Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Savior's POV. 10:00AM. December 24. 📍On a plane.
Waking up to myself being chained down by restraints in a completely white room, I shook myself trying to get out.
"Weh yuh mean by dead? We are his parents and we a di reason him deh pan di jet cause he fainted infront of his father!" I heard my moms voice outside.
Oh- cause mi swear think seh a dead mi dead or a did lie.
"How were we suppose to know that you were the parents?" Another voice added.
"Uno dunce? Mi ago scrape up smady random fling inna mi jet? Not to mention I said he was my son." I heard my father trying to maintain standard english.
"Well we still didn't know." Another woman voice said.
"Ra- mi not even a talk nun, mi not even a talk nun cause my pressure- mi nuh wah drop dung dis evening." My mom said before hissing.
"Hey baby." I heard Lynn's voice, the door opening wide as she walked over to me loosening the restraints.
"You okay?" She asks as I hugged her clinging onto her.
"Mi exhausted. If a this ago be mi life a betta mi kill mi self. Cause this a drive mi to suicide." I said as she allowed me to vent.
"Yuh know wah the worst part? Mi deven know if this real!" I sobbed as she patted my back.
"I promise it is, look at me. Savior look at me and count my fingers." She says, my chest heaving.
Counting all of ten fingers, I sighed tears of relief coating my eyes.
"We're on a plane. Well private jet to be precise. They mixed up the names and thought Lee and Pablo weren't your parents. Hence the argument right now." She says as I observed she was still in her bathsuit.
"What happened to me?" I asked.
"One minute mi a talk to daddy and the next minute mi wake up in yasso." I said as she looked at me sadly.
"Gimmie a minute wid him." I heard my fathers voice as she nodded moving away from me.
"Mi soon come, i'm right out there with your mom, I promise i'm not going anywhere baby." She coaxed as I refused to let her go.
Sitting up properly and rubbing my wrists, my father sat on the edge of the bed lighting a cigar.
"Weh yuh memba?" He asked, passing one to me as I lit it and inhaled the smoke feeling it infiltrate my lungs.
