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“It’s a gift. He’s flirting with you; of course, he is. Look at you,” he eyes me up and down, biting his lip. “You’re so naive. You’re entertaining this idea of you and him,” he states.
Then, a sudden frown pulls at his lips, “You’re not entertaining him on…purpose, are you?” The venom is back.
“No!” I express with a little too much conviction, “He made me…and—and I got a free apartment,” I convey. The skeptical man across from me doesn’t ease his sharpened glare.
“...At least it helped you buildotherclientele,” he eventually mutters. This used to be a popular argument topic for us. When I first began offering commissions, he was upset about the idea of me possibly having to paint a client at their house, especially men. I was baffled, of course, insisting I wouldn’t ever cheat on him. He didn’t budge. He never did.
He rechecks the time, sighing, “Do you think we could both be mature and civil people and walk out of here together?” he requests. The flash of hope across my face must be too obvious because he furrows his eyebrows and rejects the idea, “Never mind.”
No, No! Fuck!
How do I convince him without looking desperate? As the seconds tick by, the idea already appears near impossible as it fades into the past tense. My eyes flick around the apartment. There had
to be something. Despite his average-looking build, he is much stronger than me, but I don’t need to be stronger. I need something heavy or sharp. Lethal.
“Maybe,” I lick my chapped lips, “we could, if—What are you looking for?” he snaps. I jump at the startling action.
“Uh, I’m—I’m not—”
“Keep your eyes on me,” he seethes.
I can’t make him angry.
“Yes…Dante,” I force his name out of my mouth. His face immediately softens at the sound.
“Ahh,” he hides his face with his hand, “I love it when you say my name. It’s been so long,” he beams. I ignore the hardening lump in his pants, “Also, I cut you off earlier, baby; I’m so sorry; what were you going to say?” he chirps. I swallow.
“Oh, I was gonna say…that…that,” I don’t want to suggest it anymore, afraid of ruining the positive mood I had encouraged. Saying his name isn’t going to work a second time, “...do you think I could get a glass of water?” I inquire. He slyly smiles.
“That wasn’t what you were gonna say, but I’ll get you some water, and then we can try again, okay?” he stands up and strolls into the kitchen, searching for the cups. I take this time to search for anything I could use as a weapon. He must’ve cleaned the area while I was knocked out because my counter and tables were cleared. There is nothing I can use or reach.
“Here you go,” he sings, holding the cup to my lips. He examines me too intently as I gulp down the refreshing drink. I am too thirsty to care.
“Wow, if you wanted water that much, you should’ve asked me earlier,” he declares, setting down the cup but staying standing beside me, “Now, what were you going to say?Don’t lie,” his warning is clear. He pets my hair, waiting for an honest answer. My hair stands at attention, and chills run down my spine. Looking up at him, I hope he senses the genuineness of my intentions.
“I was going to say I’ll leave here with you if…if you promise not to kill me,”
“Kill you!? Where did you get that idea?” he huffs, cupping my face. He forces my eyes to stare into his soot-colored ones, “If you and I make it out of this city together, we’re going to live happily ever after and have the time of our lives. I promise you that one hundred times over, my love,but,”his teeth grit, “if youas so much glance sideways, blink too fast, breath too hard, if you doanythingthat makes me think you’re trying to fuck us over, then yes.I will kill you,”
I try to nod, but he's holding my head so my neck is locked in place, and my throat runs dry again at his words. He doesn’t let go. A sudden grin spreads across his face, and his hands squeeze my skull tighter and tighter—I wince, letting out a whimper.
“...Y’know what, I don’t think so,”
“Huh—”
“I’ll find a way to get us out of here, don’t you worry,” he conveys. “You rest your pretty little head,” and he sits down on the couch, the same couch where Evan and I made out. If he only knew. He begins tapping away at my phone. My mouth is gaped open.
Fuck. Why? Why, why, why? I’m never escaping,
Fresh tears prick my eyes. I bite the inside of my cheek, keeping my crying to myself. The numbness isn’t helping anymore. I'm too conscious, toothere.Getting out is imperative. Leaving the country is a necessity. He followed me no matter where I went. If I could escape this once, I’d try harder. Retreating to the deep forests, away from human contact and technology, seems like a viable option. I would persistently press the police to acknowledge my concerns, willing to take any necessary action.
“C-can I lay down?” I request.
Chapter eight
Captivity to Rescue
Hegazesatmewith a vacant expression. When the silence draws out for an uncomfortable period of time, I want to add something to break the ice. I don’t. He's thinking, so I let him
