Firstly, I own nothing to do with 50 Shades. Just a fan messing around with the characters. :)

Thank you all so much, I am so flattered. Hoping this one isn't a disappointment. More will be revealed next chapter. Sorry if its slow building.

CHAPTER SEVEN

When I wake next morning, I stretch out, feeling the stiffness cramping up my bandaged foot. I turn on my back carefully, blinking up at the ceiling.

It's not a dream, unfortunately. Everything about yesterday had truly happened. I'm still here, in this room that is now to be my prison cell. It wasn't some horrible nightmare, but reality.

I sit up, glancing at the door that is still left ajar. He didn't lock it like he had said he wouldn't. At least I won't be stuck cooped up in here all day, unable to use the bathroom or stretch my legs properly in walking around.

I can't hear anything moving about in the house. He must have went to work, like he also said. The fact that I can't hear him lurking around, that there is literally no flurry of movement or activity anywhere in my prison, it expands my heart in relief.

I won't have to worry about those eyes of his following me around, for eight hours at least. I can do my own thing; Maybe even check out the house to find out if there is anything he might have missed that could give me some vital clues into his motives for doing this to me.

I am alone and free to do whatever I want- to an extent. He's gone. He's isn't anywhere in the house. And I have never felt this relieved in my entire life than I do in this moment of time.

Pulling the sheets back and climbing out of them, I check the time on the clock hanging on the wall as I stand and stretch. It's just after nine o'clock in the morning.

As I get into the bathroom, using the toilet and washing my hands, I stare down at the large claw-footed spa-bath indecisively. It looks very tempting, and I do need to have a good wash, seeing it has been a full day since I've had one. But as for now, I don't want to waste any time. I have some major exploring to do; Bathing can wait for now.

Treading down the stairs proves to be most challenging of all; My foot can hardly withstand any of my weight resting on it, so I have to resort to hopping while gripping the railing for dear life.

In the early daytime, houses look so much different than how they were at night in the dark. I can see better now. I can see everything; From the glistening tiles that make up the floor, to the kitchen that seems so huge for one man living here all by himself.

Hardly anything looks as though its even been touched or properly used; Limping into the kitchen, the counter is clean with no crumb or mark in sight. There's a hanger with kitchen utensils and a knife set. A range of different coffees and teas neatly together, arranged in order alphabetically.

Doesn't my captor ever eat and use his kitchen? Or is he that... anal about cleanliness?

Paintings are on the walls that I have never seen before. Along an open way is what seems to be a living room area, with a U-shaped ash-grey couch and a massive flat screen TV. But more importantly, beyond that TV, is the doorway that opens up to the balcony.

Because I crave to get the chance to feel the sunlight and fresh air against my skin, its the first place I get to. I yank the sliding door open. Instance I do, the breeze hits my skin in a heavenly way. Hopping out until I reach the end of the balcony, I rest against it, gripping the iron railings with both hands. The view is absolutely beautiful. It's definitely Seattle, because I recognize some of the buildings.

Glancing down past the railings, I get instant vertigo.

Usually I am not afraid of heights, but on an empty stomach, it makes me feel ill. I'm so high up that if I ever did manage to fling myself off the balcony as a way to escape, it would be suicide. I see little cars driving on the road far, far down. The rush of wind blasting my hair around and in my eyes.

I close my eyes, tilting my head back towards the sun.

It's amazing how much you take things for granted. I have never thought about how important it would be to breathe in fresh air, to be able to feel the warmth of the sunlight on your skin. When its denied to you to a certain extent, its so easy to realize all the simple things you have taken for granted.

Like phones. The internet...

Friends...

Family...

Sunlight...

Air.

I'm so wrapped up in being able to stand in the fresh air with the sunlight streaming down on me, that I almost miss the two workers wiping the windows on the high-rise building across from me.

Holy shit. What glorious luck is this?

