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The filthy vision of Angel that I keep locked away in my mind disappears behind a thick door as I slam it shut and I turn the key, locking him in.
I can’t think of him like that right now, not while he’s so close. This isn’t some fairy tale. I’ve been kidnapped by a monster, and he’s holding me hostage for his own sick pleasure... or something. I’m not even sure what his game is, all I know for sure is that I can’t fall into his trap. If I let his dirty vision control me while the real Angel is nearby, I may fall into his deep dark pit and never be able to climb my way out. At least now, I have the strength and the sense to stay focused on what matters most: staying alive; regaining my freedom.
I may have first been confronted by Angel while I was out looking for my prince charming, but he’s no savior. He’s the villain in this tale, and I’m not about to fall for his hot body or his slick words.
You’re cuter when you laugh...
It almost makes me want to smile. What an adorable thing for a monster to say...
Why’d he have to follow it up with that next part?
There will be consequences...
I’m not a fucking child.
I pick up the dirty winter dress and bunch it in my arms. My brain and my heart play tug of war with my senses as I rush out of the bedroom, unsure if I really want to leave.
This whole ordeal just became so much more confusing than it has any right to be.
Angel doesn’t come for me in the night. In fact, I’m woken up from my deep slumber on the couch by the same sound that woke me up yesterday—the slamming of a door.
Unlike yesterday, though, I don’t go snooping. My mind is too pre-occupied by the confusing confrontation in Angel’s bedroom last night. What kind of game is this cruel prince playing with me? His attitude seemed different—at least, in spurts, almost like he was trying to find some common ground—but why?
I rack my brain for answers, but nothing comes, and by the time the sun is starting to set, I’m just as confused as I was when I woke up.
r /> It doesn’t help that I’m also almost completely empty and running entirely on fumes. My stomach growls and I hug myself. I wish that I could call Marcela or Mayor Luis. I wonder if they’re worried about me at all? In reality, I haven’t been gone for that long and it’s not like I’m a kid—unless my two cohorts specifically heard about my incident with Angel and Carlos in the underground parking garage, there’d be no reason for them to come looking for me yet.
Still, it feels like an eternity since I’ve been under Angel’s iron grip... and I’ve barely eaten the entire time.
The condo’s kitchen is clean, except for the small pockets of wrappers and crumbs that I left lying around during my first night here. There’s no sign that Angel doesn’t any cooking for himself, but when I open up the fridge, all I can find is raw meat and ingredients that one would have to cook to get any pleasure out of.
Maybe the beast just eats his kills fresh? Or maybe he just eats out...
Weren’t we supposed to have eaten together before his slimy brother tried to steal me for himself, back at their jungle compound? I’d be curious to see what kind of dinner guest Angel is. In my mind’s eye, he darts between unsophisticated brute, gnawing at bones and thighs, and a classy devil, with a row of pitchforks for utensils, each one for a specific purpose.
My stomach growls again and I toss Angel from my mind. Sure, I’m hungry for him and his beastly body, but I’m also hungry for a home cooked meal.
Sure, I may not be home, but I can cook and that’s enough to make me feel at home in any kitchen—spending so many years with so little money has made me a chef by necessity.
I’m also used to dealing with any old cheap ingredients I can find lying around, but Angel’s fridge isn’t filled with no name brands and local produce. He’s got the good shit.
I lick my lips, tearing ingredients out of the shelves and lining them up on the counter. The marble island borders what’s essentially a miniature version of my dream kitchen, a modern ode to the luxurious classic that I remember from my childhood, before my life was torn from me and ripped into a million different pieces.
I don’t think about the bad times, though. No. Instead, I remember the good smells and the happy faces. I empty my mind of the negative and fill it up with memories of old recipes.
The sterile kitchen quickly fills with smoky scents and spicy fumes as I carelessly experiment with the countless appliances Angel has strewn all over his galley. None of them look used at all. I consider it a favor, that I’m breaking them in for him. I can only hope that he sees it in the same way.
I eat as I cook and I cook as I eat, hardly wanting to stop either. This is much more fun than racking my brain over some dude and his mixed signals.
But Angel isn’t just some dude... I force myself to remember that. Angel isn’t just some hot guy. He’s a monster. Even if with dimples, he’s a monster. Even if he shows you a hint of charm, he’s still a monster. Don’t forget it.
I’m not here out of my own free will. We didn’t have a one-night stand and now I’m cooking dinner for my boo. I was kidnapped; I’m a hostage, but right now, I’m saying fuck it.
Right now, I’m cooking.
I hardly even hear the front door open through the sizzling pans and boiling pasta sauce.
Angel’s shadow is already engulfing me before I have a chance to prepare for his presence.
