14 - Domestics

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14 - Domestics

You woke up to a warmth covering your entire body. Your eyes opened slowly as you stretched and yawned, welcoming the morning. You sat up in bed, glad to feel the freedom from the handcuffs. As you looked around the room, you realized that Aristotle was sitting in a chair across the room, half asleep.

“A-Aristotle?” you called. He jerked his head up, looking straight towards you with a tired and groggy expression.

“YN? Are… are you okay?” he asked, running a hand through his locks of hair.

“Um… yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” Aristotle stood up, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassed. “I, um, made breakfast. It’s… it’s in the dining room. Shall we, uh… go eat?” You nodded hesitantly and slunk out of bed.

You followed Aristotle through the small, cozy home and to the dining room, where a small square table was stacked high with food. Plates of french toast and pancakes, bowls of eggs, a piture of orange juice. Two plates, two cups, and a steaming kettle of coffee/tea (you choose).

Aristotle pulled out one of the old, wooden chairs and motioned for you to sit. You obliged as he sat on the opposite side of the table. You sat absolutely still, your hands fidgeting in your lap as your eyes danced over the table.

“Would you like some pancakes?” Aristotle asked. You nodded quickly, your stomach rumbling from not eating for quite a while. He served three of the large, fluffy pancakes onto your plate, then poured himself some orange juice. You didn’t touch your plate. He noticed. “Please, feel free to help yourself to anything you want.”

Without a moment of hesitation, you attacked the food on the table, piling your plate with everything you wanted. Aristotle sat across the table, neatly eating his pancakes one bite at a time. He watched you fondly, glad that you were comfortable enough to eat so wildly.

If he merely glanced at you, he thought you were truly… rather endearing in nature.

NO! He couldn’t possibly think that! With his face burning red, Aristotle turned his face his breakfast, nearly violently stuffing his pancakes down his throat.

Meanwhile, Ashmer City High was buzzing with rumors. Markus was dead, and you were still missing. Moran was still going insane with his obsession with finding you, and his ‘guests’ weren’t coming for another few days.

With the help of a few… let’s say old friends, Moran knew it wouldn’t be long until you were found. See, Gear and Darla were some former associates of Moran’s, and the three of them had a great deal of experience in tracking people down. Specifically those who were hard to find.

Yes, Gear would obviously question Moran’s motives in finding you. But as long as Darla didn’t attempt to get in the way as she had so long ago, everything would surely be fine.

But then again, those two had a nasty habit of being extremely unpredictable.

“Mr. Moran? Mr. Moran?” asked a student standing at the edge of his desk. The man jerked his head up. Class was in session, and a student was trying to get his attention to ask for help. “Are you alright?”

“Hm? Oh. Yeah, Jessica. I’m… I’m fine. Did you have a question?” The girl nodded.

“A few people said you were searching for Markus and that other girl. Is that true?” Moran felt his body cringe as the words flowed through his mind.

That other girl’

How dare she think of you like that? You were no ‘other girl’. If anything, Markus was not the one that deserved to have his name remembered. These teenage vultures would never remember you the way you deserved. Not even your parents seemed to.

None of these monsters deserved to have you in the further most corners of their minds. You deserved things far above such a low station. You deserved so much more than this world. The world that forgot you constantly, the world that took such an ethereal being like you for granted.

No, Moran knew what you deserved. What you needed. What you wanted….

The bells rang, and students left the teacher’s classroom. He was thankful to no longer have to deal with that batch of annoying creatures. The day was nearly an end, and when it was over Moran would happily return to his apartment and attempt to sleep.

He knew he wouldn’t sleep, especially knowing you were in the hands of a most likely perverted psychopath who was most likely doing unspeakable things to you. He couldn’t let this go on, even if he didn’t know exactly what was going on.

Now, as he sat in his dining room with two empty beer cans lying on the table beside his computer, he sighed deeply and glanced over the picture displayed on the screen. In your short time together, he had taken a few pictures, mostly selfies with you. Others, you hadn’t known he had taken. The background of his computer was now a selfie the two of you had taken at the football game. Nearly an hour before you were abducted.

Moran’s smiling face had no idea what was to happen in the following time. Your face was smiling, but he knew it was forced. Your eyes were still sad, as they always were.

There was a knock at the door, making Moran jump. They had arrived.

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