What…the fuuuck….?

Why did I feel so dizzy? What the hell happened last night? And where the ever loving fuck was I? Because this wasn't my bedroom. And this wasn't my bed. I know I was wickedly hungover, but I don't remember drinking again last night. This kind of blacking out only happened to me once and that was my freshman year of college when I made the mistake of going to my first college party at a frat house. Some prick spiked my drink and at the end of the day, that's kind of how I ended up meeting Reid. He was trashed beyond belief, but he got me out of there. We went to Denny's the next morning…afternoon.

Aside from my dizziness, I did my best to ground myself a little more. This wasn't my usual bed. Instead, the sides were raised even more. I couldn't find any latches on them, though and if I was going to step over them, I'd end up hurting myself. So, for the sake of my physical being, it'd be best not to do that. Other than that, the room was pretty dark. Only a little bit of sunlight came through the window. And that window was sealed from the outside. There goes my chance of a window escape. What little of the room I could see, though…This place looked like a dollhouse. Only life size.

As I moved a little in the bed, something else felt off. Something below decks. And it wasn't like when something felt weird below decks at that frat party. I wasn't sure how to describe it. It was like my underwear was gone, but something was still there. It's the strangest thing. I couldn't pinpoint it if I wanted to. But then, something dawned on me. I know why the bars were on my bed. And I know why they were so high. This wasn't a bed. I was laying in a crib. What the fuck is my life?

Regardless, I think I could probably make it over the bar. My pain be damned. It'll be a temporary thing. God only knows what sticking around could do for me. I swung one leg over the rail. Only to lose my balance and fall back into the crib. Which was probably for the best anyway. I heard footsteps coming up the hall and the door handle moving. I had seconds to decide whether to stay awake or fake sleep. But I wasn't quick enough on the draw.

"Good morning, Amelia," Oliver walked in. I'm not sure if I should be relieved or horrified, "Did you sleep well?"

"What's going on here?" Just because I was torn between emotions didn't mean I couldn't get answers.

"What was always meant to me," he put his hand to my cheek, "If last night wasn't a sign of that, I don't know what was. You need guidance, Amelia. And lord knows you weren't getting it. And the decisions you were making for yourself were…let's just call them less than desirable. I'm the best you have."

"You seem to think so," I backed off.

"Think of it, darling," Oliver pointed out, "Your mother walks all over you. Your father is no better. And the shame of it all is that they're not even your real parents, yet you allow this all to happen."

"Wait," I perked up, a sinking feeling in my stomach, "What did you just say?"

"You didn't know?" he wondered, "They never told you?"

"Tell me what?" I didn't like where this was going. I didn't like it one bit.

"Oh, poppet…" Oliver awed, holding onto my hand, "You were adopted. The two people you thought were your parents have been lying to you from the start. They are not your blood. They never truly cared for you. If they did, they would've at least told you that much."

"No…" I shook him out of my head, "You're the one lying to me."

"I never have, darling," he swore, "Ever since we met, I've never lied to you. I have your adoption papers, if you'd like to see them."

"No," I shot him down. If Oliver was going this far with it, there's no sense in me seeing the papers. I don't want to make it more real.

"Amelia…" Oliver sat in front of my crib…Again. What the fuck is my life right now? I find out I'm adopted from a fucking crib from someone like Oliver, "You and me? We met from destiny. You and I crossed paths for a reason. And that's because no one will ever care for you like I do. No one will ever take care of you like I do. Your ex-boyfriend? He chose alcohol over you. Your alleged parents? Selfish. They didn't even have the decency to tell you the truth. You deserve the world, my love. And all I want to do is give it to you. I don't want to hurt you. I don't ever want you to be hurt ever again. I know this isn't the most orthodox way of keeping you safe, but as long as it does what it's meant to, then so be it."

"Why do I feel so off?" I asked.

"I told you," he reiterated, "I had to go through some unorthodox methods of getting you here. If I were to have asked you to go away on holiday with me, you wouldn't have said yes. But at the same time, I needed to get you here."

"Where is here?"

"This is my cottage away from our house," Oliver smiled a little, "Isn't it lovely? Do you like it?"

"Sure." At this point, I didn't give a fuck about it. I just needed to know a more exact location than just his cottage.

"I'm glad," he chimed, "Because we're going to be here for a while. Although, I'm sorry I had to go through the channels I did. I needed to mix a few things that would make you go to sleep for a little while. Between those and your hangover, you were sleeping like a baby last night and that's how that worked. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Super," I grumbled, putting two and two together, "You drugged me?!"

"No, no, no," Oliver clarified, "No one used that word. I didn't drug you. I just happened to wash your pillowcases. In a mixture of bleach and rubbing alcohol…That was enough to get you to go sleepy-bye long enough for us to get here."

