“Okay, strong silent type, I see you,” I say brightly.
“So,” I say, trying to act nonchalant, “what’s your tragic backstory? Mafia? Childhood trauma? Did your ex betray you with your sworn enemy? Please tell me you’re not just, like, a random guy who got lost on his way to a gas station robbery, because that would ruin the vibe.”
The man lets out the longest sigh I’ve ever heard in my life. Like he regrets not just kidnapping me but also being born. Good, it is working. Time to dial up the unhinged meter.
“Honestly,” I press on, teeth chattering from the cold, “if I d-don’t develop Stockholm Syndrome by chapter f-five, I’ll be disappointe-d-d. Don’t let me d-down.” The chill of the first cold front seeping through the car makes me regret not putting on a jacket before I left my apartment.
You could hear a pin drop in this car, but then the sound of the vent blasts through the silence. I can feel the heat enveloping me in a warm hug. My lip curves up in a small smile—aw, he notices. That’s kind of sweet. Maybe he isn’t so bad after all.Said every true crime victim before they got murdered. Right. I can’t let my guard down.
What else could I throw at him? Something that would make any man’s eye twitch, but women would eat up with a spoon. Oh. Gossip!
“Speaking of disappointments,” I chirp, feeling much warmer than before, “do you have a radio in this thing? Like, if you’re going to abduct me, the least you can do is give me some tunes. Preferably Taylor Swift. Actually—did you hear she got engaged?!”
Still nothing. I’m starting to worry this plan might not work. What if he’s immovable? Stubborn. Unflinching. Oh god, is this how I die? My body, found in an alley, next to my Kindle. OH MY GOD, my Kindle! The book content there, the cops would see it, they would go through my library and see all my books. No, absolutely not. I have to trust that Claire would know better and delete all my history before they got to it.
“Oh my god, you haven’t, have you?” I gasp. “This is huge news! Taylor Swift is engaged! Can you imagine the wedding? The dress? The guest list? I’m telling you, if she doesn’t release a secret double album as wedding favors, I’m writing her a strongly worded DM.”
The man exhales so hard I think the windshield might fog up. I’m getting to him. This is perfect. I continue rambling, all while using my foot to feel around for my bag. I could have sworn I heard him drop it on the floor of the car. I remember because I heard my Kindle thunk and a little part of myself died. I can get hurt, my bruises will heal, but not my Kindle. Not my baby.
I spent months scraping away, saving for the newest edition, the color soft. I wanted to see those pretty covers in bright, vibrant colors. I told myself if I could see the pretty cover on my Kindle, I wouldn’t buy the physical books.The lies I tell myself.In my defense, I have bought fewer physical copies. I’ve moved on to the special editions! The ones that are coveted by the bookish community. The ones that if I got robbed by a book lover, that would be what they steal. What can I say? We’re special ones.
“You’re quiet,” I say. “Which is fine, broody is hot, don’t get me wrong. But this is a long drive, and I don’t want us to miss a bonding opportunity. Think about it—we could be besties by the time we get to your creepy abandoned warehouse and/or mansion. If you’re planning to chain me up in a basement, you should know I am very particular about basement decor.”
I step on something hard and internally wince—my poor Kindle. I wiggle left and right, trying to slyly reach my tote bag. With my hands bound behind my back, this simple task is nearly impossible. I’m holding my breath at every shift. I can’t get caught before my plan even takes off. Feeling for the bag with my shoes, I angle my body sideways to lean toward the strap of my tote. I bite the inside of my cheek, fully concentrating on hooking the strap with my fingers.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I manage to hook a corner of the strap under my bound hands. It’s awkward, uncomfortable, and I nearly drop it twice, but inch by excruciating inch, I pull it up behind me. My heart hammers in my chest, and I swear I’m going to pass out from holding my breath for so long.
Keeping the chatter up so he doesn’t get suspicious, I start to think about all the mafia hero starter packs. “By the way, how’s your knife collection? You have one, right? Dark romance guys always have one. Or guns.”
The car hits a bump. I bounce in my seat, grinning like a kid on a carnival ride. Oh, he’s flustered, this is good!
“Wait—are you allergic to cats? Because that would be a dealbreaker for me, personally.”
Nothing. Man, is this guy alive or did a robot kidnap me?
“You know,” I continue, “this is kind of romantic. Just you, me, and the open road. Classic captor-captive setup. Ten out of ten. No notes.”
I wiggle both hands in my tote bag, feeling around for my phone. The rope around my wrists makes every movement awkward—like I am trying to pinch things with crab claws. As I rummage through what feels like an endless pit of junk, I can’t help thinking maybe my mom is right for nicknaming my bag Narnia.
6
Aiden
Does this girl ever stop talking?
She’s been babbling nonstop since I put her in the car, words tumbling out like she’s auditioning for an audiobook deal about her own kidnapping. Her voice echoes through the car cabin, and it’s obnoxiously delightful.
I have not met Claire before, and from what Eli has told me about her, his description seems a bit different. That’s a mild way to put it. This girl is made up of rainbows and sunshine. You can tell in her voice that she could find a silver lining in any situation. Case in point, she seems to actually beenjoyingthis kidnapping.
Maybe because she’s on to me. Like she knows this is the “immersive role playing” they’ve planned before. Idecide silence is my best bet. Ignoring her is easier than engaging. If I don’t engage, I won’t give anything away and may make it out of this kidnapping unscathed.
She has been talking a mile a minute, never pausing long enough for my brain to catch up. I swear I haven’t heard her take a breath. It’s actually impressive. I wonder if there’s a case study on how long females can talk without breaking to breathe. Like what would her lung capacity be.
Wow. Maybe Eli is right, I do need this vacation.
I grip the wheel tighter, focusing on the traffic that has built up in the last ten minutes. I can smell the faint burn of brakes from the traffic behind us, hear the muffled honks and murmurs of people walking Main Street.
Well, this isn’t the quick getaway I had hoped for. Literally anyone can look in at the liability I have sitting in the back seat with a sack over her head. My mind is busy trying to figure out how to be incognito when her next question jolts me from my thoughts.
