Summer was nearing its end with autumn just around the corner, yet the sun remained as merciless as it would have been on a freaking dessert. Among the whining citizens of Chicago –who mind you had to pay double for AC- dressed in the minimum amount of clothes possible, the small framed woman sporting a leather jacket seemed to not give a shit about the scorching heat.
She shouldn't, she really shouldn't be doing this out in the open. But the sun was so warm and inviting and the wind whipped her long hair sticking out of her helmet so deliciously, she could not resist. She took of her helmet and continued racing down the streets of Chicago unmasked, exposed. She hadn't seen the sun in years, hadn't tasted the city air for so long she almost forgot the smell of gasoline and air pollution.
Sheer thrill travelled the length of her spine. It was a dangerous game she was playing and she was jeopardizing her sister's hard work. The warm sun rays licking her face and the city air filling her lungs made it all worth it. After all, it had been a while since they had lost her, and she was nearing her destination shortly.
Checking the GPS installed on her motorbike, she took a sharp turn to the left and after slithering through a few slim roads and alleys, she was there. On her way, she had left behind the arrays of tall apartment complexes and buzz of the city for a quieter neighborhood –or as quiet as it can be when it's near a train station. The buildings were shorter, the residents mostly absent due to work routines, secret affairs or whatever everyday shenanigans they are caught up to. She had all of their info in her pocket and was required to study it thoroughly.
Among the residences, she spotted the flat she was supposed to stay. Two floors and a basement, fully furnished and certainly not for sale. The owner, an old man in his sixties, was keeping it for his granddaughter for when she graduated high school and goes to University in Chicago. It was a house so empty and so quiet, just perfect for hosting a runaway.
She hopped off her motorbike and hid in the garage. That's when the first shockwave hit her. There was a car already parked in there, a very expensive one at that. At first she thought –hoped- that the old man had bought it for his spoiled little girl. Then she saw the duffle bag dumped in the passenger seat, the half empty coffee cup from Starbucks and the Darth Vader figurine hanging from the rearview mirror. This was not a car meant for an eighteen year old girl. Not like she knows much about being a normal eighteen year old girl, but 99% of the time teen girls don't have Star Wars figurines- her eyes scanned the coffee cup- or go by the name Mike.
Shit.
Whoever this Mike was, she has to get rid of him and fast. Maybe he is the old man's son doing some maintenance and he'll be gone in an hour.
Nope, no such luck.
Heavy steps echoed from outside, paired with a deep voice; and they both grew louder and louder. Shit! He's coming in! Without second thought, she slid at the back of the car, her steps feather-light and her breath silent.
"Yes mum, the house is fine; better than fine really! Again, tell Mr. Hemsworth I am so very grateful for decreasing the rent".
The driver's door opened and she heard shuffling. He was probably there to get his duffle-bag. She calmed down her erratic heart and focused on every tiny sound her ears could pick up. The jingle of key chains as they were tossed in the bag, the paper coffee cap scratching the case and loud gulping.
"Yeah right, as if dad would ever be ok with that!" the contents of the duffle-bag jiggled and then a soft thud echoed. He must have slanged it in his shoulder. Frustrated from her lack of vision, she produced a small make-up mirror from her back pocket and angled it just enough for her to see him and remain invisible.
He had lean in the open door of the car, phone in one hand as the other supported his weight, elbow atop the window and long fingers tangled in a bush of untamed black curls. For a brief moment she lost the balance of her breathing pace and her heart did a somersault. She wouldn't admit it, but something about sharp jaw lines just drove her crazy. And his jaw line could cut through rubber, holy shit!
"Don't bother mum. We both know dad doesn't care at all about what I really want… if only that were true…" a small smile adorned his face.
She bit the inside of her cheek hard to snap out of it and returned to her observation. Other than his very attractive face and long slender fingers, which posed a great danger to her composure, he was tall and lanky and the way he was so leisurely misbalancing his weight between his feet gave her a major advantage. He was taller than her for sure, which meant easier access to his diaphragm. He was thin and light so not much force required. Combine that with his distinct lack of balance and she should have him pinned down in a matter of seconds.