There's about a ten meter distance between the building I am in and where they are, elevated on some kind of rope contraption. I don't know if they will be able to hear me or not, but its worth a try.

Cupping my hands over my mouth, I start to scream, giving it all I've got. "Hey, over here! I need you to help me!"

When I think I spot one of the men's white hardhats turn in my direction, I start waving my arms around, my heart pounding in all my desperation.

"Please, help me!" I holler as loud as I can. "My name is Ana Steele, and some guy is keeping me in here!"

Nothing happens. He just stares at me, this lone figure in a two-day-old party dress, high up on the top floor of a massive building.

"You need to call the police and tell them! Anastasia Steele is trapped up here! Please!"

When it becomes obvious that my cries for help are falling to deaf ears, I start sobbing uncontrollably. Ever since waking up here, I've been crying more than I have in a single month. I don't know why I keep crying, but I guess its the stress and complete helplessness of my situation getting to me.

I will get through this though, I tell myself, trying to cheer myself up. So far it hasn't been as bad as it could have been. You are still alive and he hasn't beaten you or raped you- yet. Eventually, someday soon, someone will see me in here. Someday soon, someone will hear my cries for help. Who knows? Hopefully Kate has already notified me as missing?

Head hanging low with defeat, I force myself to head back inside. I can't let my emotions take over and let myself wallow in defeat. I have to keep hopeful and optimist as much as possible.

My stomach makes a loud gurgling noise so I try to distract myself on finding something to eat. It's been- what? A full twenty four hours or more since I have last eaten anything substantial?

I head back into the kitchen, stopping stock still as my eyes land on a large, dark wood dining table. How could I have missed this?

He bothered to make me breakfast.

Set out on the table, are buttered pieces of wholemeal toast on a plate. Next to it, a little selection of what looks like marmalade and peanut butter to spread on the toast with.

Since I think the possibility of him slipping some illicit substance to make me drowsy into the marmalade or peanut butter is highly unlikely, I take my chances when my stomach makes a horrible growling noise again.

It's really lucky he isn't here to watch me eat. Something tells me I would be the one repulsing him, that he wouldn't like what he sees. I spread a thick coating of marmalade on the toast, then literally cram it all into my mouth. I can't even bring myself to care that I'm spilling crumbs all over his immaculate, shiny floor. It seems like fair payback though, in all things considered.

It feels so good to eat and have something to fill my stomach with after going without for a full day yesterday. I don't care if I'm being impolite in eating messy; There is no one here in the house to see me to get offended anyway.

Once I've managed to demolish every last bit of the toast, I drop the plate into the sink, not even bothering to wash it up like I would have if I was still in the apartment I shared with Kate right now. Dusting the crumbs off my fingers, I make a start on investigating again, starting with his bedroom.

This time, I'm cautious about stepping on the floor in case there are still shards of glass lying around. But as I inspect the carpet carefully, I'm sure he cleaned it up after last night. I can't spot any shining pieces of glass anywhere.

What I would like to do, right now above all else now that I'm no longer hungry, is to find the bag I took to the club with all my belongings in it. I know he said that the bag wasn't in his room, but it's still worth looking around to see if there are any clues into who this guy is.

I start with the drawers near his bed, pulling them out to see whats inside them. So far, there are just ties neatly folded up and socks. Surely this guy has something he has hidden away in here?

Hopping into the bathroom, I switch on the light, looking around. The mirror is still broken but he's cleaned all the glass up. There's an electric toothbrush in a porcelain holder with toothpaste- nothing groundbreaking there. In the other drawer, a razor. Men's aftershave and moisturizer, an expensive brand. Nothing revealing who he is. Not anything anywhere that came out of my bag to be seen in sight.

Where else could he hide things?

Biting my lip, I glance around again. Then I see the door that opens up into another room at the end of the bathroom. I feel like I'm in a weird maze as I try the door, finding it unlocked. As I pull it open cautiously, poking my head through, it turns out to be just another room. A walk-in wardrobe, in fact.

