The President's Baby [Updating Whenever Possible]

Chapter Two

Okay Spencer. Let's take a quick recap:

I've been kidnapped by the President of The United States of America . . . Grant Herald.

Wow, what a night.

I slowly move towards him when the car hits a pothole in the road. I trip and he catches me and places me next to him where he hugs me from his side.

I'm driving here I sit, cursing my government for not using my taxes to fill holes with more cement . . .

Shit Spencer. This is NOT a good time for song lyrics.

Even though they almost fit the situation . . .

Nope, not a good time.

He continues to hug me as I stare at the dark masses that are the men who lifted me off the ground not 10 minutes ago.

The car is so dark and my heart beats a million times per minute.

What's going to happen to me? Is he going to rape me? And then MURDER ME?!

Oh no no no no no . . . No. Please no. I'll be good. God I'll be good! I'll do my chores next time!

If there will be a next time.

Shut up. Just shut the hell up.

"Spencer when we get home I have some amazing things to show you!"

"H-home?"

"Yes! Home! You'll love it."

And why did my mom vote for him?

You know, I always thought things like this couldn't happen to me. No, nothing like being kidnapped can happen to me! Nope, nothing like that.

Oh but wait, yes. IT DID!

I sit here frozen, not wanting to move as his hand rubs my bare arm slowly going up and down.

I'm not sure how to feel. Scared or excited? You tell me.

The car goes over more potholes and I try to look out the window but to no avail, I find the extremely thick, bullet proof piece of glass separating the world from me is also tinted. So much for the pretty scenery!

I notice my pink and white fluffy bunny pajama bottoms and my bare feet and I absentmindedly scrunch my toes, feeling the rough carpet against them.

So am I waiting for something? Because if he's talking about home then that means that he's talking about The White House, or so I think, which is  like a billion miles away.

The car slows down shortly. "Speck and Adams get the rag," speaks the man currently rubbing my arm. My heart races faster and faster as I try to sit up but he keeps a tight grip.

Rag meaning chloroform?

Or some other chemical?

I watch too much TV . . .

The men climb out of the car as I hear the roar of a familiar transportation item I am so desperately afraid to climb into.

The president helps me out and I see a long pathway going towards the big scary flying object.

"A PLANE?! N-n-n-n-n-n-n-no. No. No. No. No. And no." I look back to the president. "Can we just-" I give a nervous chuckle, "you know...drive there?"

Not like I'm okay with you kidnapping me, I would much prefer if I could go back home and do my chores . . . But anything BUT a plane. I'm too young to die.