Insatiable Hunger: Chapter 05

Suddenly, I am jolted awake by the sound of my phone vibrating. I reach over to my bedside table and look at the time.

It’s still dark outside, but the alarm clock reads 6:00 AM. My heart races as I try to remember where I am. The events of the past few days flood back into my mind, and I realize with a start that I am back in my apartment.

I sit up in bed, feeling disoriented and confused. My body aches from the intense experiences of the past few days, and I can’t help but wonder what happened to me. As I rub my eyes and try to wake up properly, I turn on the lamp on the bedside table and I notice the sharpie mark on my thigh from the phone number Master, I mean, my captor wrote down.

I look back at my phone and see that it’s Thursday. Shit. Somehow I’ve missed a day. I have an hour before the store opens.

I jump out of bed and start getting ready for work. The events of the past few days feel like a distant memory, and I struggle to process what happened to me.

I shiver at the thought of him, feeling a mix of fear and arousal wash over me. I try to focus on getting ready for work, but my mind keeps wandering back to him and the phone number on my thigh.

As I step out of my apartment, the city streets are still quiet, and the early morning sun casts long shadows across the pavement.

I make my way to the store, my mind filled with thoughts of my mysterious captor. The more I try to push him out of my mind, the more he seems to take over. By the time I reach the store, I’m feeling flustered and disoriented. I unlock the door and flip on the lights, immediately regretting being here.

The brightness of the store hurts my eyes. I take a deep breath and try to focus on getting ready for the day.

I sigh and begin to restock some of the empty items on the shelves, trying to focus on the task at hand. Eventually, Lexi walks in the door, a half hour late spouting some nonsense about her car and its trouble. I’m only half listening to her as my mind keeps wandering back to my mysterious captor and the events of the past few days. I only catch the last part, “…and it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t gone up and disappeared on me.”

The story of Lexi and her disappearing boyfriend is one of her favorite topics even though it happened over three years ago. Apparently, the guy up and left her skinny Latina ass after he came into some money. I always give her a sympathetic look as she tells the story. But knowing Lexi like I do, I can’t really feel sorry for her. “Dude really dodged a bullet there.” I always think silently to myself.

Lexi and her smoking hot body attracts a lot of attention in our small town and has had her fair share of love interests. Even I can’t help but look when she comes in with some tight-fitting outfit. But once you get to know her, that ship sails as they say. Some passing homophobic comments also let me know that she would have zero interest in me anyway.

All through the day, I can’t focus on work. My hands move on autopilot as I run the register and answer customer questions, but my thoughts are elsewhere. I keep wondering what happened to me, why he did what he did, and whether I’ll ever see him again.

As the day drags on, I start to feel anxious and restless. My thoughts keep drifting back to the mysterious captor, as a distraction I find myself watching Tanner’s backside as he stocks shelves, unable to even focus on that.

Finally, it’s time to go and I drive back to my apartment. When I arrive my landlady is out watering her flowers.

She waves me over and says in her think Russian accent, “How was your trip? Did you have a good time?”

“My trip?” I ask. “Yes, the trip you talked about in your letter. You said you won some money in a contest and were going on a short trip. You even said you won so much you paid in advance for the next three months.”

I’m taken aback by her words, my mind racing to recall any contest I might have won. But I’m certain I didn’t win anything, and I definitely didn’t write a letter to my landlady about it. I feel a sense of unease creeping over me as I ask, “Can I see the letter?”

My landlady’s expression changes from friendly to puzzled, and she says, “Oh, dear, I must have misplaced it. But I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.” She puts down the watering can and walks over to the small table on the porch, where she keeps a stack of mail and newspapers.

She hands me the letter.