Strange Holiday

I suppose it shouldn't be that much of a surprise, and I can't help but feel like I should have seen this coming. For a moment, all I can do is look at the three small links that connect the cuff around my wrist to the one around the pipe. Soon, I'll be able to think clearly enough to decide what to do next, but for now I'm just going to sit here and stare at that short bit of chain.

I really can't blame her. After all, she was taking as much of a risk as I was, going home with a stranger. For all she knew, it could just as easily have been her chained up in a hotel bathroom with a head full of pillows and chalk dust. Of course this was probably her plan when she went out tonight, but I learned a long time ago you never know who you're fucking with, and I'm sure she's learned that too.

A few minutes go by before I start to really assess my situation. My head is still cloudy and my tongue feels thick like it's filling my whole mouth, but my eyes work so I start looking around.

My first irrational fear is that she stole my kidneys. Like in the story. But I'm not sitting in a bathtub full of ice, and a quick reach back with my free hand seems to reveal a noticeable lack of surgical scars. Everything seems to be in place. Everything seems fine.

Except of course that I'm naked and chained to a water pipe.

I look around the room and notice a few things. First off, it's decently well lit. There's a central fixture over my head, and it looks like it has several smaller bulbs in it. It's not a dirty bathroom. The floor is clean, and the little soaps are sitting on the edge of the tub and by the sink, still in their little wrappers with the hotel's name printed on them. It occurs to me that hotels probably use such cheap little soaps because people steal them all the time. Bastards. The towels are all folded neatly and sitting on their wire shelf between the toilet and the tub, but my clothes are nowhere to be seen. Which means they must be in the bedroom. At least I hope that's what it means.

I'm not scared. Even if I end up sitting here all night and day tomorrow, the maid will be in eventually for turn down service. The next day or so might not be the most comfortable of my life, but it's not like I'm in any real danger.

I wonder why she just left me here like this. Things seemed to be going well. We got on alright at the bar, and at the second bar after we left the first one. I brought her back to my hotel room thinking the evening was progressing, well, more or less as I'd predicted. I planned on being naked, just not handcuffed and alone.

It must have been the wine. She'd drugged me somehow, that was obvious. One minute we're dancing in the bedroom, drinking the merlot, and then I wake up here, like this. So it must have been the wine.

It doesn't seem fair really. And for a second I allow myself to feel wronged. Cheated. I had plans. Things were going well. I'd really been in need of a nice little holiday, and this weekend was supposed to be just that. And now it was all ruined.

I'm not really upset though. Not for long. After a while, I even laugh about the whole thing. The maid will find me, in a day or two. Until then, I'll just sit here and wait. It's not like I had much for her to steal anyway, not on me. She got a little cash, a few credit cards I can cancel tomorrow, maybe she kept my cell phone. But nothing too serious. I kinda hope she just left the cell phone. It's a new phone.

So I didn't get laid. It's not that big a deal. I'll get laid next time. In a way this is better. I have a story to tell.

After all, if things had gone the way I'd planned, I'd hardly be able to tell anyone about it later. You can't exactly brag about picking up random girls at bars, having sex with them in hotel rooms, and then murdering them and taking their bodies out to the desert in the trunk of your car to bury. But I can tell the guys at work about this. It'll even make them laugh.

And there'll be other holidays and other girls. It's never hard to pick up girls at the bars. And next time I'll be more careful.

Because you never know who you're fucking with.