It's been a while since I wrote. I'm sorry for the wait. Picture of Rayne in media.
Rayne
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I was awoken from my, well what I wanted to believe was a 'dream', when I felt a light tap on my shoulder.
"Come on. We're here.", he said firmly but at the same time in a relaxed tone.
He grabbed his carry on bag and grabbed my hand while we exited the plane. Again I felt extremely uncomfortable with the fact that he was touching me. What annoyed me the most was that his touch made me feel somewhat tingly inside, like when you get butterfly's in your stomach when you're around your crush. I hated that I was feeling this way about my kidnapper. I looked down at our hands and slightly blushed but forced it away before he could see.
• • • • • •
We finally arrived to the new house in Florida where I guess this psycho was going to keep me hostage.... Wait, no he's not. I need to think of an escape plan. But I came up with the idea that once, if I ever, escaped I was going to report him to the police but I don't even know his name so I thought, "why not get to know my kidnapper before turning him in right?"
I tried looking for him in this gigantic ass house.. or should I say mansion! I eventually found him in the living room watching the news. I was unbelievably nervous to the point where my hands were sweating bullets and I could feel my throat closing.
"S-soo.... W-hats your n-a-ame?"
God, I was so nervous and my throat began to feel so dry and I hadn't even said many words.
"Princeton. But you call me Daddy Prince" He said we a devious smirk. Lord knows I did NOT want to have to call him that, but I wasn't sure what he would do if I didn't.... So I did.
"W-w-ell... umm... D-d-a--", he cut me off before could finish. I was mentally praising The Lord.
"It was a joke," he said chuckling, "Just call me Prince, 'kay. And by the way I know what you're doing and your not escaping so I don't know why you bother interrogating me like this."
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Fuck my life.
He knows my plan. How the fuck does he know my plan?! this nigga must be some type of mind reader.
I turned to look at the front door which happened to be covers in so many locks in which I wasn't able to reach nor even begin to guess how to open. Even the windows had all sorts of complicated locks on them. This is when the reality of this whole situation really set in... every door or window that led to outside was cover in locks. There was no way in hell he was letting me escape.
My only question is...
Why does he want me??