That is, after he hangs up and if he does it before he exits the garage that would be lovely!
"Love you too mum. Say hi to Holly and take care".
Excellent!
Mike hung up and stuffed his phone in his back pocket. For a moment he stayed still, leaning in the open car door and heaved the most miserable sigh she had ever heard. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what was on his mind that had him looking so gloomy, but whatever it was, it earned her some much needed time to sneak up behind him with relative ease. The guy was so zoned out he wouldn't hear a bomb going off right next to him.
In one swift motion, she had placed her palm on his mouth and elbowed him harshly on the diaphragm, making sure he was inhaling as she did so. With the wind knocked out of Mike, temporarily paralyzed, she kicked the back of his calves and sent him falling on the driver's seat. Wasting no time, she pinned his wrists and rested her knees on his things, putting her full weight –which is not much- on his legs.
Mike groaned in pain and blinked the dizziness away from his eyes. Instinctively, he squirmed under her but she was overpowering him. Finally, he froze still and blinked away his dizziness.
And then he opened his eyes and for a mere second, she loosened her grip on his wrists.
His eyes were pitch-black, like a black hole in space sucking every ounce of self-control she had. Great, sharp jaw-line and gorgeous black eyes! Anything else to distract her? Their endless darkness was bewitching and she had to bite the inside of her cheek again, this time tasting blood.
He could have taken advantage of her moment of weakness but he didn't. He was cemented in place, staring right back at her with a mixture of intensity, shock, and…awe?
Gritting her teeth, she gripped his wrists harder and the moment was gone. He furrowed his brows and opened his mouth.
"Who are y-"
But before he could finish, she punched him square in the jaw and it was lights out for Mike.
Well, he didn't scream, that solves one problem. Now what to do with him?
"Shit!" El cursed as she accidentally dropped Mike on the stairs, watching him rolling down towards the basement. She remained glued on her spot, holding her breath and waiting for him to react. Luckily for her, he was still unconscious. Damn, he must be one of those who could sleep through an explosion. El envied that, she hadn't had a good night's sleep in years. Maybe she could try knocking herself unconscious too.
Mike was very light, just as she had predicted, but his long limps and towering height gave her a great disadvantage on carrying him. His arms would dangle from behind her back to the side and his weight would slip of her shoulder, following his limbs. El was astounded she managed to carry him all the way across the hall and in the basement doorway. El was even more surprised at how conveniently empty the street was at the peak of the day. Whatever, it still worked on her favor, since she didn't have to conjure some kind of scenario as to she looked like she was carrying a sack of meat around.
Stretching her aching shoulder, she walked down the stairs, her steps light as a feather's touch. Watching closely how Mike had landed, she stifled her laughter, biting her lip. Mike had landed on his face, lips and cheek squished and puffing in cartoonish way. His butt was arched upwards with his knees bend near his elbows. Oh boy, wouldn't that have been a sight for her brother.
At the thought of Will, a smile tugged at her lips. She had missed her brother so much and couldn't wait till she could be free to roam the streets again with him by her side, hanging in vinyl stores, jumping like maniacs in concerts and having their traditional heated disagreement about coffee. El heaved a bitter sigh.
As much as she wants to do so many things now that she is out, she can't have any of those yet. Not while he is still breathing.
Anger boiled in her veins at the mere thought of him; his disgusting smile, the satisfaction in his eyes as he tormented her in ways El would not wish upon anyone, anyone except him.
Reality landed on her like a bucket of cold water and she resumed at the task at hand; figuring out what the hell to do with this guy.
Groaning in indignation, she dragged a chair at the middle of the room and struggled to sit him in it. Those god damn noodle limps of his making him spin in her grasp were getting on her nerves more and more by the second. She resisted the urge to chop them off and get this over with and then she finally, finally propped him up just right. His head bent forward and gravity pulled him down, threatening to cancel all of her hard work. Nope, she's not having any of that again!