I can't help wondering if this guy has obsessive compulsive disorder. Even his shirts and suits are ordered in way of color. His shoes on the shoe rack are no different. Evening dressy shoes, top shelf. Casual shoes, bottom shelf. Can a male really be that pedantic?

This time, the floor length mirror in the walk-in wardrobe isn't smashed. Instead, what looks like paper is stuck over the top of it where the reflection of his face would no doubt be seen if he stands there, with tape.

I can't help but feel sorry for him, really. He must really hate his reflection that badly, which is tragic. I also know, from him coming into the room and sitting on the bed last night, forcing me to touch his face while he uttered those words filled of hatred, that he had a rough childhood.

Someone obviously abused him at a young age, an adult he had trusted. Obviously his mother, seeing as he said how they told him that they should have aborted him while they had the chance. If so, then what kind of mother would say those type of things to their child, destroying their self-esteem and making them feel worthless in the process? It's emotional abuse, and no child deserves that, no matter how unruly they are. Did she give him the scar that he is so paranoid about as well, the one under his chin?

Poor thing.

It seems so ironic, pitying him when he is keeping me locked in his place like this. I shouldn't be feeling sorry for him at all. But child abuse from your very own biological mother... If he has been through that, then I think that is a good enough reason to pity him just the slightest bit despite his inexcusable actions in what he is doing to me. I'm only human and I can't help feeling sympathy towards someone else due to certain plights in their life.

But maybe he looks like Frankenstein or the Elephant Man?

When he let me touch his face last night, going by what I felt, he didn't feel all that bad, though? It was just the scar beneath his chin that I felt, that's it. Also, he felt like he could use a good shave. Maybe he's lying about it? Maybe his face isn't that horrendous as he wants me to think it is; He just mainly doesn't want to reveal his identity too soon? He wants us to "get to know each other" first?

Who knows?

I could be wondering all day and not get anywhere...

Giving up on my search for my bag, I head back out of his room. The large house suddenly seems too quiet, in an eerie way. In order to break it, I decide to turn on the TV. I find the remote, and switch it on. The early morning news is on. They talk about terrorism, and all these other horrible and sad things that are currently going on in the world.

I see it on the bottom of the screen on the news ticker as it scrolls through. My heart constricts as I stare at the screen, waiting for it to return again. Once it does, its like its a message from God himself.

"WU graduate student still missing after 24 hours. Search still underway."

I have no idea if its me they are referring to, but I can only hope that they are. If so, what a relief!

Kate must have notified the police. Either her, or my parents. They must realize I am missing and that its suspicious, something dangerous.

Just like that, all the hopeless feelings inside of me seem to recede. There is still hope, after all. They've cottoned-on to me being missing and they are searching for me.

They know I've been taken due to suspicious circumstances.

And hopefully, it won't take them too long to find me.

In a much happier and less dismal mood over what I saw on the news, I decide to have a bath to clean myself up after nearly two days of not having a wash. There is this new burst of hope that was lacking within me before, swelling inside of me permanently like a balloon. Eventually, they will have to connect all the dots, which will inevitably lead them back here to where I am.

Here, in this house.

It's hard not to feel as though I am bursting at the seams with relief.

Once I feel clean and thoroughly washed, I let out the plug while wrapping one of the white towels tightly over my naked body, letting myself out and back into the room. That ever-present hope inside me diminishes a little, when I open the drawers and see that he has brought me clothes, that Taylor guy like he said. I pick out a pair of jeans, a frilly violet shirt, and a cardigan to throw over it.

I'm horrified when I look at all the tags to see they are exactly the right size and fit for me, straight down to the bras and underwear. How disturbing that this guy knows my bra cup size- something so intimate in my eyes- and yet, I know absolutely nothing about him. Hardly anything, aside from knowing he plays the piano.

But I push that aside deliberately. Nothing else should matter anymore.

