With her wrist behind her, she backed away from the man and hopelessly attempted to run her hand on the panel to no avail. The white walls, with no evidence of any hanging pictures or breakable furniture leaning against it, provided no hopes for Heather to defend herself. She was fearing that in her weak state as a woman, the only way not to get hurt was to run away for as long as she could until the door opened.<br/><br/>Her attention darted back to the man the moment he spoke, though his speech wasn't directed towards Heather. It was like he was thinking out loud. She spoke up, trying to defend herself. "That voice is lying to you, I'm not a transgendered female. I was born this way." Though she was quoting Lady Gaga, she was indeed lying and she knew it. Was this one moment where the truth was going to hurt, and in the most literal way? She was too fearful of her life that she didn't care to notice a shaking in his calm, humorous voice.<br/><br/>The next time he spoke, Heather could indeed, with her heightened sense of hearing (a trait of most women) sense that this man was actually scared, but she didn't believe at first. The pause between his sentences, his deep breathing within the pause gave her the evidence that he was indeed in a fright. So much that Heather got enough confidence that she began to approach the man. When she got parallel to the bed, about a meter or two away from him she witnessed change him composure as he attempted to calm down, which he did successful. Though it was the truth, she told him his options according to voice that ordered him to ... do what it told. "It looks like the only way out of here is to ...<em>beat</em>me. If there's a deeper meaning to it, I don't know," she said, trying to be as calm as possible.