Your date gave off a vibe of an extraverted serial entrepreneur. While no helicopter flight to admire London skyline was promised, you could feel the evening is definitely going to be memorable.

Intoxicated with exquisite dine, you saw yourself in the the vanilla ice cream dessert melting under warm chocolate fudge. It was time to decide.

Are you going back to your flatmates, forgetting it ever happened? Or do you forfeit your all of rights, sign the contract and become his household slave? Everything is prepared, you told them you are ‘likely moving out’ and given the recent layoffs you just can’t get yourself to keep searching.

Ok, good. Signed. He smiles, and points at the rest of the melty dessert. As you finish, he gently reaches for your hand, and holds it walking to the car. “We will drive to your flatmates to pick up all of your stuff, take your time” - he said. Everyone thinks you are moving abroad, but you know it time to say goodbye to old life. Here, the move. “Say bye to it” - you hear as he closes the trunk. The car drives off, heading for the motorway. But in the wild darkness, he pulls over. It’s dark. You can hear his voice: “The contract is binding. Give me the rest of your belongings… clothes too”. As everything, including your coat, lands on the backseat, you find yourself in a place you don’t know, completely naked, staring at the snowfall illuminated by car’s headlights, clueless about what’s next. “Wear this” - he hands you in an eye blind.

The next thing your remember, following the muffled wind noise, turns and bumps, the car drove in the garage, and you were told to get out. He grabbed your arm, and, still blindfolded, walked you upstairs. “Here are the rules: this is the Freedom Room, the only items you can treat as yours are here. I will only inspect it five times a month.” He opens doors. „Oh and careful with your head. Goodnight”. The door locks behind you and you immediately remove your blindfold. Turns out, your Freedom Room is just a 50 x 50 square, with a ladder. It takes you to the attic that’s 3 feet tall. Just enough to crawl onto your thin mattress. It has tiny skylight. It is very cold, and there is no light. In the pale moonlight you see some matches and a candle, which illuminate your tiny secretary-style desk. On it there is your dairy, pen and pencil, and additional, Victorian reading candle holder. Below, there are two shelves. The top one features your clothes, the bottom one, your personal items. The top one features only two items: a white towel, and a dark, grey old wool blanket. The bottom one features two small boxes: one labelled ‘items’, the other ‘Item’s’. “Haha” - you laugh, followed by awkward silence. “A towel and a blanket…, let’s see what’s in those” - you think. They are both empty.

You stare into the darkness, then on the flame, and realise you are naked and cold. Wrap yourself in blanket, and allow the warm anticipation of tomorrow overcome the cold as you fall asleep.

Reach out if you’d want this story to continue. I’m 33/M around Oxford, UK, often travelling to the continent. I’d love to send you long messages several days a week, working on you confusing illusion with reality.

M