With one swift motion, careful not to apply too much strength and stir him awake, she cupped his jaw, palm resting right under his chin, and held his head up. Her breath hitched slightly as she took in his sleeping face (or knocked unconscious face); porcelain skin, messy hair flying in all directions, long lashes caressing his cheeks, full lips slightly parted and that sharp jawline, that damned jawline; so defined and tempting, almost begging her to run her lips in its length. His Adam's apple bobbed right under her palm, snapping her out of her trance.
How long has it been, like, three years? El exhaled loudly, sexual frustration bubbling up in her stomach. She needs to release some steam before she does something she regrets, namely jumping the man she is now tying up in a chair in the basement of her temporary home, which was supposed to be unoccupied!
She tied him sloppily first with some rope she found lying in the basement before storming off to her motorcycle and retrieving some strong chains and locks from the space under her seat. Once she was certain Mike would not budge from his place, she locked up the basement door, leaving him in the dark, cold room by himself.
El hadn't noticed the basement was so cold, too occupied with tying this snack of a man down and not freak out about her shitty luck. Now that she was back in the living room, she felt the warmth of the cozy place enveloping her and she took her time to drink it all in.
It was a nice, homey house, comfy couches with fluffy pillows, a decent-sized TV, large windows, warm earthy colors, potted plants all over, and many, many paintings hanging at the walls. Will would love this place; probably go on an art critic word vomit about each and every piece!
El had only inspected the living room and as much as her curiosity tingled her feet to move around and see the whole place, there was still an elephant in the room too large to ignore.
Stealing one glance at the basement, she licked her dry lips and lazily flopped on one of the couches. Phone out of her pocket, she dialed one of her many numbers she had memorized. After three rings that seemed to last eons, she finally answered.
"Hey, you are not dead yet!" her rough voice echoed in her ear.
"Fuck off, Kali," El groaned loudly. Greats, just her luck! For the third time since she's known her she is in a good mood, a mood she was about to annihilate thanks to that noodle boy chained up in her basement. There go all of her chances of not being chewed off!
"You found the place? Pretty sappy, isn't it?"
El begged to differ, but she didn't. Maybe if she pumper her bit this phone call will go smoothly… or as smoothly as it can go.
"Yeah, I am in. When are you sending Funshine?"
"Tomorrow, early," El sighed involuntarily. She is so not a morning person and she knows that "He'll set you up and show you all of the hidden spots and gimmicks he installed. That is if your nosy ass hasn't found them already".
El smirked, "A tease and a flatterer. What's up with you today? Got laid or something?"
She couldn't deny that she loved poking around, noticing the small things others usually missed, like when she noticed that chocolate wrapper gone from behind a heater in high school. It had stayed there for three months, something El knew because she was constantly checking out the most unusual of spots. Usually, she didn't like others pointing that out, it made her feel weird and alienated. But if she were to butter Kali up she would have to suck it up before she could and the bomb on her.
"Very funny, Jane," and she was back to her usual lovely self in a heartbeat.
"Do not call me that!"
So much for being subtle! As much as El wanted for them to not be at each other's throats for once, something inside her just flipped whenever anyone would dare to call her by that name. She wasn't Jane, not anymore. Jane was taken away from her before she ever had the chance to meet her.
"Aw, the kitty bites," Kali snapped back to her unusual teasing mood. El swears this chick is bipolar…okay, maybe not the definition of bipolar but something like that.
"If you must know, we made a huge breakthrough last night. Details on that when the time's right. A little preview though, this time we are sure to bust this prick's ass!"
El abruptly shot up, elbows on her knees, slouched and features marred with alert.
"What? You are serious? This won't be like last time?"
Last time; no one talks about last time and certainly, no one wants to relive it. El does not want to get her hopes up or allow Kali's impulsiveness to spur her on. But she sounds so certain and El just got out of this hell hole, boiling with the desire to off that son of a bitch and she can't help but allow her excitement to spike up a notch. She could hear Kali growling from the end of the line.