"So, you didn't drug me," I snapped, "You chloroformed me instead!"

"Unintentionally, yes," he nodded, "But it was all for a good reason."

But the more I thought about everything going on around me, one thing became crystal fucking clear, "Oliver…If I ask you one question, do you promise to answer me honestly?"

"Of course, darling," Oliver promised, "What is it?"

"It's a two-part question," I began, "One: Did you happen to bring the swear jar with?"

"Bold of you to assume we don't already have one here," he answered, "Why?"

"Because of question two," I told him, "Am I seriously in a fucking diaper right now?"

"And that's what we needed the swear jar here for," Oliver gasped, "I thought I would've had you broken of that little habit already, Amelia. Don't get me wrong, dear. I love you, but as of right now, you're a bit of a flight risk and I wouldn't want you running off, so I can't exactly trust you out of this room on your own quite yet. Given your current cranky disposition, though, I don't need to change it already, do I? I could've sworn I just put that on."

"Why can't I just use a bathroom like a normal person?"

"Are you hungry?" he changed the subject completely, "I bet that's what has you so fussy. Stay right here. I'll bring you something. Back in a moment."

Oliver got up from his chair and shut the door behind him. I know I've said this a few times already, but what the fuck is happening? I'm adopted. I'm pretty sure I'm legally considered kidnapped. And I can't even use a fucking bathroom unless it's strapped to my ass! This is nuts, right? Like…This is an episode of CSI waiting to happen, right? No…Not quite CSI. Maybe Criminal Minds. Mmm…When does Special Agent Morgan come in to rescue me? Because…I wouldn't be mad about that.

Right now, I couldn't afford to think with my libido. I needed to find a way out of here and as soon as humanly possible. Granted, I have no fucking clue where Oliver's cottage was, but if I could get to a phone, I bet I know someone who would. Or a few someones for that matter. I'd hate to put Francois through this, but I know damn well he knows where this cottage is. By the way Oliver was talking about their relationship, they were happy at one time and I have no doubt they came out here a time or two before.

But then, Oliver snapped me back out of my combination of escape fantasies and Shemar Moore fantasies, "Amelia? Are you hungry?"

"I don't know," I glared a hole through him, ignoring the grumbling in my stomach. Dammit, he's good, "Am I allowed to make that decision or are you going to decide that for me?"

"Such rudeness coming out of you today," Oliver brushed me off, undoing the latches on the crib, "Now, I'm going to pick you up out of this crib. I'm sure the sedatives have made your legs a little wobbly yet. You're not going to hit me, bite me, scratch me, or do anything of the sort. If you do, I can make things a whole lot worse for you than the comfortable life I've given you. Do we understand?"

A part of me wanted to do all the of the above. But if this was Oliver at his best, I'd hate to see Oliver at his worst, "Fine."

"Good," he chimed, pulling me to his chest, "I don't want to make things difficult for you, so please don't make them difficult for me. Ok?"

"Fine," I wasn't giving him the satisfaction. And no one could blame me. I held my hands behind his head as the two of us sat down in the oversized rocking chair in the corner. Wow…It wasn't much different from my bedroom back home. Oliver said he was bringing me food. I'm fucking starving, but I don't smell his cooking. I don't understand, "I thought I was getting food."

"This is your food," Oliver reached over, shaking up a bottle. Are you shitting me? Is this where we're at now? Jesus Christ, "This has everything you need in it. Now, open your mouth."

He's lucky I'm starving. I don't know what hell would await me in that bottle, but I don't think it was baby formula. At least I hope not. I remember feeding my cousin when he was practically fresh out of the womb. The smell of that shit was nauseating. I tried taking the bottle from him, doing my best to preserve my dignity, but I should've known. There's no way he was going to let me do that. It's like Oliver said. He wanted to give me the world. And that included giving me a bottle. Against my better judgment, I opened my mouth as he asked me.

"Very good," Oliver stuck the bottle in my mouth. Ok. It wasn't formula like I thought. Good. Instead, this tasted like a protein shake. Honestly, I was kind of hoping for something a little more solid, but I guess this would have to do. As I indulged myself in this protein shake, Oliver started rocking the chair a little, "See? Isn't this so much simpler? Just you and me? You don't have to have a single care in the world. And that's not so bad, is it?"

Yep. There went my dignity. And soon enough, my sanity would likely follow suit.

"This was all I wanted for you, Amelia," he went on, watching as my bottle got lower and lower, "Just a simpler life. Something where you didn't need to worry about anything. Because I'd always be here to take care of it. Now, why don't you go back to sleep, love? You'll get a bath later. Promise."

Oliver put me back in the crib and redid the latches, but not without a kiss to my forehead before he walked out. I need to get the fuck out of here. And I need to do it now.