by Ivana Shaft
Calla looks so worried that I try to think of something comforting to say to her, but I come up blank.
“Is this some kind of joke?” she says, looking at me as if I could possibly have the answer.
“I hope so,” I say. “Can’t imagine who’d play it though.”
“I assure you that this is no joke,” the voice says. “And I am well aware of the…complications of the matter. You, Calla—such a sweet girl, with your pious background and sense of devotion, can’t possibly imagine giving in to my terms just yet, I’m sure. Sleeping with your boyfriend’s best friend! Oh, the impropriety.” Calla’s mouth falls open while the speaker chuckles. “But you, Jason—I know you have what it takes to get you two out of here.”
“I would rather starve to death than sleep with you—no offense,” Calla says to me, her eyes narrowing, and then looking away.
Offense taken. But I can’t say that, of course.
Still, who wouldn’t be offended? I’m not a bad-looking dude—certainly not so unattractive that someone would rather literally die if saving their life means us ending up in the horizontal tango. I mean, jeez—what’s that about, Calla?
She jumps when the voice comes again.
“You won’t starve—we’ll make sure of that. But make no mistake, you will stay here until my terms of release are fulfilled.”
I had already done so, but I look around the room again with new eyes.
It’s about a thousand square feet and has a shower in one corner—no shower curtains, no door, no way of hiding. Just a drain, and some soap on the embedded soap dish.
A well-made up bed is in the opposite corner.
I walk over to what looks like a closed-off area near the shower and discover a toilet. Opposite that is a basin with unopened toothbrush packages and toothpaste.
Near the bed is a pile of soft material, and when I examine it, I discover underwear—bathrobes, lingerie.
Next, I check out the bed. It looks so inviting—the bedspread and decorative pillows almost glisten from what is clearly more expensive linen than my own budget no-name brand. Plus, I’m kind of tired. I guess being kidnapped and knocked out with who-knows-what and driving for who-knows-how-long will do that to you.
“It’s just not happening,” Calla says, snapping me out of my thoughts.
When I look at her, I see that she is standing with her arms folded, shaking her head. “We’ll just have to wait this out. This can’t be real.”
“Oh, but it is, my dear Calla, you shall see,” the voice intrudes again.
“Let us out of here, you sick fuck!” she screams at the voice.
Haha! I have to stop myself from laughing out loud. There went this guy’s whole proper church girl theory. Proper church girls don’t curse like that, do they? I know Calla, though—she’s a modest gal, but what a fiery streak she has. She doesn’t talk much, but piss her off and watch out.
The man behind the voice cackles at Calla’s outburst, and what can I say—goosebumps rise on my skin. Maybe the guy’s laugh was creepy anyway, but that distorted sound—whatever is being done to mask his real voice, I assume—made the laugh straight out of a nightmare.
Who knew what we were dealing with here?
Personally, I figure shouting and screaming at him won’t do much good, but whatever makes Calla feel better, I guess.
In the meantime, I’ll just have to think and figure out an alternate way to get us out of this; there has to be some way outside of this weirdo’s terms.
“Oh, Calla,” the voice begins again, “I cannot wait to see the soft pink lips of your pussy open up to him.”
I can tell Calla is struck dumb by his words, as am I.
And I have to admit—what he said turned me on. The idea of the soft, pink anything on Calla…
I make sure not to look at her after that. Or the bed.
2
Calla
What in the fucking hell!
My boyfriend will save us; he’ll find us—he has to!
I have no idea where Jason and I are, and no idea why someone’s playing this sick joke on us, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before I sleep with Jason. No way.
Not like he’s some hideous hunchback or anything—I just don’t roll like that; I don’t give the goods up for just anyone just because.
My boyfriend, Scott, was my first and so far, my only, and I have every intention of keeping it that way.
I never even planned to sleep with him—or any guy for that matter—until I was married; for some reason, that’s the only thing from my upbringing that stuck. Well, sort of.
Anyway, Jason and I are just not…look, we’re friends. That’s it.
I know how valuable that is; I know how hard it is to keep real friends of the opposite sex once you grow up, and I don’t plan to fuck that up, pardon the pun.
There’s just way too much at stake here, way too much on the line.
Even in these circumstances, I don’t think Scott would take lightly to me sleeping with his best friend. I mean, how could I really explain that?
I mean, yeah, if this turns out to be real, he’d be a jerk not to be a little bit understanding, but there’s no way it wouldn’t affect what we have.
If the shoe were on the other foot, I’d be enraged; I’d never get over him fucking my best friend, even if it meant saving his life.
God, I must be a selfish cunt.
I look around the room and hope for a weakness somehow—there has to be another way out of here. Jason will find it. He’s so resourceful and strong that if any part needs to be busted through, he’ll do it—he’s got the muscles. Not that I ever caught myself staring at them or anything. I mean, seriously—you can’t miss them. Hellen Keller wouldn’t. He’s not like lunk-huge, or like Schwarzenegger or anything, but the guy is built.