Sooner or later, I will be out of here. I'll be free. Someday soon, the police will be getting ready to barge through the elevator, maybe even arrest this guy for what he has done to me.

It gives me strength to carry on, that thought. Who knew watching the television could inspire you and give you the courage you needed to carry on?

I shake my head, realizing I am getting too overexcited. I shouldn't get my hopes up. It could be awhile until they finally find me trapped in here. In the meantime, I try to think of something else to do; Something that will distract me.

Getting changed is one distraction.

With the camera in the bedroom, I don't want to get dressed in there. I go into the bathroom instead for some privacy, just in case he does intend to watch me through that creepy thing.

It's an effort to slip my right leg through the jeans, because I don't want to hurt my injured foot anymore than it already is. It takes some time to carefully get my foot through the end of the jeans without moving it too much, but I get there. Pulling on the cardigan, I feel so much better in clean clothes. I fold the towel back up, hanging it how it was in the bathroom on the rack. Then I collect my dress and my old underwear, unsure of where to put them for the laundry. So I just leave them in the room where I slept last night.

Hair dripping wet and uncombed, I head back down the stairs, taking it one careful step at a time. What can I do? What should I do in a massive house by myself for a few hours other than daydreaming of the police finding me and carrying me away out of this hell?

Dinner. I decide to make dinner, though I'm not totally sure why.

At the apartment with Kate, I was always the one that did cooking duties. Cooking has always been something I enjoyed. Even when I was a kid, I would cook for my Mom and my stepfather when I lived with them. Hopefully it will get me in this guy's good books if I do cook him dinner? Who knows? It may even earn me enough brownie points that he will feel touched enough to let me go, ending my stay here. Probably not, but cooking and keeping busy is better than just sitting around.

I open the stainless steel refrigerator, checking on what ingredients he has inside. Vegetables. Already cooked chicken on a plate, though I don't know how long its been in the fridge for and whether its still good. When I pull it out, sniffing it, it doesn't smell off to me. It should be safe to use.

There are peas in the freezer so I decide on making a chicken stir-fry.

I find a pan under the counter but the stove top, I find, is confusing. It's a recent model, by the looks of it. There are no simple knobs to switch it on, no anything. When I swipe my hand across it, that's when it lights up, startling me.

After a bit of trial and error, I finally get it working. I put the pan on the stove, heating up some butter while I slice up the chicken, carrots, and other ingredients to throw in. As I start tipping in peas into the pan, my mind drifts off into a terrible direction. I wonder if he had something here that I could fatally poison him with; Slip a little something in to his dinner.

I smack myself on the head mentally at that murderous notion, shaking my head.

There would be no point in poisoning him, because I will be out very soon once the police find me. They already know I am missing and it has even been broadcast on the news for all of America to see. I just need to be patient and, in the meantime, focus on making him happy by playing his game and giving him what he wants.

Once the stir-fry is cooked, I dish it out, taking both plates over to the table. Then I set out knives and forks, humming to myself. That strange inner sense of peace disappears when I step back, looking at my work.

Why am I doing this, in making him dinner? Since when did I turn into a Stepford Wife? Knowing him, this is probably what he wants; For me to slave away, making him a nice meal. Is it too obvious? Obvious that I am trying to suck up to him?

Just as I consider scraping his plate of food into the trash, I hear a noise. I think its him. He's home now from work. I have no idea what time it is, but it has gotten fairly dark outside. Shit, its now or never. Do I turf the food out or not?

He makes my mind up for me when he appears almost out of nowhere in a pressed, light grey business suit. I don't know what I was expecting, but when I see the black ski-mask concealing his face from me yet again, my heart sinks in disappointment. Not being able to see his face, its irritating. He'll have to show me it eventually, won't he?

