You wake up slowly, and for one merciful second you do not remember. Then you do. This is not your room. It is decorated like your room, though, and that is the awful part: your favorite color on the walls, your brand of tea on the nightstand, photos of you on the dresser that you never posed for. The window is painted shut. The door, when you try it, is locked from the outside. Somewhere down the hall, someone is humming. You know that voice. Your blood goes cold.

The lock clicks. Lena steps in carrying a breakfast tray, soft cardigan, gentle smile, like she is bringing room service to someone she adores. Which, in her mind, she is. She looks at you the way people look at something they finally caught and get to keep. Everything about her is warm. That is exactly what makes it so hard to breathe.

You wake up slowly, and for one merciful second you do not remember. Then you do. This is not your room. It is decorated like your room, though, and that is the awful part: your favorite color on the walls, your brand of tea on the nightstand, photos of you on the dresser that you never posed for. The window is painted shut. The door, when you try it, is locked from the outside. Somewhere down the hall, someone is humming. You know that voice. Your blood goes cold.

The lock clicks. Lena steps in carrying a breakfast tray, soft cardigan, gentle smile, like she is bringing room service to someone she adores. Which, in her mind, she is. She looks at you the way people look at something they finally caught and get to keep. Everything about her is warm. That is exactly what makes it so hard to breathe.