by Kitty Parker
"Well the straight haired girls they all want curls, and the brunettes wanna be blonde."
"I don't think blonde would be your color." A deep voice came from behind me.
I jumped a good two feet in the air and spun around clutching the towel to my body. Andrew was leaning on the wall inside of my closet staring at me. Oh and guess what! He was smirking, oh isn't that the shock of the century.
"What do you want?" I asked relieved it was him and not some other guy.
"Get dressed." He simply stated making no notion that he was going to leave.
"I can't get dressed with you standing there."
"Yes you can."
"Okay, let me rephrase that for you. I WON'T get dressed with you standing there."
"Fine stay in the towel, works for me." He said in that cocky, hot voice of his.
'NO! NO! NOT HOT! EVIL! EVIL VOICE! YEAH!'
I glared at him before turning and quickly grabbing a pair on underwear, a bra, a pair of jeans and a shirt. I rushed past him holding on to my towel, just in case he tried something. I could feel his eyes watching me as I walked into the bathroom and slammed the door.
"Prick." I muttered as I pulled on my clothes. I had selected a pair of dark blue jeans and a teal fitted tee.
I came out of the bathroom to find my room empty. There was no Andrew, no sound, nothing. I looked around skeptically trying to find where he was hiding. He wasn't in the closet or behind the door he hadn't slipped into the bathroom. There was only one place left, under the bed. I knelt down and quickly lifted the skirt.
"HA!" I yelled at empty air. Nothing.
I stood up confused. Where the hell did he go?
"AHHHHHHHHH!"
Yep, that was the lovely sound that escaped my mouth when a pair of strong arms hoisted me from the ground and spun me around. Andrew set me down on the floor, before he dropped me due to his laughter.
"You should have seen your face! It was like you thought I was going to kill you!" he said clutching at his stomach.
"Wouldn't put it past you." I mumbled as I sulked. How did I not see him, where had he been hiding.
"I'm not that bad. I mean I've killed some people in my time--."
"YOU KILLED PEOPLE!" I screeched, interrupting him.
"Well, yeah. It's my job." He said crossing his arms in front of him.
"That's not a job! That's a crime!"
"Tell that to your father." He stated flatly.
"My dad has never killed anyone! What is wrong with you people?"
"Not that you know of." He said darkly.
I stood there thinking about what he said. I know I'm not the biggest fan of my dad but I was not going to just let someone stand there and accuse him of killing people, when this person in front of me was a murderer.
"You have no right to talk about my father." I said challenging him.
"I think I do." He retorted.
"No you don't! My father has never killed anyone, unlike some people!"
"Just keep believing what you want to believe, but sometime your going to have to step out of that fantasy world of your and into reality."
I decided to ignore him and turned my back, crossing my arms over my chest. I stood there waiting for him to leave. He didn't leave. I could feel him glaring at my back. I think there was a hole in me from his deathly glare. His hand closed around my wrist and dragged me towards the door.
"LET GO!" I screamed using my other hand trying to pry myself from his grasp.
"My father wants to see you." He stated coldly leading me down the stairs and into the room I had first entered when I had arrived at this hell.
The same man was sitting behind the same desk, the same way, as if he had never moved from that very spot. This time however he did not have a cruel smile on his face. His face was blank and emotionless. On his desk sat a medium sized white box with an envelope on top of it.
"Emma please have a seat." He said motioning toward the soft leather chair across from his desk.
I sat down slowly, expecting the chair to shoot me. This was odd. What had happened to the mean, cruel man? This man seemed calm, and in some way nice. Had he forgotten to take his Prozac that day I had met him?
"You wanted to see me." I said sitting. It felt like I was a small child in the principle's office.
Andrew flopped down in the chair next to mine and placed an arm over the back of his chair, a scowl placed firmly on his face.
"Yes. How do you like your room?" He asked obviously beating around the bush.
"Fine, thanks." I replied shortly trying to get to the point.
"Good, good."
The room filled with silence. It was an eerie silence. No one spoke no one moved, I don't even think we were breathing. There was an uncomfortable presence in the room that could not be explained. Almost as if someone had just died. He glanced towards the white box that sat neatly on his desk.
It seemed out of place here. This room was dark and stiff. The box was practically glowing white and seemed to disturb Mr. Cressin. As though it had offened or threatened him.
"This is for you." He said clearing his throat and handing me the box, along with the envelope.
I sat it in my lap not knowing what to do with it.
"Andrew please take Emma back to her room." He said to his son.
Andrew stood up and grasped my wrist. With my other hand I clutched the box and envelope to my chest. We silently made our way back to my room, where Andrew left me alone closing the door.
I was alone holding a box not knowing what it contained or what was in the envelope. A million questions raced through my head. Was this some attempt to kill me? Was it a bomb? No it couldn't be a bomb; it would blow the house to bits. I decided to find out what was in the box, but first the envelope.
I opened it to find a neatly folded, crisp letter. It was for me. I unfolded the letter and read in shock.