He was always strong though. I remember one time—I think we were thirteen—part of the ladder broke to my treehouse, and he hoisted me right up there.
Anyway, like I said, if we have to, we’ll wait it out. We just got here, so no need for any rash decisions. How embarrassing would it be if it’s just some prank after all, after we go ahead and get right to it? What if it’s some elaborate setup by Scott to test my faithfulness before he marries me?
Not that he has proposed yet or anything, but he will—probably when he graduates from that college. No need for the two of us to rush into anything when we’re not together together. I mean, obviously we’re completely committed to each other, despite the distance. He’s not even that far away—just one state over. We see each other every two weeks or so, so it’s not like a real long-distance relationship. Besides, absence makes the heart grow fonder I’ve been told.
Anyway, I love Scott, and I’m not gonna hump our mutual best friend just because some phantom says I have to. I mean, who does this creep think he is? And why would he do this? Especially when, as he said, he’s aware of the complications of the matter?
Wait, is that why he’s doing this? Just for kicks?
Jason is looking around right now and has started feeling out the weird-looking wall—I guess hoping to find some kind of secret passage, some kind of device where, if you touch it in a certain spot, an opening will appear and flip you to the other side of the wall or something.
I look at his outstretched arms. His biceps start to stir me again, so I quickly scan down his forearms and settle on his hands. That’s a safe spot. His hands are somewhat large—definitely male, but clean. His nails have been kept low.
“What, do you go to some manicurist?” I say, forcing a chuckle.
He briefly looks back at me with slight confusion, then focuses on his hands.
“I do. I treat my hands and feet to whatever the Korean lady wants to talk me into—a massage, a clipping, whatever that fucking hand wax is. The pampering feels good, and my hands end up smoothed out and easier on whatever lady I need to handle.”
He turns and grins at me, and I feel jealousy and arousal at once.<
br />
So stupid, right? Jason’s just my friend—I should be happy for him that he scores every now and then—although, looking at him right now, it’s gotta be more often than just every now and then.
“So do you get massages in…other places?” I say like a co-conspirator, and just as I start to wonder what his hands would feel like on me.
He doesn’t answer—he just smiles a little and turns his attention back to the wall.
Fine. So it’s not my business, I get it.
Why am I just standing here staring at him anyway? I should be looking around too.
I turn and start examining the area behind me.
Maybe I’ve seen too many mystery movies, but I’m convinced that, instead of a bookcase, since the room didn’t have one, maybe if I touch the bed or that little dresser a certain way, it will turn and flip me to the other side.
But did I want to be flipped? What could possibly be waiting for us outside of this room? Would it be a setup? Because why wouldn’t the owner of this place know we could accidentally stumble on something like that? Would he kill us if we find it?
Still, I touch all the items in the room to see if there’d be any effect.
Maybe the other side of this room would be worse, but I had to try.
The dim room we are in isn’t terribly uncomfortable—the temperature is fine, although a little on the cooler side, and it is light enough that we can see each other and objects around us clearly. Plus, it doesn’t feel too small—heck, it’s definitely bigger than my apartment, I can tell you that. I’m living in about five hundred square feet, and this place is at least a thousand.
I decide to examine the clothing that has been left for us. They feel soft and amazing—the way I imagine that bed’s gonna feel, like all of these soft materials are from the best stuff. I’m guessing real silk and everything.
Obviously, this Voice Man has money and this is some sort of pleasure dungeon.
I press one of the pieces to my skin and almost purr. I wish I could afford to wear something that feels this nice.
I check out each piece clearly meant for me, and not only are they soft and comfortable and clean, they are quite sexy. Yeah, it’s obvious what this guy’s up to. This whole room is built for lulling and messing with our heads.
I count the underwear, which, apparently, is the only clothing I’m supposed to wear while here: seven pieces, if I count the silk bathrobe.
Really? Is he going to resupply us somehow? Or does he really think we’re going to give in to his terms before a week is up?
I sneak a glance at Jason and catch him looking at me intensely, his green eyes fiery, before he turns away and goes back to his task.
What’s he thinking?
I know if it were up to him, we’d be out of here today.
Fat chance.
3
Jason & Calla
JASON
My visual and tactile inspection of the place turn up nothing. This joint is like a prison—there’s no breaking out of it easily. I guess I could try to see where the vent leads, but other than that, things don’t look good.
I know the guy behind the disembodied voice is watching us, and can probably get ahead of any move I make.
For now, I give up.
I can’t even tell how the hell we got in—there’s no sign of a door or anything.
Eventually I turn to Calla, who has been checking out the room, too.
“So obviously, this is awkward,” I begin. “Looks like we’ve come up blank, and I’m not sure what time it is, but whenever you’re ready for bed, feel free to take it—it’s yours; I’ll take the floor.”
Calla seems to let out a breath.
“Thank you,” she says, still not looking at me. She hasn’t looked at me for a while now, come to think of it.
“I wonder what Scott’s thinking,” I say, and that gets her attention for a second.
