It wasn't a very restful nap. All of that crying took a physical and emotional toll, not to mention the way your ass felt. You weren't sure what time it was; when you opened your eyes, the room was blissfully dark, providing blessed relief to your dry, tired eyes, but if you strained, you could still see a bit of light peeking through the curtains. So it must still be day then.
When you dragged yourself up into a sitting position, your headache increased exponentially. You groaned as it began to thump behind your eyes with the steady beat of your heart. You put a hand to your head and licked your dry, sticky lips.
The, as Atalanta called it, Reflection Room was as dull as always. Grey shag carpeting, white, nondescript furniture bolted to the floor, and an open doorway leading to a bathroom. But something on the nightstand caught your eye: a full bottle of cold water. Eagerly, you snatched it up, ripped the top off, and drank it down.
After your drink of water, you felt a bit better. You still felt like shit, but at least your mouth wasn't dry anymore. Getting up, you opened the curtains, letting some afternoon light in, and went to the bathroom to splash some cool water on your face. When you returned and sat gingerly on the bed, a knock at the door sounded.
Atalanta gently inched into the room, a gentle smile on her face. Try as you might, you were just too tired to hate her right now. She inched close, wary, but when you didn't really react, she softly reached out and laid a hand on your forehead. She traced your face, your cheek, your neck, both checking your temperature and trying to comfort you.
"You look tired, my love," Atalanta spoke softly, coaxingly.
"I heated up some dinner for the two of us. Are you hungry?"
When you took stock of yourself, you were surprised to find out that you were hungry. Perhaps part of your terrible headache was hunger, as the beginning edge was thirst. You nodded.
"Are you ready to come out?"
In the future, perhaps even later tonight, you might be ashamed of the pitiful, cowed look you gave off. But for tonight, you just didn't fucking care.
You swallowed, your voice appropriately contrite and exhausted, "Yes, please."
Atalanta lit up, her handsome face erupting into a bright smile with her perfectly straight teeth. She helped you up, murmuring softly about how tonight would be nice and easy, how you both could relax and just enjoy spending time together. Her words and tone were kind of nice, and you let them wash over you.
Settled on the couch, swaddled in a soft grey blanket, with the TV remote in your hand, you thought that maybe this wasn't so bad. Atalanta doted on you, bringing you water and dinner (Atalanta repeatedly claimed that Agnes's chicken and chickpea stew was the best she'd ever tasted, "and it's high protein too!").
Atalanta sat close to you on the couch, wrapped with her own blanket, her own bowl of dinner in her hands. As you ate, you could sense her eyes on you. At first, you were too tired to care, but as you replenished yourself, your sense of irritation began to return. Why the fuck was she staring at you? Your ass hurt, your head hurt, and you hadn't been outside in two days. You were stuck in a luxurious penthouse apartment with a crazy hot CEO woman giving you mooning looks. You weren't in the fucking mood for any of this bullshit.
Atalanta startled, but quickly recovered, "I apologize for staring, Darling, but I was just wondering... are you still in pain? I can apply some more pain relief cream later if that would help."
You were sore, but the memory of crying like a toddler as Atalanta rubbed soothing ointment into your reddened ass made your cheeks burn, "No. I'm fine."
Atalanta smiled indulgently, "If you're sure, Y/N."
You stabbed a chickpea and ate it. They were a new food for you, a tiny round mystery that tasted bland unless it overtook the flavors of whatever was around it. Atalanta was right. The chicken stew was good, savory and salty with fresh cilantro sprinkled on top. It settled comfortable and warm in your stomach, calming your temper. If anything good had happened since you got kidnapped, you had been eating well.
"It's delicious, isn't it? Agnes is a gem, I'm so happy I found her," Atalanta couldn't seem to shut up, so you ignored her, eating another bite. You liked cilantro.
Sensing you were ignoring her, Atalanta pouted. In truth, it wasn't really pouting, knowing Atalanta it was surely something more elegant and prestigious. But you described it as pouting. So Atalanta switched to a different tactic.
"Darling, do you remember that other unused room upstairs? The one with the amazing lighting?"
Atalanta wouldn't tolerate silence for long, so you spoke up, "Yes? What about it?"
"Well, since you are my lover now, I thought you might want to take that room for use of your own. It's still the early days, but it might be nice for you to have a little project!" Atalanta smiled as though she was thrilled to offer you some sort of entertainment, "We can have everything brought in and designed to your specifications. Whatever you like!"
