[Please note: This is the beginning of a longer story. A taste, really. I would appreciate feedback. I haven't written for a long time.]

I was awake. Lying on the cold tile floor, everything came flooding back instantly. I thought my heart would burst out of my chest as I scrambled to sit up. Panic set in. With my back pressed against the wall, I raised my head and tried to take a deep breath. I managed a quivering squeak. So much for yoga.

The room became familiar as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. My memory from the night before was in pieces, still knitting back together as I got myself in order. This was my old French class, as far as I could tell. I took in no real detail as I looked around, silent terror stealing my concentration. The room smelled of chalk and dilapidation. Was that a blackboard or just a dirty wall?

A door opened. I froze. Held my breath. My eyes widened in the darkness. I had dragged myself up the four flights of stairs a few hours earlier. There had been nobody around. Were there students here for a late night class? I doubted it. Class in the middle of the night? You would have to be really crazy about baguettes.

I could feel bits of my spine straining against the plasterboard as I pushed back into the wall again. I was scared. Really, truly scared. And my legs were cold. I wasn't dressed for this game of hide and seek.

He would find me here. He would find me in this room, where I had mindlessly repeated French verbs and looked up swear words in the dictionary. I couldn't remember making the decision to come here, but I knew that nowhere was safe. It had been years since I took classes. I must have been on autopilot to anywhere close that I remembered. What was safer than a school? A lot of places, I thought with a grimace. Maybe a police station? I hadn't been thinking straight. I should have been blonde, I certainly made enough mistakes to warrant the stereotype.

I had to find a way out of this.

I pulled myself further into the room, trying to work some blood into my legs. Why did I pick this room? There was more window than wall. One glance and he'd spot me. Not that he needed visual confirmation, he would know my location a hundred miles away. I knew that now, a lesson I learned the hard way. Three days of running, hiding and praying. I wasn't even religious

Was that a footstep? I closed my eyes and slid back towards the wall. It was him. I could imagine his shoes striking the linoleum in the hallway. Black, as usual. Expensive. My knowledge of men's shoes was limited. Gucci? Did they even do men's shoes? It was probably some brand so overpriced I had never heard of it. Leather, obviously. Maybe Italian?

Enough. Enough about his bloody footwear.

He did have nice shoes, I knew that was true at least. I had spent more time looking at his feet than his face this past few months. Eye contact had always been awkward. He had a way of looking through you rather than at you. I couldn't be doing with that. Too much of me to lose in those eyes. Striking blue pieces of ice. Scary. Something else I couldn't define. And he was walking down the corridor in my direction.

I heard another footstep, then another. They sounded cautious, as if he didn't want to startle me. It wasn't working.

I couldn't seem to peel myself from the paper thin wall. It wouldn't put up much of a fight if he wanted through. I would have more protection from a tinfoil hat. But it gave me a few minutes of refuge.

Should I just stay, wait for him to find me? Maybe I could talk him down? Probably not. I had never been tactful. Awkward and guileless were my crosses to bear. I could never talk him out of whatever he had planned. I'd probably speed it up. Best to keep my mouth shut.

And my eyes.