'Forgotten Nights' by Fran Sutton

The room is bare and dark. I am all alone, and I want to cry. But, try as I might, the tears refuse to spill over my eyelashes and run down my cheeks, which would create paths through my freckles and leave grooves in my already flaky make up.

I glance up and take in the old cobwebs hanging from the upper corners of my four foot by three foot prison. The dark trails of mould crawl down the faded off-white walls, and the dim moonlight illuminates the bare room.

I close my eyes and my head begins to swim, the world rotates and warps, and the space around me shifts and seems to shrink even further. I start to feel my body slide down the damp wall and cover my closed eyes with my cold hands, desperately trying to make sense of this overwhelming dizziness.

   I must have blacked out, because when I open my eyes again it is freezing cold, and judging by the dark sky I outside I assume it to be early morning. I have a desire to use the toilet, and nervously ty to scramble to my feet. The room contorts once again, and I fall back to my knees and crawl towards the door. The handle pulls down but there seems to be a weight pressed against the other side of the door.  I bang my hands against the door and try to call out but my voice doesn’t seem to be working. I realise how thirsty I am.

There’s a crash from the other side of the door, followed by a deep voice yelling ’shit’, and I quickly retreat into the corner of the small room, backing into the wall below the window, as though the structure will give me some protection.

The door opens and the outline of a tall, bulky man stands under the rickety frame of the entrance. His face is large and he has a shiner over his left eye, his dark stubble reaches across his sharp jawline and down his throat. He walks into the room and crouches in front of me. His large frame fills the room and I suddenly feel claustrophobic. My voice still doesn’t seem to be working, so I just stare at the floor and try to pretend I’m not here.

“Do you need some water?” His gruff voice echoes off the bare walls and I nod. I move my right hand towards my crotch and look at him questioningly.

He nods, stands up and leaves the room. Before I can even think about running, he’s back with a tall glass of water and a black plastic bin.

“Relieve yourself in here, “ he grunts and slams the door behind him. I hear the shuffle of a heavy object and then a small bump as it hits the door from the other side. I look incredulously at the plastic object, and steeling myself, pull it closer to me. Using the corner of the room to push my torso upwards, I slide my leggings down and cringe as I hover over the small receptacle. I don’t know how I got here, but I hope this is just a dream.