"I'm not asking, Monday," Victor sneers. He readjusts the gun he is holding and waves it around like a magic wand.
Abraca-get-me-out-of-here. Please.
The sun shines through the floor window and bathes the three of us in bright sunshine and the fresh feeling of a warm and early morning. I stifle a yawn, momentarily forgetting the gun pointed in our direction. Returning to hide behind Monday leaves me guessing that the gun is now pointed at Monday instead of me.
The gun Victor has aimed at (presumably) Monday should be nothing but harmless. Aside from a mere bruise, the bullet surely would not pierce through our skins. However, I still can't help but worry about Monday's safety—please, call it instinct.
I grab the bottom of the back his shirt with both my hands, gripping it tightly. If Victor pulls the trigger, I would be ready to pull Monday to duck down with me. I don't have the fastest reaction, but it's always better to be safe than sorry.
Monday reaches behind his back, coming in contact with his own gun. Before he can pull the gun, I am pulled away instead. Taken aback from the sudden action, I release my hold on Monday's shirt, enabling the person behind me to pull me away from the man who makes me feel safe.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The person encircles his arm around my neck in a vicelike grip. In direct response, I grab his arm with both my hands in an attempt to relieve the force that constricts my throat. I hate the feeling. It's not unlike the feeling you get when you get pushed underwater for too long.
Like you need to gulp in a breath but that's the only thing you cannot do.
My head spins as I gasp for breath. I claw my fingers at his arm uselessly. My lungs start to ache and my eyes tear up. Like a snake, the arm around me tightens and tightens. I begin to cough, but even that is nothing but painful.
"Stop. Stop it!" a voice screams. "Let her go! You're hurting her!"
I am now coughing profusely, in desperate need of water to quench my desert-like throat. Slowly—too slowly, the arm around my neck loosens. With my life on the line, I harshly yank the hand off me. I continue to cough like there is no tomorrow.
With a hand still around my body, I lean forward as best as I can to ease the throbbing on my throat. When I no longer feel like a brick is lodged down my throat, my hands fall to my sides as all energy escapes me. Exhaustion, dehydration, and hunger all catching up to me, wrenching my insides like a hurricane.
The man holding me pushes me up with great force. I slump against his arm, my head too heavy with thoughts. Before I know it, I am forced to look at Victor who pulls me by the hair.
"Listen here, girl. All I'm asking for is simple. Give me the methodology Dr. Sanders gave you, and no one else has to get hurt," Victor threatens with a glare in my direction. Through the pounding in my head, I see Monday. I see the worry evident in the depths of his eyes.
Methodology? What methodology?
I try to formulate a response, but nothing escapes my tongue. I end up opening and closing my mouth a few times, before resorting to leaving it shut for the moment.
Victor tugs my hair brutally, sending severe discomfort to my head. Waves of shooting pain crash into my head, making it spin.
"I—" I clear my throat, "I d—don't know," I say hoarsely.
He yanks my hair again. I tilt my head back in order to lessen the pain. "Don't choose the hard way, girl," Victor spits—literally—at my face.
"M... Method—Methodology. Wh—What?" I stammer. I close my eyes as a tear successfully escapes my left eye.
YOU ARE READING
Hello Monday
RomanceMonday came unexpectedly. Unlike the weekday no one ever looks forward to, this Monday was a little different. He was a breath of fresh air in my suffocating world, a touch of sunshine in my shadow self. One whiff of his gentleness left me wanting m...
