Just the act of opening the door was a bit much for Abra. She had no real expectations for what she'd see on the other side, and yet was still surprised somehow. A wave of disorientation and vertigo struck her, and she leaned heavily in the doorway and took a few deep breaths. It occurred to her that the room she'd woken up in had a balcony, and she really should have at least looked out the goddamn window. She wasn't sure what to do now. Go back, or go forward? Find an exit, or create her own? Or at least see how high up she was.
Abra sensed movement in her peripheral vision, and jumped slightly. The end result was leaning on the opposite side of her doorway as she looked down at the floor. Jesus Christ, she thought. She blinked. "Jesus Christ," she said, because apparently four out of five experts in her head recommended that it was the only thing to say in a situation like this. "You look like I feel. Did they roofie you, too?" She knew the correct thing to do in this situation was help the woman, solidarity and feminist rally and girl power and all that jazz, but Abra wasn't at all convinced she was capable of bending over without falling right now.
It also occurred to her that she might need to run at any moment, and being able to outrun another victim at least boosted the odds in her own favor slightly. It was absolutely nothing personal, of course. Abra decided to help the woman if she could, but one way or another she herself would survive this place. She wasn't about to die a hero, certainly not for someone she'd just met.