My body becomes significantly different as he stares at me with his piercing gray eyes through the holes. It's like a drastic contrast from how I felt before, alone; Before, I felt almost carefree and at ease in being by myself. Less like a person locked into this huge house somehow. Now, already my hands are shaking for no particular reason; my stomach in a tight and heavy, anxious coil. I'm back to being a defenseless prisoner again, all due to him.

I fold my hands together, intertwining my fingers in the hope of ceasing their trembling as I watch his eyes dart around the room. First, he takes in the pan on the sink. Then, the plates and the cutlery all laid out on the table with widened eyes. Thanks to that stupid balaclava, I can't tell what he is thinking or feeling at all.

Maybe he's wearing that thing on purpose to remind me? To always keep it in the forefront of my mind that he is my captor, that he has control on whether I live or die, or am released or stuck here forever?

"I... I made dinner," I croak out, hating how vulnerable I sound. I clear my throat quietly, trying to sound stronger. Get it together already, Steele. "I thought it was the least that I could do, seeing as I was here all day."

He blinks at me slowly, something there in his eyes. I think he's pleased, but it really is impossible to tell. "Would you like a drink?"

Would I like a drink? What?

"After today, I'm going to have one. White wine?"

Yes, because nothing would please me more than to wine and dine with my kidnapper who won't let me leave... Is he for real? But then I remind myself of what I was planning to do, in going along in letting him get to know me.

"Okay then? If you are, then I suppose I'll have some wine too."

I watch him as he shrugs out of his jacket, his eyes still scrutinizing me. Maybe he's wondering what brought this on, in me making him dinner like a dutiful prisoner? "You had a bath," he says, freaking me out. How the hell did he know? Unless he has a camera in the bathroom, too? When I looked every crevice of the bathroom, I couldn't see one though.

My hairs still damp. Probably why he noticed. "Yes, I did," I breathe.

"Thought so." He nods, draping his jacket around a stool. "I thought I recognized it."

Recognized it? "Recognized what?"

He starts stepping towards me. Though I think I know he doesn't really intend to cause me harm- or well, he has tried to make that clear on me- I can't help stepping back as he stands in front of me, his eyes peering deeply into mine. The corner of his mouth is lifted, like he is finding amusement or enjoyment out of something.

"Recognized what?" I repeat again, unnerved by his closeness.

He makes me feel like prey. He's the hunter, I'm the hunted.

I see him close his eyes for a brief moment, before he reopens them. His eyes roam down my face before he meets my gaze again, something disturbingly gentle in them. "The scent of the body wash, Anastasia. I can smell it on your skin. Not once did I think I would ever actually be envious of body wash before."

What?

I swallow dryly at his words, trying to work out the meaning in them. Then I feel paralyzed from my head downwards, when he lifts up his hand from where it is at his side.

He traces his hand down from my shoulder to my forearm. Even although the cardigan covers my arm from him truly touching my skin, I can still feel the warmth of him through the light fabric. Maybe I'm just being paranoid, but it feels like its menacing, the way he is touching me.

"Thank you."

"For what?" I force myself to look up at his eyes again despite him standing barely inches away.

"For making dinner. It was..." He pauses, contemplating on how to word it, I think. "Unexpected. It was unexpected of you."

He lifts his hand again. This time, he puts a finger under my chin, stroking me with his thumb. I close my eyes tight, my heart feeling as though it has stopped from the dread trickling through my pores.

Shit, I think he is actually warming himself up to kiss me!

If he does follow through on the attempt to kiss me, I am not so sure I would be able to handle it. I need to distract him.

I make myself speak, hoping he looks beyond the unsteady quaking of my voice. "You said something about wine, remember?"

I don't reopen my eyes until I feel him take his hand away and hear him move. When I muster up enough courage to glance in his direction, fortunately for me, his back is facing me as he rummages through the refrigerator.

Heaven help me.

HOPE THIS WAS OKAY? I'm sorry if it was a disappointing chapter. Next chapter will be more eventful and a few certain things will be revealed.