“Again, not me.” He shrugs like an innocent teenager.
Wait, so… was it?
God, my head hurts so much I can’t recall anything from last night. Or actually, I don’t know how many nights I’ve been out.
“Who kidnapped me then?” I say firmly, my teeth grinding against each other, my jaw tight with anger.
I need to blink all the time because the light hurts my eyes and my brain feels completely blank.
He just stands there with his hands in his pockets, staring at his shoes and entirely ignoring my question. So I grab the nearest glass vase and hurl it at him without thinking.
He ducks and the vase shatters behind him, the pieces of glass falling to the ground. He looks at me as he’s trying to hold in a laugh and then just nods with appreciation.
“I knew you’d be fun, Troubles.”
“Stop calling me that,” I snap.
“Then stop making trouble.”
He spins around to leave, smirking, and closes the doors. I don’t get a chance to answer or to attack as the doors shut behind him.
I can’t believe it. Who the hell was that? If he wasn’t lying, then who kidnapped me? Was it not a dream? The scarred hands?
I feel so disoriented. The room feels like it’s getting smaller around me, my vision blurs and sharpens over and over again and I can’t put anything together. I down the water in one breath and drop to the floor in front of the sofa, thinking.
Okay, I was definitely kidnapped by the Vermilion Organization. That makes sense since I exposed a couple of operations at the paper lately. I had that coming.
Why didn’t they kill me though?
Oh God, are they going to torture me? I don’t think I have any valuable information for them.
But his scent. I’m sure I smelledhimlast night. It had to be him.
Does he want to kill me? To shut me up?
I never told anyone aboutthat night. I never exposed him. I never actually betrayed him. I was just looking for him. Why would he come for me after six years?
I suddenly realize how disgusting I smell. Sweat and hangover breath. I get up and find the bathroom right next to the bedroom.
Black, clean and luxurious. Huge shower.
There are towels precisely folded by the mirror and an unopened package with toiletries on the sink. Toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush and—a razor.
Good.
If this goes bad, I can at least slit my wrists.
?
I forced myself to vomit in the shower to clean my body of whatever they gave me, while I completely barricaded the bathroom door for privacy.
But now I feel the dizziness coming back. I sit on the bed, in the same outfit I woke up in, and I stare out the window, waiting. I took one pointy piece of the broken vase and hid it under my pillow, but I’m so weak that it’s ridiculous to even think I could fight my way out.
I’m so tired. So powerless.
I lift my eyes only to see that cocky bastard in front of me again.
The hell? Did I fall asleep sitting? I didn’t hear him come. I must be starved and dehydrated.
