muscles, but it doesn’t move, and something digs into my wrist. When I make another attempt to pry my eyelids open, piercing, blinding light sends bolts of pain into my brain.

Panic over the unfamiliarity surges through me, but even that feels slow and unsteady. Usually panic and anxiety are at the forefront for me, only everything’s hazy and out of reach.

This isn’t my room…or any of the guys’ rooms.

Off-white walls surround me, the colour aged and uninviting, with deep pink curtains open around a darkened window. A tall, free-standing lamp faces me, the light bright and responsible for my burning retinas.

Craning my neck, my eyes widen. There’s unassuming oak furniture, including a dresser on the left with a mirror above, a closed door directly in front of me, and on the right wall there’s a built-in wardrobe. Scattered in between them are cat trees, an overly large pet bed, empty bowls on the floor…all of them in shades of pink. There are no other personal items for me to gauge where I am.

This is getting worse by the second.

Is there a cat in here too?

I attempt to sit up, to get my bearings and leave…but my limbs are rigid. I glance down and my heart freezes in my lungs. My ankles and wrists are tied down, anchored to the corners of the bed I’m lying on. I try to pull free, and my skin around the leather creases and wrinkles uncomfortably.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Definitely not good.

Dropping my head back heavily, I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to hold back the tears threatening to fall.

Think, Rosy. What do you last remember?

Nothing. I can’t…I don’t know. My thoughts repeatedly slip away, overwhelmed by panic.

What would the guys tell me to do? Noah would suggest breathing, to focus on that.

Inhaling, I hold it, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling, then exhale. A choked sob crackles out with it, disrupting the flow. I try again, then feel slightly clearer after the third attempt.

The last thing I remember…is losing my job.

The argument with the guys.

The text from Peter to pick up my stuff.

Arriving at the empty office…then nothing.

I pull against the bindings again, trying to ignore the thought that someone broke into the office and took me. Is Peter okay? Did they hurt him too?

Panic hits in full force now, and it threatens to consume me with its onslaught. How do I get out of this?

What if I can’t?

What are they planning to do with me?

My chest tightens and pressure builds; my breaths rush in and out so quickly it burns.

I can’t think straight. I can’t do this.