The boom of a trash truck outside startled her. Her head was spinning.
“Where am I?” she gasped, fumbling for her clothes. As she dressed the sound of someone showering hummed from the next room.
“Why don’t I remember. Was I drugged?” she mumbled.
She grabbed her things and tiptoed past the bathroom; the front door in sight at the end of the hall, when she heard the water stop.
“You’re up! Where are you going so early?” his unfamiliar voice rasped from behind.
“Work. I have to go to work,” she whimpered not turning. The door was padlocked.
-kat – 12 April 2017
For Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers challenge based on this photo prompt by © Dale Rogerson