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I had just shut the door to her room when my mind started to wander. Why had my dad looked so, so sorry? What was in the box and the letter? Was it a bomb meant to kill her? No if we wanted her dead it would have already been done, and a lot cleaner. I needed to know what was in that box and what the envelope contained.
Chapter 7
The letter was from my dad. It lay in my hands that had become deathly pale as my eyes scanned it filling with tears.
Dear Emma,
I have recently become aware of your whereabouts and how you ended up in such a place. I am sorry. I guess I should have told you. I am the leader of a powerful Mafia. The people that have kidnapped you are my rivals. We have been at it for years. Many lives have been lost on both accounts. I didn't tell you because I wanted to protect you. It has been requested that I send a large ransom upon your return. I am sorry to say that I cannot do this. I cannot appear weak in front of my people. I have informed all of the people that work for me, that you have died in a tragic car accident. They cannot know that these people took you. I deeply regret not being able to do this. Please understand, I love you as does your mother, but this is what is best for us. I have included a present. Hopefully this will help. I am sorry.
Love,
Your Father.
My anger boiling inside of me I threw the top of the box off. Lying inside was a gold Versace dress with a price tag that said $32,000. I couldn't believe this! My father had the audacity to buy me this monstrosity of a dress, but he could not pay to have his own daughter returned to him!
How dare he say he love me! If he loved me he would have done everything in his power and beyond to get me back! Best for us! That was all he ever cared about! This man knew nothing about me! To think that a horrid dress would make everything better!
I grabbed the designer dress from its box. This was the only thing my parents had ever loved. Material possession, their money and what their money could buy them. I was furious at this dress. It had been loved more than I had. Everything they ha
d ever bought had been more loved than me and for that I resented it.
Screaming I pulled at the dress, ripping it to pieces. I pulled at the seams, the hem, and the diamonds that adorned it. I shredded it. I wanted this dress to suffer the way I had. Seventeen years of never knowing what love was. The man that called himself my father was never around, and the woman that called herself my mother was to consumed by her own selfishness and riches to even notice I existed. I was dead to my parents and they were dead to me.
I hadn't even noticed tears were rapidly falling down my face, staining my cheeks. The dress was in pieces. It lay across the room looking like it was worth $1.00 not $32,000. I held a small piece of the dress in my hand. It tattered edges drooped sadly and the satin material was matted and wrinkled. This was what I imagined I looked like on the inside.
I looked up and through my tears I saw Andrew standing in the open doorway. He didn't look mad, he didn't have that stupid smirk on his face, and he didn't poke fun at me. He looked sad and sorry.
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I stood by her door for awhile trying top decided if I should go in and demand to see what was in the box and envelope. I had almost made up my mind to go in when I heard screaming. I threw open the door thinking the worst had happened. What I saw tore me apart inside.
She was sitting in the middle of the room with a gold dress in her hands. She was ripping at the dress and crying. This was the saddest sight I had ever seen in my nineteen years. I noticed a piece of paper lying on the ground near my feet, where it looked like she had wadded it into a ball and thrown it. It was a letter from her father. My eyes quickly scanned over it, rage growing inside of me with every word.
I looked up and saw that she had stopped. The dress was laying in five pieces. Four were scattered around the room, but she held one piece in her hand. One small fragile piece. Her tears quietly fell down her cheeks and landed on the piece of satin held loosely in her hand.
My heart was breaking. I didn't know why, I wasn't supposed to like her, she was, she was, what was she? Was she a spoiled rich girl that or was she just a girl that had been lied to her whole life? Right now it didn't matter. I walked over and knelt beside her. Her dark brown eyes were rimmed with red. She looked so small, as if she would break any second.
I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her into me. She didn't care that I was the enemy. She buried her face into my shoulder and cried. Her small hand clung to my shirt as if she was afraid I would leave her if she let go. I wouldn't leave, I couldn't leave, and my heart wouldn't let me.
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He had been watching me. He had watched my entire world crumble around me. I didn't know how long he had been standing there but I could tell he knew everything. He had the letter gripped tightly in his hand, like he was trying to strangle the person who had written it.
He walked over and knelt in front of me. I didn't know what he was doing. Had he come over here to mock me? Our eyes locked onto each other's and I could feel more tears pushing against the back of mine. Then he did the last thing that I expected. He hugged me.
His warm, strong, arms embraced me, pulling me into his body. I didn't know what to do. How was I supposed to react to this? I was supposed to hate him, he was the enemy. Some how none of that seemed to matter right now. I buried my face into the crook of his neck and cried. I let it all out. All of my hate, anger, and sadness. Neither of us made a movement to let go. I couldn't let go. If I let go he would leave and right now I needed someone, anyone.
What I couldn't understand was why this person that I was hugging and letting all of my emotions fall onto wasn't backing away. Also why wasn't I backing away? This man had killed people; he was the one that took me away from my life. Here I was though clinging on to him as though he was the only thing in the world that mattered. Right now he did.