"No, it won't be. This time is different, I promise. But we need to figure things out before we let you in on anything".
El couldn't decide what pissed her off the most; Kali throwing around the word 'promise' so mindlessly or that she was being left out. Still, she bit her tongue and drowned a grumble. It's not like she had a say in this.
"Alright," she said curtly, jaw tight.
She couldn't see Kali, but she could tell that she was trying equally hard not to bite El's head off. Ever since last time, there has been this tension between them, thick and heavy, and always spurring arguments. And El mentally cursed herself for missing her chance to avoid another fight. The elephant in the room was tooting mockingly at her!
"Ok, Funshine will be there at 6 am. Give him a hand; he should be done by 9. And call Dottie when he's done, she has a word for you".
Can't she speak to me now? El thought but didn't voice it. She would only stall the inevitable. Better just pull off the Band-Aid now.
"Listen, Kali," she closed her eyes and braced herself, "We have a problem. Like, six feet tall, male, very much occupant of the supposedly empty house problem".
"What the fuck?"
"My question exactly," she mocked, feeling daring. She shouldn't provoke Kali if she knows what's good for her, but she couldn't help but pin the blame on her for her…dire situation.
As expected, Kali shouted some incoherent Hindu to some poor guy near her, and El had to move the phone away from her ear for the sake of her eardrum. After a few more exchanges of what El is 99% sure are cuss words, Kali was back.
"Did you kill him?"
"What? No, are you crazy? Even if I get rid of the body, the first place they'll come looking for him is here and I have nowhere else to go!"
"What about that fag you know?"
El clenched the cell phone tightly, nearly breaking the damn thing, "His name is Will and he is my bother! And no, staying with him is out of the question!"
She won't put him in danger, not anymore! Tapping echoed from the other end of the line and El could tell Kali was contemplating. After one too long pregnant pause, Kali produced something between a sigh and a groan.
"Fucking fantastic," for once they agree on something, "Well, you are in deep shit El! If we can't get rid of him, then you are stuck with him!"
They certainly don't agree on that.
"Are you fucking serious?"
"Can it! I can't talk to you all day and we can't afford to clean this shit up! Just deal with it!" Kali yelled, "Funshine, tomorrow, 6 am".
And with that Kali hung up, leaving a flabbergasted El clutching her phone so hard her knuckles went white!
That piece of trash! 'Just deal with it?'
Oh yeah sure, El can deal with another problem, as if she doesn't have enough piled up! And they way she spoke; it was like Kali was blaming her for this when it was clearly one of her informants' slip up!
El buried her face in her palms and rubbed her temples, the traces of an upcoming headache slowly sinking in.
Lovely!
There is a man named Mike chained in her basement, who was not supposed to be there at all, and she has to somehow co-exist with him until she can be free to go back to the outside world and make sure he doesn't completely ruin everything by being a snitch. Easy peasy lemon squeezy, right?
A loud thud reached her ears and she jumped up, hand instinctively going for the butterfly knife in her back pocket.
Another noise like chains rattling echoed and El realized it was coming from the basement.
Awesome, he is awake! Now what?
She had very few options and choking him was not one of them, unfortunately. No longer on a fighting stance, but still rather stiff, El blinked and shook her head.
Nope, this is all a bad dream! There is no way a person can have such crappy luck!
The second thud from the basement begged to differ. El whined childishly and fixed her shorts that had ridden up her buttocks when she was seated. Her brain was weaving endless excuses to not do this. Her palms were sweaty and she fiddled with the belt hooks of her jean shorts, a nervous habit of hers. Hell, she hadn't been this nervous when she was almost led to her death, but some random boy (with a delicious looking jawline) has her jittering like some angsty high school pipsqueak.
Alright, the longer she is procrastinating the worse this will go. El is not one of those people who want to guess the worst that could happen.
Steeling herself, she made for the basement and leaned with her back on the closed door.
She has no idea what she is going to say, how to convince him to not call the cops on her, and go along with the emergency roommate situation. That mattered not, however. El had to find a way even if that way included threatening t skin him. The image of his reaction, deliciously frightened, made her lick her lips.
