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“Any plans for tonight?” he asked. He knew the answer. I spent all my time outside of school and studying cooped up in my room, reading the news about global politics—about how our systems were failing the homeless, our education was shit, our world was seemingly crumbling to pieces.
I wanted to be someone who made a difference.
I wanted to be someone who would make my parents proud.
I had no interest in some birthday celebration, and I had no friends to invite to it, anyway.
I planned to keep it that way.
“Same old, Grandpa,” I replied, biting into some buttered toast. My grandfather held oceans of sympathy in his eyes. His love for me flowed through him like waves.
“My boy, just because your parents aren’t living doesn’t meanyouhave to stop living
yourself.”
“I know, Grandpa. I know.” I stood up and began to wash my dish in the sink.
“No, not today. No washing for you. Not on your birthday,” he said. “Go ahead. It’s time for you to catch the bus.” I checked my phone and he was right. The bus would be pulling up any second.
As I walked out, the phone to the house began to ring. Grandpa couldn’t hear it over the sink’s running water as he washed the dishes.
“Grandpa, the phone!” I shouted, and he looked over his shoulder.
“What?”
“The phone is ringing!”
“Oh!” he replied, dropping the plate down into the sink. He answered the call and told someone on the receiving end that he was not interested in buying whatever they were selling. I stood in front of my house, waiting for the classic yellow bus that picked me up Mondays through Fridays to arrive. I hadn’t made many friends in Midwood in the past two years and knew none of the other students would even realize it was my birthday. It didn’t bother me much. I had Grandpa, and that’s all I needed.
But as 7:30am rolled around, I became curious about the bus, which almost always arrived at 7:15am on the dot. I figured that Brooklyn traffic was unpredictable, especially with snowfall, and didn’t pay it much mind. Instead I stuck out my tongue to catch the dreamy snowflakes, melting them between my tongue and the top of my mouth before swallowing the cold liquid down. I looked across at the brick houses owned by neighbors I’d never met and would never meet, wondering about their lives, perhaps envying them—unbroken families sending their little ones off to school, the kids insisting still on bringing their new Christmas presents with them to class, the parents saying school is no place for action figures or Barbie dolls.
Suddenly, a large black Escalade came speeding around the corner, screeching to a halt directly in front of me. The door opened and an impossibly and devilishly handsome man in a suit, similar to the ones my father wore, opened the door, his dark hair wet with snow and his nearly-black eyes piercing through me with urgency.
“Nikolai, don’t ask questions. You need to come with me,” he said, reaching his rough looking hand out for me to grab onto. I was immediately in shock, cocking my head to the left, searching for the bus meant to take me to my senior year of high school, and saw nothing. My heart racing, I turned backwards and debated calling for Grandpa, who would have never heard me anyway with his ancient ears.
“Nikolai, I can explain,” the man continued. His pouty, lush lips drew me to him but, of course, the desire for a birthday kiss (and finally, the ability to legally kiss a real man rather than a boy) was no reason to get kidnapped. This was no time to develop a crush—I wasn’t watching an episode ofNCIS. “But for now, I need you to trust me.” He jerked his arm even closer to me, nearly grabbing onto my black leather jacket. I stood frozen still, my breath crystalizing into steam as I began to panic with fear. “That was your father’s jacket, wasn’t it?” the man asked.
How did he know it was my father’s? Was this one of his old buddies from his poker games or something?
Suddenly, the sharp sound of rubber wheels burning as a black town car turned the corner forced both me and the stranger to look at the intersection, where the car was spinning out before regaining control and heading our way. I couldn’t see anything past the black tinted windows.
“Okay, we’re out of time,” the man said, grabbing onto my jacket forcefully and pulling me in. I landed with my chest down against the man’s lap as my captor rushed to close the door to the Escalade, yelling for his driver to speed away. “Lose them,” he instructed his driver, who immediately put the pedal to the medal, the large car roaring into action. Still lying face down on the man’s lap and seat, I felt an unexpected bulge in my own lap, my body perhaps confused with all the excitement, or complete terror—both feelings surged through me at once. I looked out the front windshield and saw our driver speeding through red lights and making sharp turns like a maniac. I sat up, grabbing onto the man’s muscular legs in order to push myself off of him and sit next to the stranger. I could have sworn I felt some excitement in the man’s pants as well, which at the moment felt wildly inappropriate. Finally, the driver made a left turn so sharp that the pursuing black car couldn’t possibly follow, its wheels sliding rapidly over the black ice and hitting an unsuspecting purple minivan ahead of it.
“You must…you must have the wrong person,” I said. “Let me out right now.”
“Trust me,” the man replied, “we have the right person.”
I put on my seatbelt—I had no desire to wind up like my parents, regardless of how badly I wanted to be with them—and turned to my right to observe the strange man’s handsome face. He was in his late twenties or early thirties and undeniably of Russian descent (a Russian just knows), with his spaced out, blackberry-dark eyes, square jaw, and flat face. His hair was still a mess with melted snow, his cheeks embellished lightly with the stubble of a young man. His suit was a bit too tight for him, as if he’d bought it a few years before he started seriously hitting the gym. I watched as the man pulled a black bandana out of his pocket.
“Listen to me, this is for your own good,” he said, beginning to wrap the bandana around my eyes.
I couldn’t believe it. Kidnapped and surely going to be killed on my own birthday. What gives? As the bandana blinded me, I tried to enjoy the comfort of this handsome man’s fingers as they grazed my scalp, tying the knot. I hadn’t been touched by a male in so long. The bulge in my pants remained, and I hoped my captor would not notice. For whatever reason, I didn’t fight against being blindfolded.
I guess it’s like they say about all those serial killers, like Bundy. One of humanity’s greatest flaws is that we trust beautiful people.
Suddenly, everything was calm and quiet as the car continued to drive. I felt the man grab my hand with his own, his rough-skinned fingers warm, his firm grip assuringly strong.
“I need you to stay calm, Nikolai,” he said. I thought of the man’s sexy, pouty lips—of the way he’d grabbed me and thrown me into the car as if I were nothing but a dog off the street.
