This is From Matilda.

Chapter six - the catalyst

It was him.

The one that caused weeks of emotional trauma, and involuntary wallowing in self pity and fear. The one who ruined my plans. The one who was stood just meters away.

But it was his territory now. His turn, in the biased game which I never wanted to play in the first place.

I clenched my fists, squeezing out every ounce of confidence that I could muster. Even if the bravado was just pretence.

"What do you want this time?" I spat, my back still turned.

"What do I want? you're the one who waltzed into my house."

"Well if that's the case, I'm sure that it wouldn't pain you to let me go."

"Let you run away with my money and my file? I knew that you were crazy, miss thief, but I didn't know that you were this insane."

"The file?" I had said it aloud, but it was more to myself. The only way he would know that I stole it, would be if this whole escapade was planned.

Shit.

"I wasn't sure if it would've worked, but it seems like an open door is just too tempting."

His voice was stern, but not angered. His body language stiff, and wary, as if he was approaching a wild animal.

He drew a step closer.

My head was swimming before. But now I was drowning. The ratio of questions to answers was rapidly favouring the former side. If I couldn't find the answers on pieces of paper, I'd just have to ask the source itself.

"Why." There was more anger in my tone than confusion now. "Why me? If you want to turn me in, why make it so long winded?"

He took another step closer.

"Why do you want my name, draw those creepy drawings." I waited a moment for him to say something, but he didn't say a word. "And I swear to god, if you take one more step, I won't hesitate to knock you out. I've done it once, I sure as hell can do it again."

"You wouldn't do that."

"And why's that?"

"You would've already done it by now."

I took a long breath in, and let it out again. It's now or never.

I whipped round, fury behind my fists, flight in my feet. I was ready to fight; I knew how to knock someone out cold in three hits. I was ready to escape again. But he was ready too.

He clasped my wrist in his hand, I ripped it out, I thrust my leg into his knee, he moved his leg just in time. His palm made to enclose around my arm, but I jumped out the way, kicked him between the legs. He flinched and growled, I raised my fist, but the adrenaline consumed his pain and he responded, my punch missed. My balance was thrown, his arm pushed against my throat. My back hit the wall.

"Stop!"

His angry roar vibrated through his arms, and through mine, making my ears ring. Pure silence followed, just our heavy breaths could be heard. Though, my breaths were more gasps for air. His arm still pushed mercilessly against my throat, and my fingers dug in his skin. His eyes flickered down to his arm, and he immediately lessened the pressure.

I tried to steady my breathing again. I'd probably try to fight him off again, but I felt too weak. He was a lot stronger than I thought.

"Just..." he let out a frustrated sigh. "Just please sit down, don't try and run away, and just listen."

My  breathing was almost regular again, and the state of rage I was in faded. Now my focus was brought to the present situation.

He spoke again, prompted by my lack of response. "Even if you managed to escape, again. I have enough information on you to turn you in. I always have, since our first...meeting."

He ran his hand through his hair before continuing, "This time, I will turn you in. And your whole group."

My head snapped up. He couldn't know where the apartment was, Zona's scouts would have seen him.

"Don't believe me?"

He fished around in his pocket, to reveal a creased photo of the apartment. His arm had slackened at my throat, but I still felt suffocated. There was no escape now, and there never would be. I had to do whatever he wanted. His arm left my throat and he took a tentative step back, as if he wasn't completely sure that I wouldn't try and escape again.

"Please, just come to the kitchen. I'll make you some tea or something."

I still couldn't bring myself to say anything, or move. I felt frozen. He laughed, but lightly. "I suppose this is a bit of a contrast to our situation a few minutes ago. I'll be in the kitchen, you can come whenever. I assume you know where it is."

He made to leave, but hesitated. "I hate to be a downer, but I also assume you know what happens if you try to leave."

With that, he disappeared around the corner.

*

To say I was confused would be a great understatement.

One minute we were fighting, and the next, he was offering me tea. There was also the mystery as to how he found the apartment. If he had followed me, he would have definitely been seen.

I eventually decided, that I needed some tea. It seemed that he needed me for something, so I figured that I was safe from tea poisoning.

I made my way down the hall, and into the kitchen. He was standing by the sink, filling up the kettle.

"So, what's it to be? Normal tea, blackcurrant, cranberry, peach, lemon, or green?"

"Can I have the lemon and green tea in one?"

He threw a look over his shoulder, as if my request was the strangest thing he'd heard. He shrugged, "okay then."

I shook my head slightly, to myself. For some reason, I felt at ease which was completely ridiculous; I was standing in the same room as my psychotic kidnapper, who's asking me what kind of tea I liked.

"You can sit down by the way." He gestured to the adjoining living room, with a deflated looking sofa. I shuffled towards the room, and uneasily sat down. I had already been in here when I was scouring for the money, but now sitting down, everything looked different.

Long shelves lined the wall opposite, stuffed with books, russian dolls and miniature replicas of famous monuments, and an excessive amount of potted plants with varying degrees of aliveness.
The crooked coffee table in front of me  was laden with papers, and a small gathering of coffee mugs with dried drips of coffee down the sides. The dated TV sat on a chest of drawers. Most of the contents lay strewn across the floor, and  the drawers sadly hung from their hinges. I winced slightly, knowing that it was my doing.

He came into the room, and placed my tea on the coffee table before sitting down in a wicker chair on the opposite side of the room to me, that had seen some better days. As soon as my hands wrapped around the warmth of the mug, and inhaled the tendrils of lemon steam, I felt my muscles instantly relax. He seemed to notice, because he started to talk.

"I suppose we should start with names."

I shrugged my shoulders, staring blankly at the mossy green tea in my mug. There was no use in fighting him, physically or verbally. At this point, my hands were tied. When I didn't say anything, he continued.

"My name is Jack."

Jack. A monosyllabic name, no menacing bite to the sound, no villainous sound to it. Just, Jack.

"Will you tell me yours?"

"Matilda" I managed to mumble out, my breath rippling the surface of the tea.

There was a small pause, as if Jack  couldn't believe that I'd spoken.

He cleared his throat.

"Well. What do you wanna know?"

where do we start.