Artists aren't usually born from the womb with creativity sprouting from their mouths. They're born screaming and crying, bleeding out the emotions they feel. All artists need to start somewhere, and for Sunflower Keynes, that meant working in her b...
There was a moment when I realized anything could happen.
My beloved brother was dead, and I had been passed back and forth between my parents and the Kings like a basketball.
Nero had given me directions to Jilly's but I was getting lost.
Perhaps it was the feeling of being overwhelmed. Normally, it would have taken me thirty seconds to find the place. But on that day, when I found out my brother was dead, was the day in which everything, but nothing, made sense.
Out of all the times to panic, it was then, as I sucked in deep breaths. Trying to calm down. Trying to do something to make everything better. Trying, just as I tried to help my brother, and failing.
My first year of college was officially a disaster. I met two strange swan-like boys, who turned out to be even stranger than how I'd imagined them to be. I met their deranged uncle who thought engaging me and one of the brothers was the way to go.
My old life was gone and in its place an unchartered territory of fear, changing me. For better or for worse, I was not yet sure.
Things had not been all bad.
I had enjoyed some of my time with Blaise and Nero, even if it was minimal. I had enjoyed getting to know my guard, Angelo. Someone else in my position could have been happy to be engaged to one of the King brothers, even if manipulated to join the family.
But I was not someone else.
My breathing quickened and my lungs squeezed as if they were trying to suffocate me. I stumbled forwards, seeing the sign a couple of shops away. It was no use, as I pitched forward.
When was the last time I ate?
I could probably die for steak and cheese fries.
My stomach grumbled as I swayed. My forehead felt sweaty and my hands were clammy.
A hand shot towards me, saving me from falling. I looked up to thank the stranger, but they shoved me into an alleyway.
My lips tore open to scream. He was too fast.
A piece of cloth, gagging me.
A black bag pulled over my head.
I tried to escape in vain. My arms pushed towards whoever had me in their arms. I scratched blindly. I stomped and punched out, but nothing worked.
Eyes, familiar and vengeful.
They met my stare and a silver lighter was the last thing I saw before I fainted.
That was the moment I realized anything, anything at all could happen.
❧
I was running out of time.
I glanced at the ticking clock and struggled against the ropes tied around my arms. The cloth in my mouth was drenched in saliva. The echoes of my screams couldn't move beyond my lips.
The door opened, flooding the tiny room with light and my body stilled.
I watched as my captor stood in front of me. He took a lighter out from his pocket, smiling. Calm and collected. As if this was a nice dinner meeting at a good old restaurant. Only it wasn't. I was 'dining' with a psychopath.
My captor flicked the switch on the lighter and a flame appeared.
"How about this? I'll give you a head start, see if one of your little lovers make it before you perish. Good luck," he said.
I saw the look in his eyes before he ripped the cloth from my mouth.
"Hungry?" He asked.
"No," I lied.
I was thankful that my stomach decided not to make any noises when I replied.
"Oh, good, because I have nothing to give you," his wicked smile appeared.
"Oh, good, because I would rather starve," I said.
Seconds later, he dropped the lighter on the floor as he left the room and he said, "Oops. Almost forgot. I'll come back, with some good old gasoline. You want to know where I'll put that, don't you? Well, you'll have to wait and see."
I started to shout as loud as I could. I kept begging for someone to show up, anyone to rescue me. As the tears slid down my face I wondered.
Would this be the end for me?
My body shook in fear as the television in the corner suddenly switched on by itself.
I watched as the screen blurred in black and white. The channels skipped themselves before settling on the news channel. I peered at the screen.
A woman stood in front of the gates, with the mic in her hands.
I looked at the imposing gates, and immediately I was reminded of the time I tried to leave the mansion. The time when I almost got out but fell down.
I was looking at what was left of the King mansion.
"Reports tonight of a bombing at the King mansion, where wanted man Alexander King resided. No survivors have been found on-site. No other civilians have been harmed."
Oh god. Nero had gone back to get my bracelet.
Nero had been in the mansion.
Blaise, too.
"No, no, no!" I moaned in terror from where I sat, bound by the ropes. Bound by this wretched kidnapper.
Tears leaked from my eyes once more.
My captor came in again, and I felt white-hot rage and hate stir up.
I despised how he looked just like him. I despised how similar yet different they were.
"You," I said.
"Me!" He imitated my voice, laughing.
Maybe this, instead, was the moment after all.
I looked to the corner of the room, where Angelo lay. His eyes were closed. It was the most decent thing my captor had done since I'd been taken by him.
The most decent thing was that he had pulled the eyelids down to cover Angelo's vacant, glassy stare in his death.