Taking a few calming breaths, she opened the door at last.
Here goes nothing.
Michael Wheeler, bad luck charm extraordinaire, knew that in one way or another, his day would go down the drain.
So when his alarm did not go off in the morning, nearly burnt the kitchen trying to make the simplest breakfast ever (scrambled eggs), stuck in torturously obnoxious traffic and got flipped off by an old lady for accidentally stepping on her (black) cat's tale, he was not surprised at all.
If anything, life had smacked him in the face enough times for him to see it coming and move on with his day. It still stung like a bitch, but what else could Mike do? At the moment, he can do nothing but hope that Chicago will be gentle to him and his attempt to make a fresh start.
Back in Hawkins, he had his friends, the Party as they called in. They made his life lighter, waking up the next day easier. Mike knew that if he had the strength to open his eyes to the daylight filtering through his windows, he could as well get on with another day if it meant that at some point, school would be over with and it will be just him and Lucas, Dustin, Will, and Max until he has no other choice but to get home.
Home… Mike tries to remember the last time he felt at home in this house. At some point during the years, it had transcended to nothing more than a roof above his head, one he was grateful for but not necessarily happy. Every time his parents' fought, the screams filled the air, banishing the oxygen from all the rooms and made him feel like the walls were closing in on him. He wanted nothing more but to flee this nightmare but he couldn't. Not until he could go to college.
And so when he got accepted at the University of Chicago, he scavenged newspapers for apartments first thing after he had read the letter. He wasn't picky, not at all, even Harry Potter's closet would be a more ideal place to call home than this place. To a third person's eyes, Mike might be exaggerating, being overdramatic, maybe even a crybaby about his situation.
What that third person does not know is that what's drowning Mike in this house is so much more than just his parents' arguments; so, so much more.
But Mike won't dwell on the past anymore, that he has decided. The name of the street he was meant to move in came into view and sealed that decision.
This is it, this is what he had always wanted; out.
All of the traffic, the yelling, the old lady's face of disapproval, and the endless knights smothering screams and cried with his pillow… it had all been worth it. Now Mike is free to challenge his luck, to turn the tables and grab life by its horns. He feels so free, so alive like he was just born anew; all by gazing upon the place that's about to become his new home.
His mother's description did it no justice. Mike had only just stepped in the front yard but could tell that this place was bound to be homey and comfy and, simply put, an eye-candy. The front yard was plain and beautiful; grass nicely and recently groomed, some short unshapely bushes around the fence, daises blossoming in the outline of the stone-paved path leading to the front door. To the right side of the house was a garage, large enough for two cars.
"Sweet," Mike smiled, feeling giddy.
He parked his car and took his time to inspect the garage; mostly empty but also equipped with a large stand fool of all kinds of tools and car manuals. A potted cactus was breaking the monotony of grey and brown. Mike loved tinkering with toys when he was a kid; having a whole space devoted to his guilty pleasure was thrilling. He can't help but wonder how he could upgrade Rory –his dinosaur toy he always carried with him- with all of this new gear, and the knowledge he will acquire when he starts at the university, engineering his major.
Picking up the heaviest bag first, he practically dragged it all the way to the front door. If his father was right about anything in his life was that Mike would have benefited greatly if he had picked up a sport. Although Ted's reasoning was different –he wished for his son to lean more on the popular clique- Mike has to admit that he could use some physical strength in his everyday life.
There was a shoe-case next to the front door and Mike let his bag drop. He inhaled deeply; fresh paint and flower-scented cleaning products. Karen wasn't joking when she said that the owner was a clean freak. Mike had just toured the living room and the kitchen and everything was spotless, not to mention beautiful. The dominating colors were lively green and a serene blue that made him feel homey. There were potted plants in every room, even the hallways, frames of paintings, wood carved furniture, simple basic appliances, few but large windows, a fireplace with a mirror above it. One of the four walls of the living room had a library screwed to it filled with tomes of two famous encyclopedias and different wooden and painted carvings, most of them elephants, and of course, potted plants.