I finally stopped crying and looked up to meet his dark green eyes. My hand still clutched to his shirt. He pulled me into his lap sitting on the floor and held me. This was the most affection someone had ever shown me. It felt good. I fell asleep with my head resting on his shoulder, my hand still clinging to his shirt. I couldn't let go, I wouldn't let go, and my heart wouldn't let me.
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She stopped crying and our eyes locked. She had beautiful chocolate brown eyes. I pulled her into my lap and let her rest. She needed this. She needed someone to hold her, protect her from the world, and right now I would be that person. She fell asleep with her head resting on my shoulder. Her hand still clutched to my shirt. Her other hand was still holding onto the tattered piece of cloth. She couldn't let go of it, it was her past and this was her future.
Chapter 8
I woke up in my bed. Andrew was no were to be seen and I found myself feeling disappointed at this. Why? I don't know. I guess he had placed me in my bed after falling asleep in his arms. I was in the same clothes as the day before and as I sat up I felt my hand brush against something soft and silky. I picked it up and felt sick when I realized what it was.
It was the small tattered piece of gold material from the now shredded dress, which had mysteriously disappeared from my room. I felt the anger begin to swell up inside of me once again. I wouldn't let it get the best of me again. I placed the piece of cloth on the bedside table and headed for the bathroom.
After a nice relaxing shower, I changed into a pair of jeans and a gray shirt. I barely had the shirt pulled on when Andrew opened the door. Did that boy ever knock? I guess privacy wasn't very high on his list.
"Hey. Feel better?" He asked shoving his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans.
I didn't know what to say. I didn't feel better but I was not about to tell him that. I shrugged my shoulders in response. He obviously took this as a yes and smiled. Ass. How could he smile? How could anyone smile? I couldn't that's for sure.
"You hungry?" He said cocking his head towards the door.
I shook my head and followed him out of my room and down the stairs to the kitchen. When he pushed open the door I saw Seth and Aidan. Great. They gave me pitying glances and they continued with their breakfast. What a jerk!
He had obviously told them about my break down yesterday and now they felt sorry for me. I would prefer if they hated me. I was still angrily cussing Andrew out in my head when he held out a plate and a glass to me. It had scrambled eggs and bacon on it. I took the plate from his hand and turned towards the door.
"Where are you going?" Andrew asked worriedly standing up.
"I'm going to eat in my room." I said walking out the door.
'What does he think I'm going to kill myself with the fork?'
Without waiting for a reply or permission I walked back to my room. I sat on my bed and ate the food he had given me. I was becoming angry at every bite I took. No doubt he had made Allen prepare this. I glanced over to my bedside table and caught sight of the small piece of fabric.
Tears welled up in my eyes. Not because I was sad, but because I was angry; at Andrew. This would have never happened if he hadn't kidnapped me! I would have still been home. Yes, I would still be with my self-centered mother and my non-existent father, but I would just go on pretending that I didn't care about it.
The truth was I did care, a lot. I had seen so many families, complete, happy families. Families that spent time together, knew everything about each other and lived happily ever after. My family was nothing like that. If you could even call it a family.
My mother was a shopaholic who only cared about the latest line of spring dresses by Michael Kors and would rather go out and drink herself into oblivion, than to spend time with her daughter. My father was a Mafia leader, as I just recently discovered, and was never home.
Other families told each other everything. I had been told nothing. Unless you count your mother telling you that there were new arrivals at Sacs. I knew nothing about my parents. If they had kept somet
hing that big from me, who knows what else they had, been hiding.
"Stupid parents! Stupid Mafia! Stupid designer dresses! Stupid Andrew!" I said aloud to myself.
"You know I'm rather smart for my age." Andrew said smirking from the doorway.
I hadn't even noticed that he had opened the door. So now I looked like a crazy, raving lunatic. Oh well, who cares!
"GO AWAY!" I shouted at him.
"What's up your ass?" He asked raising an eyebrow.
"GET OUT!" I screamed louder.
"No. This is my house and I can be wherever I want."
"OUT!" I screamed in frustration throwing my plate at him.
You think I would have better aim, but no. The plate smashed against the wall next to him. He looked at the broken pieces on the ground, shocked that I would resort to throwing china. His glance found its way back to me. His deep green eyes filled with anger.
"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?" He yelled motioning wildly towards the broken plate.
"GET OUT!" I screeched throwing the glass that had contained my orange juice at him.
This time I got closer and he actually had to move to the left to avoid flying shards.
"STOP IT!" He yelled advancing toward me.
I looked around for more breakable objects to throw and found none. However I still had my fork. I threw the fork in his direction. This time it grazed his left shoulder and he let out a yelp. This was satisfying to me and I smiled.
"Bitch!" I heard him mutter under his breath as he wiped his shoulder and found a small dot of blood on his fingertip.
'He called me a bitch! Hell no!'
I stood up from the bed and ran around him and towards the open door. This was my chance. He was too busy complaining about his shoulder that he faltered for a few seconds before turning and chasing after me.
I sprinted down the steps and headed for the front doors. He was still on the last step when I threw open the heavy wooden door. My bare feet pounded against the rough
concrete as I ran away from the house. Andrew was growing closer and looked madder than ever.
