Leader Of The Mafia {h.s}

005

Bree Tyler

I sat with my knees propped up in the basement room, my head down.

I could hear the shower water running, I heard whimpers and tiny cries; but they weren't of pleasure, it sounded like cries of sadness.

Was Harry crying?

Should I check on him? Ask if he was okay?

I bit my lip not knowing what to do, I'm a very caring person and usually I would go and check up on someone that was hurt with no hesitation, but Harry is holding me for ransom.

I shook my head, no.

I wasn't going to check on him, I don't care if he's crying, he hurt me and I'm so alone with no one to comfort me while I'm having an episode and crying my eyes out, so why should he have someone to be there for him? Why does he get a shoulder to cry on and I don't?

He probably would just shut me out, anyways.

My eyes have been super puffy recently, I feel numb; I couldn't do anything but cry and sleep. Cant eat, I've been seeing hallucinations from the lack of malnutrition my body has been put through.

I looked around the empty dark room in the basement, I looked at the door with five bolted locks, from the side of it I noticed a little shelf, there was something on it.

I stood up and walked over, there was a journal with a colored ink pen.

It was a leather journal, the pen was a deep red my favorite color; it's the color of my polished nails too. I took the journal and pen walking back to my usual spot on the floor that was in the corner, I've been sitting in that same spot for almost four days straight.

I opened the journal feeling the soft blank sheet, I opened the pen cap with my mouth and began to scribble down my thoughts and problems on the soft journal paper.

Dear Journal,

July 5, 2010

I'm currently being held ransom, fun right? Well, Harry, that's his name; very secretive and in matter of fact he is crying in the shower right now, I was going to check on him, but he'd probably push me away. Why would I comfort someone that would never ever, even think to comfort me? He's my bloody kidnapper for gods sake! He also forced me to light a cigarette for him, and he made me smoke some of it, not going to lie that feeling of the smoke expanding in my lungs was like my whole world was in slow motion and everything was going to be alright. But nothing is ever alright, not here, not anywhere, you're never safe. It's been so lonely down here in this, dark room. There's five locks on the door. It's a bit much don't you think? Does he really think I would attempt to escape? He'd find me anyways. I found this leather journal on a shelf, and I'm writing in it with a pen, which so happens to be my favorite shade of red. A deep red. I don't even know how the journal ended up down here, but here we are! I've surprisingly been pretty calm with the whole "getting kidnapped and held for ransom" thing. For a restroom I use a bucket that I found in the corner, gross. I mean, I haven't eaten in four days, nor drank anything; I've slept a whole bunch. But this is the end for me right? My mother would never be able to afford the price, so I guess it's the end for me. Harry will kill and slowly torture me like he said. I don't want to die young, I wanted to live my life to the fullest like they do in the movies and die a normal death. Like old age, or just something natural. But I had to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, didn't I? That's what this is all about. I should've stayed h-

"How'd you get that?" I heard the familiar British accent I've grown accustomed to ask me, standing in the doorway, I didn't even hear him unlock the door and walk in, so lost in the depths of writing.