OWNED BY A STRANGER

"Welcome to the Hilton hotel. Please press the number of your floor."

The lifts talk these days? Personally, I think that there is nothing more annoying than a talking lift, but well, everywhere you go, you find a talking something. I mean, geez, what's wrong with people? Humans are meant to talk, and now you can hardly have a conversation with a stranger without looking like a creep. Oh, but they don't mind a talking lift.

Even so, I've learned that there are really creepy-creeps in this world, like the man who was standing next to me. He was probably in his late forties and yet was looking at my legs as though he was going to jump on them at any moment. What's with people and their obsession with legs anyways? Legs were made to walk with, as long as you could still walk, that is...

Oh god, the creep stepped towards me.

I had to get out of there. The one thing I could not handle was old creeps near me. Okay, maybe cheese cake too. I could not handle cheese cake; it made me want to puke. How could someone eat something like that?

Being so wrapped up in my thoughts, I had forgotten to press my floor number. Oh, damn. I let the lift take me all the way to the top floor.

I impatiently waited for the door to open and then literally sprinted out of there. The creep and I were not good friends. Well, too bad for you, creep, because you lost out on a golden friendship because of your stupid leg ogling.

I walked through the corridors only to realize that I had come to the floor that the suites are on. Oh! How would it feel like to be in one of those rooms? When I can afford a room like that, the first thing I would do is jump on the bed. I have heard they have the most comfortable beds ever.

And that was when I found the grand double doors of a room ajar. Ah, I love my luck. I peeked into the room just to have a look. There was a fancy living area with a circular table in the middle, a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and two doors leading out of the living area.

Just a little glance around wouldn't harm anyone, right? And then when I'm done, I will go and tell Britany all about what the most expensive hotel rooms look like.

I tiptoed into the bedroom and oh, the bed, the huge California king-sized bed! I wanted to jump on it. I looked around to see the huge room absolutely filthy. A Dirty Room?! What? Someone paid so much money to get such a luxurious room and then they made it messy? That person does not deserve the room.

I placed my hand bag on the counter next to the TV, kicked my shoes off, and hopped onto the bed.

It was the best bed in the world. Oh, my god. Paying for the cheapest room during the off season at the Hilton itself had drained me of all my cash. And yet I didn't get this bed? Not fair.

Whooshhhhh....

Holy shit! There was someone in the washroom. I was a dead woman. God, forgive me for swearing.

Oh, no! I sprinted across the room, out through the living room, and into the corridor all in record speed.

Thank you, God.

I walked towards the elevator on the soft, velvety carpet of the corridor, allowing my heart rate to slow down and enjoyed the feeling of the brown carpet between my toes. Wait, how could I feel the carpet through my shoes?

Where were my shoes?

I had left them on the floor in the bed room, and I couldn't even go back in! I hated the other pair of shoes I had.

Walking into the elevator, I went all the way down to my floor. I was glad that I had gotten to see the suite. I had pretty much taken my own personal grand tour around the place.

Tsk, tsk, tsk. I walked back into reality and into my hotel room with its hard bed. Unlike the suite, my room was clean - I always kept my room clean. I decided that I would forget all about the incident in the suite and the loss of my favourite shoes by spending some time in the shower I had paid for along with my expensive room.

Later that evening, I stepped out for some fresh air in my old dirty shoes. Walking to the Central Mall next to the hotel, I spotted a hot police officer. Ah! Mr. Hottie! Today I was going to show Britany that I could talk to hotties.

My palms were getting sweaty, and I walked towards the officer. You can do this, Rose, you can do this! See the thing is that I had just one friend back home. Why? Because I was an expert in talking to myself, but when it comes to talking to others, nothing - nothing - comes out of my mouth. The only reason Britany was my friend was because back when we were 5 years old, she jumped in front of me and ruined my doll's wedding. Yeah, you got that right: I used to have weddings for my dolls. Given a chance, I still would. Later that day, she apologized and since then we had been the best of friends.

Focus! Focus, Rose! This is your chance to prove yourself, or you will end up being an old cat lady alone in a cottage. You want kids, right? Then go and flirt!

"Hey." I muttered to his back.

"Yes?" He asked. Oh, his voice. His voice was like the smoothest silk.

"Erm, I wanted to know where the ...." Think of something. Think on the spot, Rose! "American Embassy is?" What? Out of all the things, you could only think of the Embassy? Great work, Rose. I scoffed.

"Do you want me to give you a ride there?" He smiled.

I knew I could do it! Brittany was going to hate that she ditched me for her stupid boyfriend.

"Yes, sure." I flipped my hair; apparently that was how you flirt, but my stupid hair was knotted and got tangled around my fingers, and I ended up looking like an idiot again.

But give me the benefit of doubt. This was the first time in my nineteen years that I had even tried to flirt. And while I conveniently zoned out as we walked, Mr. Hottie had opened the passenger door to his police car for me. What a gentleman.