Everything around him prompted him to lie on the fluffy couch and relax. It was like he had found a small safe-house from all the buzz and fuzz of the world outside it. And it was all his!
He was so glad his parents allowed him to move in earlier than scheduled- well, he hasn't exactly moved in yet, there are papers to be signed and more things to pack and bring, but at least he doesn't have to stay at his parents' place anymore. It was also great that his mother knew the owner and once he heard that 'Karen's little mushroom' was looking for apartments to stay and study in Chicago, the old man immediately dropped the price and even allowed him to move the furniture to his liking. Mike had only seen him once, an overweight bubbly fellow with the largest Star Wars figurines collection Mike could only dream of having.
Mike had felt guilty for taking advantage of his man's generosity so, when his mum had called, Mike had stolen a couple of minutes from the phone call to ask him if he was anything he could do in return. The old man's reply tug at his heartstrings.
'Oh spare me the chivalry younger, no need to keep appearances with me. But if you insist, I've missed a good old Star Wars marathon. With most of my friends in the hospital and my wife now resting with my parents, I haven't had a chance to bombard anyone with my cinematic genius in years. Hope you are prepared boy because this old thing is a smarty pant!'
The way he had sounded so friendly and casual like they were old friends made Mike feel so at ease with him. And with his wife gone, he must feel so lonely Mike didn't have it in him to say no; not like he wanted to.
The image of his wrinkly face, rosy cheeks, and beer belly stretching his 'The Return of the Jedi' T-shirt gave a whole new level of comfy to the place.
Maybe Michael Wheeler is not so unlucky after all.
He decided to bring everything to the kitchen and then start to unpack. He was on his way halfway through the hallway when his mum called.
"Hey, mum".
"Hey, sweetheart!"
"Missed me already?" a smirk played on his lips as he shut the front door and headed for the garage.
"I am a mother, worrying sick about you the minute you leave the nest is part of the job".
"Which you are doing terrifically," at this point, he had opened the garage's door.
"How's the house looking? Is it a sterilizing clean as I told you?"
"Yes mum, the house is fine; better than fine really! Again, tell Mr. Hemsworth I am so very grateful for decreasing the rent".
"Connections always help, son. You should make quite a few in Chicago. God knows you will need them if you want to get published".
Mike opened the driver's door and pursed his lips. It had been a month since he had confided to his mother what his dream –his real dream- is. Since Mike can remember himself, he loved getting lost in the magical worlds of fantasy stories, wrapped in intricate plots, hanging from devilish cliffhangers, and getting to know human emotions through his books. And he poured all of that love to each and every one of his D&D campaigns. It hadn't taken long for him to realize that all he wanted to do was recreate this euphoric feeling he got when he was enraptured by a story to other people.
There was only one problem; his father wouldn't approve of writing as a full-time job. He was ok however with Mike keeping it as a hobby. And for a while he did, being a DM online and for his friends, publishing his work in many online fiction websites and gathering quite a large fan base. And for the time being, it was enough to satiate his thirst to pour his heart out on a sheet of paper and share it with the world.
The closer his graduation got, however, the more he was diving into a crisis. Yes, he had an inclination for science and he was pretty damn clever, but becoming an engineer was not what he really wanted to do. He loved the concept and he would love to expand his knowledge on it, but it didn't tug at his heartstrings as much as writing did.
"Honey, I'm sure your father will support you when the time comes".
He realized he had remained silent for a little too long, just standing in front of the open car door. And of course his mum –being a mum- read him like an open book even from miles away.
Mike shook his head and bend over to retrieve his duffle bag.
"Yeah right, as if dad would ever be ok with that!"
He slung the bag across his shoulder, the heavy notebook hitting his ribcage.
"Mike, your dad might be… well, your dad, and he is not the most expressive person but he does care about you. He might have the wrong way of showing it but know that he puts your happiness above everything else. When the time comes, he will understand. I'm not saying he will approve of your decision but he will try to understand".
