He Stayed|

♧6

Recap (from Ari's POV):

Now I can go home yayyyyy.

"N...o...w.........."

"I can't r...e...al..ly put my f....ing..er..... on whe...re I par...ked".

I trudge my way to where I.......... Wait what was I saying again. I giggle loudly again.

Now, what was I saying.........

Thud!

And that was the last thing I remember it at least I think.

Chapter Six:

Ari's P.O.V:

Okay where the hell am I? I'm pretty sure I didn't really have that much to drink.

I jolt up from the surprisingly comfortable bed. And quickly regret it, as I jolt up I feel as if a million needles are stabbing in my head and a painful harsh looking bruise shows on my ankle.

I try to stand up and also try not to cry from the intense pain I am feeling right now.

"Where am I?!?" my voice barely coming out as a whisper. I grab my head and lean on the wall for support. Maybe I had a little bit more than I intended to have.

No shit, Sherlock.

I look around noticing my surroundings for the first time since I've been here. It looks like a girl's room if I didn't know any better. My guess is I've probably been kidnapped and was placed into some kind of kid's room. That's just an exaggeration, the worst-case scenario I was dragged here by one of the creepy men in the bar. I shiver at the thought and grunt, looking around the room, with my nagging headache.

The walls are painted purple and blue with a slight hint of lilac.

There are pictures of a boy and girl with their parents around the room. They look very happy, the girl is the shortest and the boy is quite tall they look around five or six at this stage.

They look as if they having fun at the local park with their dad giving the girl a piggyback ride and their mom smothering the boy with kisses as he tries to pull away.

So, good news I wasn't kidnapped by old men from the bar, bad news, I was probably kidnapped by a happy family that kills their victims with joy.

Huh, when was the last time I was happy.

I chuckle bitterly as I remember the nights where my mom would lash at me for crying about dad or when my asshole of a step-father use me as a slave on most occasions when his friends come over for drinks and most importantly when my mother would look at me and say that she wished it was me instead of dad that died.

I wipe my face feeling the touch of my tears, I promised myself I wouldn't cry because of them.

Just a few more months and I can leave this town. My job would keep me steady for a while and I would be able to gather enough resources to get myself out of here.

There's simply nothing in this town for me.

I clutch my stomach as I get the feeling of puke rising to my mouth, I rush to a door that leads to what I think is a bathroom.

I lean over the toilet and let yesterday's lunch flow out of me leaving a scent of puke behind.

Ugh, I hate hangovers. It's part of the reasons why I hate waking up.

I hear the bedroom door open and some footsteps. The bathroom door opens revealing a girl around my age, also similarly resembling the girl from the pictures earlier.