“Yeah,” she says. “I wonder what time it is, actually. How long were we out cold? How long have we been here? Either way, Scott will know something’s wrong soon. We never go more than eight hours without talking to each other. Then again, he has that study group…” Her voice trails off and something in her manner changes. Something else is going on in that pretty little head of hers, and I can guess what it is.
See, Scott decided to go back to school to get his bachelor’s degree. He got grants and loans, so money isn’t exactly the issue—not yet, anyway—and Calla is done with it herself, so it’s not like she’s jealous he’s getting a higher education and she isn’t. The problem is that Scott is sort of jealous of her. As far as I can tell, Calla appears nothing but supportive and doesn’t put him down in any way, but Scott confided to me that he has always felt judged by her. He’s paranoid that she thinks she’s better than him, so he started working on doing everything he could to improve himself.
But that only introduced more problems. I saw this particular one coming a mile away, and I figure Calla hasn’t missed it, either. We’re still young, so although Scott’s going back as an older student, a twenty-four-year-old dude suddenly amongst a bunch of eighteen to twenty-two-year-old coeds…well. I think we all know where this is going.
CALLA
Jesse’s going to be at that study group with Scott. Or was there, if the time has already passed. Jesse, as in short for ‘Jessica.’ But what do I care, right? Scott’s in school and study groups are a part of it.
But the only reason I even know the name ‘Jesse’ is because he mentioned her before. Casually, of course. I try not to get jealous because, obviously, Scott’s going to make a lot of new connections. He’s going to take some of the same classes as other people in the same major, and probably have to go on class trips or whatever—that sort of thing. I don’t expect him to be some antisocial weirdo.
It’s just that…well, Jesse. Why did Scott bother to mention her name, right?
See, he didn’t know this Jesse before starting school again, but eventually, sometime in his first semester, he mentioned a girl who obviously liked him that he had to make clear to he was taken. Then, the next semester he’s all, “Remember that girl I told you about? She’s in my English class this term. She sat next to me on the bus today. Jesse.”
Something told me right then that Jesse had not taken no for an answer. Even when Scott was all, “She’s harmless, though—I’m not even attracted to her, so don’t worry.”
I decided to take his word for it, but I don’t know.
Now they’re studying together? She’s like some tutor now because she’s smart and generous with her time.
Yes, I have a bad feeling about this, but what can I say without sounding all crazy? Scott already told me not to sweat it. The semester will be over before we know it, and he probably won’t end up in a class with Jesse again.
Suddenly I feel very tired.
Usually, I read until I’m sleepy, but today has been quite harrowing. My emotions have been yanked all over the place, leaving me exhausted.
Thank goodness Jason and I didn’t have to work out some awkward arrangement—although I guess it would only be right to at least offer to switch places with him sometime and take the floor. Who knows how long we’ll be here before we can figure a way out? But for now, I’m sure Jason will be fine on the ground with a pillow. He’s a guy; he can take it.
4
Jason
My back is killing me. I’m sure sleeping in the woods would be more comfortable than the ground here in this room. There’s no way I can keep this up for too long, but for now, I won’t say anything to Calla; I don’t want her to feel guilty. She’s still asleep anyway, looking quite comfortable on that bed.
I take a moment to check her out. Like me, she stayed fully clothed, only taking off her shoes. She is lying on her tummy, wearing her jeans and T-shirt; she ignored the teddies and other soft-looking nightwear that had apparently been put out for her.
“I don’t know where that stuff’s been,” she’d said. “Bes
ides, where would I change? There’s nowhere to hide in here.”
“I’ll turn around.”
“Thanks, but I just don’t feel comfortable. With any of this.”
Way to state the obvious, Calla!
I’m not comfortable in any way myself—except for being near her; I always feel comfortable around her. Calla, to me, feels like a really old friend, and it’s probably because she sort of is. Calla, Scott and I went to the same junior high school, and she probably had no idea of my crush back then—too busy making goo-goo eyes at Scott. She and I became really good friends in eighth grade, and then Scott swooped in in the ninth. As the new guy, he suddenly had everyone’s attention, but Calla won him in the end. The funny thing is, Scott and I had gone to the same elementary school. We recognized each other almost immediately, and formed an easy friendship from then. I don’t know how much of it on my part was to keep a close eye on him now that he had Calla’s attention, and I don’t want to think about it too much; he and I are truly good friends today. As much as I adore Calla, and would love nothing more than to have her in my arms instead, I respect him, and I want her to be happy; I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize my relationship with any of them.
I turn away from Calla just as she switches positions, her eyes still closed, and I try not to think about how vulnerable her lips are to mine in that moment.
I could do it—I could get away with finally planting a kiss on her, but I won’t, and not just because her eyes could suddenly pop open and catch me.
Then I think, what the hell—what could she really do but get mad for a few seconds? Maybe longer, sure—she’d hold it against me, but I’d just pretend I was just staring at her. “Because you’re so beautiful—to me, anyway.” I’d tell her that. I’d watch her cute little face flush with embarrassment, those brown eyes framed with lush lashes look away.
