Flipping through the pages I find they’re all blank, why does he have it? For looks? The man I saw tonight doesn’t look like one that would write down a reminder he needs milk. Leaving it behind, I go farther into the mysterious house until I come into a room that has only a chair. It looks masculine, made of leather and fine wood, sitting confidently in front of a panel of windows as if a majesty sits upon it looking about his city and peasants. A man bred from an angry king sits here. Passing the chair, I look out the window. Buildings with twinkly lights, cars that drive below without a single knowledge that a stolen woman stares at them from above. I swallow hard, my hand pressing onto the glass. My biggest fear is on the other side of it, others see it as a landscape of endless dreams, I see it as a land of evil and unsaid possibilities. I’d rather hide inside this dark apartment then step foot out there. Then again, I don’t know what lurks in here, not really. My ADD getting the best of me, I turn away from the glass and tread into a room to the left. My eyes adjusted to the dark, I can tell it’s a bedroom, and I feel his presence. Like walking into a predator’s den knowing a killer animal awaits on the inside. He’s in here, I can feel him. Biting my lip, I wonder if I should turn around, but what would I do? Leave? Hide?
No, I go inside wanting to see the man that took me. Looking at his large bed over with jealousy, I don’t know the last time I’ve slept in an actual bed let alone one that looks like it belongs in a history book. His wooden headboard takes up most of the wall, his pillows so big and fluffy I imagine what it’d be like curling into one. It smells like a man in here. Tones of honey and fresh tobacco leaves taking over my own body odor. My eyes shift to the nightstand beside the bed, a watch glistening from the lights outside his window catching my attention before I notice a gun sitting beside it. Holy shit. Stepping up to the side of his bed, I stare at it. I’ve never been this close to one before. The man sighs, grabbing my attention. He sleeps giving a façade of a saint but the gun on the nightstand says otherwise. Grasping the watch, I put it on my wrist, my eyes flicking over to the man to make sure he’s still asleep as I meddle through his things. It’s heavy and looks expensive. I turn the dial on the side and the arms move, accidentally changing the time. Oh shit! I take it off and put it down, the power of the gun calling me. I can’t help but run my finger over the hard metal.
I could kill him right now. For the first time in a long time, I have the power. The urge to pick it up and press it to his head is electric, but I have never held a gun before. I don’t know the first thing about it. Is it loaded? Where’s the safety?
He sighs, and I quickly pull my hand away from the gun and watch him. He shifts in his sleep, dark hair falling into his closed eyes, his jaw is sharp, and cheeks of stubble make him look less scary and more handsome. I have the odd sensation to want to touch him, as if something is pulling me toward him instead of away. My fingers splayed open, I reach for him, wanting to touch his plush looking lips, to feel him without his knowing. I know it’s risky, I’m being stupid for even being in here but for the first time in my life I don’t have someone looking over my shoulder and I want to see and feel things I never have. Right now, I have the control to do whatever I want. He sighs again, and I freeze, retracting my hand and holding a scared breath that I woke him.
My heart falls into the pit of my stomach when I see his eyes open, staring back at me with a dark expression. Quickly, I grab the gun and press it into his forehead, my hand trembling as terror fuels my impulsive decision.
I don’t know what I’m doing! I should have run!
He sits up, his eyes locked on mine and unfazed by the gun pressed to his head, he reaches for the drawer on his nightstand, pulling it open, he pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one.
“Well? Are you going to do it?” he asks, his tone cool and bored.
I don’t answer, I can’t. My tongue suddenly feels like a dead fish in my mouth. Who says that? Is he suicidal? Why isn’t he trying to take it from me? Or scared I might shoot him? He stands, the gun now aiming at his head as he stands much taller. I take a step back, my breathing becoming so labored I feel light-headed. He keeps walking toward me, forcing me backward until eventually my back hits a wall. Fear making my hand shake and my breath quivering, I instantly regret not opening the front door and running into the unknown.
His head tilts to the side, his jaw ticcing with
