I’m locked in a small space with some sort of monster.
My heart-rate, which has yet to slow, picks up the pace. I have a feeling if it continues at this pace unabated there’ll be seriously negative consequences to my health.
“Who the fuck are you? Why am I here?”
He arranges his lips into a thin line. “‘Fraid you’re the victim of a kidnapping for ransom.” There’s no hint of apology in his voice. His words hit me slowly. It takes time for me to decipher them.
Did he just saykidnappingandransomin the same sentence?
What the fuck?
My fear flips like a switch and is replaced by fury. I glance up at my wrists and see that they’re secured by cuffs. Not the fun kind of cuffs. Serious, police-issue, metal handcuffs.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” He sighs and looks nonplussed. That only angers me more. “Do you…”
“…haveanyidea who Iam?” He interrupts and finishes my sentence for me. He stretches his eyes wide, flapping one hand around flamboyantly and making his voice higher and border-line hysterical when he does it.
I can’t tell if it’s some sort of shitty impression of me, or if that’s just what all victims of kidnapping for ransom say at some point. Either way, I don’t like it. I look at his battered face and feel my lips curl back into a sneer. I look into his dull, black eyes and feel a strong jolt, followed by slow recognition of an unpleasant feeling.
I don’t like this person.
The strength of the emotion surprises me. Generally, I’m unmoved by people. I have a broad band of neutrality that almost every person I’ve ever met falls into. I like to think I’m impervious to people. In fact, I consider it one of my greatest strengths. I hardly ever strongly dislike anyone even if they’re an objective dick or a bitch. I see it about them, I accept it, and I feel a mild sense of aversion where they are concerned. The same goes for strongly liking people. I might see that someone is funny, or a good person and that might rouse mild feelings of liking them but with few exceptions, I hardly ever strongly like anyone. I like my two little sisters. I didn’t think I would. I was jealous as hell when they came along but to my surprise, I do like them. I more than like them. Same goes for my friend, Lacey. She gets me and I get her. She’s impossible. She’s full to the brim of bullshit, but it’s my kind of bullshit. It’s the kind of bullshit that resonates with me.
That’s why I’m surprised by the strength of my distaste for this man. Aside from the obvious fact that he’s wronged me badly, I can tell that even if he hadn’t, even if we’d met out at a club or at work, one long look into his eyes would have been enough to rouse serious negative feelings in me. Something about him does not sit well with me.
He moves closer to me. I flinch preemptively. He extends a giant hand in my direction.
“Don’t you dare touch me!” I spit.
“Don’t get worked up.” Aversion swirls hotly though my body as he sits on the bed beside me. I turn my face away and look at the wall to avoid looking at him. “You going to behave?”
“No,” I say, as if I’m talking to a blithering idiot. “Of course I’m not going to behave. Why the fuck would I behave? You have no right to do this. Let me out of here right the fuck now.”
“If you behave, I’ll uncuff you.”
I’m stumped for a moment. I want to be uncuffed but I can’t bear the thought of conceding to this neanderthal. We stare each other down for a long while. Eventually, he reaches over and grabs my wrist. He pulls it roughly towards him and sets about unlocking it. The key looks tiny in his hands, and he struggles to unlock it. When the cuffs spring free, I sit up fully and scramble into the corner where the bed meets the wall.
“Chill,” he says as if I’m overreacting wildly.
I drop my chin and allow my eyes to fill with feeling. “Don’ttell me what to do.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose briefly. He looks tired. I suppose he must be. I’m not an expert in the matter but I’d imagine kidnapping, drugging, and moving people against their will is a rigorous process.
“D’you want something to eat?”
I have no idea what time it is or how long I’ve been out, but at the mention of food, my stomach pangs deeply.
“I’ll have an egg white omelette with parsley and chives,” I say, attempting to sound as insufferable as possible, and believe me, for me, that’sveryinsufferable.
To my surprise he doesn’t skip a beat. He treats the request as if it’s perfectly reasonable. He pads over to the small, bland kitchenette in the corner of the room, whips an apron out of one of the drawers and ties it around his waist with well-practiced ease.
I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again –What the fuck?
I wasn’t aware I had prejudice against oafish men with broken noses, but it does seem to be the case. For some reason the sight of him in the kitchen, making an egg white omelette whilst wearing an apron is unexpected. Very unexpected. It looks wrong to see him like this. If I wasn’t currently in the throes of a crisis, I’d probably take some time to examine why I feel like this. Things being what they are, I don’t dwell on it for too long. I’ve got bigger fish to fry. Like getting out of here, for one thing.
I watch him as he works. He looks like he’s in his early to mid thirties. He’s tall but not excessively so. Six two or six three, if I had to guess. His bulk is what’s imposing about him more than his height. His arms are thick and solid. His chest too. He’s wearing brown cargo pants with an excessive number of pockets all over them. I cringe on his behalf. I wouldn’t be seen dead in something like that. He’s paired them with a faded gray muscle Tee and heavy, combat-style boots. The look does nothing for me. I’d rate it a two, and that’s me being generous. It’s giving military vibes but not in a cute way.
Military?
