In a Stranger's Shoes, part 2

Read the previous part here.


The phone is ringing. A cold shiver runs down my spine again. Whose call can it be? What if the girl wakes up? How am I supposed to act? Should I pick up the phone? I decide to pick up the phone, not because I wish to talk, but because I don't want my sleeping companion to wake up. As I lean further forward to pick up the ringing phone, the inevitable happens: she wakes up. The phone stops ringing that very instant. "Who is it?" she asks, peering into my eyes. “I don’t know”, I manage to utter, dumbfounded. Her arms circle my neck and I receive a kiss on my temple. She drifts to sleep again. I’ve never felt so intimate with a stranger before; for some reason, the feeling is a welcome one. Silencing my inner desire to stay in that position for long, with some amount of effort I set myself free without waking her up again. I get up and sit on the edge of the bed. My mind is boggled by questions. What place is this? How did I get here? Who is the girl? I breathe in and out several times to regain my bearings. I know sitting on my rear will not answer these questions. I will have to find out. I get up and walk up to the window. I look outside. There are skyscrapers around me. It turns out I am in one myself, I know there are more than ten floors below the one I’m in. This is not my town. This is not even my country. I can tell that from the strange script on the advertisement boards; it looks like French. A strange fear overwhelms me. I feel like vomiting. A string of elusive questions gnaws at me. Nothing seems to make any sense. I turn back, look at the blond again. She’s beautiful. Her serenity has the soothing effect on me. My senses come back to me; I have to think of a plan. I look around; there’s a door in the wall opposite to the bed. It must lead to somewhere. I open it and find a dead end: it’s the toilet. I get inside; it is well lit. I bow down in the wash-basin and splash water against my face. I look at myself in the mirror and realize I am no Brad Pitt; the presence if the girl is left unexplained. As soon as I’m done wiping my face with the towel, the goddamn phone rings again. I walk towards the phone with long strides to answer it; perhaps it might leave me with clues to solve the puzzle. I pick the receiver and the voice of a female is heard: “They are waiting for you in the car.” She hangs up.

Read the next part here.