When he came and sat in the driver's seat, I couldn't help asking, "Is this allowed? Giving me a ride in a police car?"

"Oh, don't worry about it." That accent. I was too busy staring at the back of his head to notice that we hadn't moved thanks to another police officer who had just showed up.

"Who is this, and why is she sitting in the car?" The chubby police officer asked through the driver's side window and all colour drained from Mr. Hottie's face.

"She needed to find the American Embassy, sir."

"American?" he scoffed.

I got the idea Americans weren't his favorites.

"Can I see your passport?" The chubby officer asked.

"Yes, sure, I have it in my..." my voice trailed off and my face paled as I realized that I didn't have my purse with me. In fact, I hadn't had my purse with me for quite some time. Where was my purse? My heart rate doubled, but then it slowed again when I figured that it would be back in my room.

"I forgot it in my hotel room." I murmured looking down, ashamed for my carelessness. I was going to go to the American Embassy without a passport.

He eyed me suspiciously once and then again, all the while resting both his arms on the driver's side window. "Let's go and get it then." Both the officers escorted me back to my room and stood aside while I looked around for my bag.

After about 30 minutes of checking and rechecking every inch of my room, I still couldn't find my bag. The two police officers who were standing at my door were becoming more and more impatient.

"I swear I had my purse this morning. It's like the most important thing ever. You know, to keep things in and also to hit creeps with, but then again not everyone is a creep. People just think that anyone who is being nice to them is a creep..." I was babbling, and I knew it.

"Ma'am, I will need you to come with me to the police station." Mr. Hottie was such a traitor.

"WHAT?"

"Please corporate with us. You are in London without a passport. You might be an illegal immigrant, and we need to assess this situation carefully."

"But I am not! I just lost my freaking passport!" Just my luck!

"Please come with me, or we will have to use handcuffs."

"Okay, okay! I will go with you." Oh, no; I could not possibly get arrested in London. I knew no one. And then what if they never let me go? What if they never found my passport? What if I never got see my mom and dad again? I hated this Mr. Not-So-Hottie, and in truth, his voice was like a crow cawing obnoxiously.

Life was so unfair.

Britany had done it right! I wished that I had a boyfriend so I never would have come to London for a holiday in the first place.

It was merely a matter of minutes before I was taken into the police station and practically thrown into a cell. Looking at the small bench, I went and sat there. This had to be karma for peeking into that room. Why couldn't I have just been a little less curious? They were right when they said that karma is a bitch.

Oh no, wait! God of karma, forgive me for swearing again. Please let me see my parents once more.

Who made up this karma cycle thing anyway? I knew it came from the Hindu religion-which is like the world's oldest religion-but why did they have to come up with this sort of thing which keeps on ruining peoples' lives - more specifically mine? I sighed loudly and leaned against the wall. I had no idea how long they were going to keep me in there but I had a feeling that it was going to be a while.

It had been about 3 hours, and I was still rotting in jail. I had to do something about it, but I had absolutely no idea what.

I decided that I was going to meditate. I would become a hermit and pray until God wiped away all my sins.

Just when I was about to close my eyes, I heard the sound of footsteps and then a tall, fat and disgustingly drunk man was shoved into the cell with me.

Oh no, oh no. He was looking right at me. Please don't look at me. Please let me resemble his sister or something.

I had decided that I was becoming an atheist now because no matter how hard I prayed, he was coming closer to me. You never help me, God!

He sat down next to me, with his fat, bare stomach sticking out of his black jacket. He had one finger curled in my strawberry blond hair. I felt disgusted. I tried to move away from him, but he moved with me until I was pressed up against the metal bars and he was pressed up against me.

"Sir, can you please move away?" My voice couldn't have shaken more. Instead of moving away from me, he stood up and pulled me along with him. I had to call a police officer and get them to do something about him but no one was around.

"A pretty little thing you are. I don't think I have ever seen anyone this pretty before. Come on, just one kiss, baby doll." He slurped up his dripping saliva before locking an arm securely around my waist and bending down to kiss me.

"Step away from the lady." I heard someone say from behind the huge, disgusting man. The voice rang with authority, and the fat man turned around to look at whoever was speaking to him.

"Why should I? Get lost, this is my meat." He said and then turned back to me and continued on like nothing happened. I blocked him using my hand to cover my mouth, but he was much stronger than I was.

But before he could completely move my hand, he was wrenched away from me. I saw him sprawled out on the floor with a bloody nose. A man in a black suit stood over him breathing hard with anger. I couldn't see his face clearly due to the lack of light, but his stature was large. He had to have been at least 6'5" feet tall. I knew if I looked up at him for too long, my neck would start to ache.

"What, man? What the fuck is your problem?" Chubby asked, groaning in pain. Well, he deserved it. Who did he think he was, anyway?

I turned back to face the man who was my savior, to thank him when he spoke.

"My problem is that you were forcing yourself on my future wife!"