"Don't bother mum. We both know dad doesn't care at all about what I really want
He had lean in the driver's car door, the sharp outline of the window digging into his elbow.
"He cares Mike, he really does".
Mike run a hand through his hair (this damn mass of curls never sat in one place) and chuckled.
"If only that were true"
"It is. You might not be able to see it yet but it is," Mike couldn't see her, but he was certain as he was that the earth was flat, that his mother had placed her fists on her waist and was standing in a superhero pose, like she did every time she wanted to convince him about something. The mental image of that was heartwarming.
"Oh dear, I have to pick up Holly from school! Her extracurricular where canceled? Poor Mr. Jenkins was sick," Mike heard shuffling from the end of the line," Well, parenthood calls again. I'll call you tonight after dinner. Love you, Michael".
Mike shook his head and rolled his eyes at the sound of his full name.
"Love you too mum. Say hi to Holly and take care".
And then he hung up, shoved his phone in his pocket and leaned in front of the driver's seat. If only what his mum said held even an ounce of truth.
Disappointment, disapproval, and lack of care were all Mike has ever received from his father. At least, according to his mother, that was all he ever seemed to see in Ted Wheeler. How could he not? He barely ever saw his father growing up. Ted was constantly behind a computer screen on his work desk or off to some business trip. When he was home it seemed like he made it his mission to humiliate Mike. Yes, he was smart and his grades were excellent, but he wasn't near as popular and socially branched out as Nancy, his hobbies were outdated and a waste of time, his friends were a bad influence, his lack of masculinity was unacceptable and he just had to grow up and be the right example of a man. The only act of kindness, more like pity, his father ever graced him with was not plummeting his confidence in his writing work (which he never cared to read or ask Mike about) all because, and Mike quotes, 'It enhances his vocabulary and thinking process'.
Mike did not like being proven wrong by his mother, but this time he wished that by some magical way he would be. Because becoming a writer is an untamed desire that he has no intention of giving upon. It would be very awkward to go back home for Christmas or any Holiday and have his father judging him even harder for his life choices; hence why he picked to major in engineering.
Out of the blue, Mike was violently yanked off his musings by the feel of something soft in his mouth and a not so soft kick somewhere between his ribs that knocked the wind out of him. Next thing he knew, he was pinned down the front seats of the car, speed motor digging painfully in his spine. He had barely felt the grasp on his wrists or the sudden weight landing on his thighs, but when he did, he became hyperaware of the warmth that came with it.
He squirmed and tried to free himself, the pressure on his back getting unbearable, only to be met with more resistance.
Daring to open his eyes, they were met with a pair of gorgeous hazel ones that belonged to an equally stunning woman.
The pain in his back diminished to nothingness and Mike laid there frozen, drinking in the sight above him.
Petite and tiny but surprisingly strong, dressed in jean shorts, thin tights, an 'Arctic Monkeys' T-shirt and leather jacket, unruly honey curls spilling in front of her face, plush lips, buttoned French nose and just the most mesmerizing eyes he had ever looked at.
The pressure of her knees to his thighs made him dizzy; her grip on her wrists sent him into a cardiac arrest.
Who was she? What was she doing here? Is she going to kill him? Oh God, that's it, isn't it? With his luck, he wouldn't be surprised. Shouldn't he do something? Push her away, scream for help, or anything a sane person would do when they were about to get bloody murdered?
His fight and flight response, or any survival mechanism for that matter, melted under her impeding gaze. To say he was bewitched, entranced, gobsmacked would be the understatement of the century.
The longer he stared at her, the more details he noticed. Her skin was sun-kissed, her lower lip had a small cut, her eyebrow was pierced and her silver earring was a skeleton hand hugging the curve of the hole. He palms, though gripping his wrists very tightly, were soft and warm and Mike couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to have those hands touch him elsewhere. Traces of ink adorned her neck, a tattoo perhaps, one he would love to trace with his fingers after taking her shirt off.
And her eyes, dear lord those eyes, they made him believe in angels. They were a delicious hazel that paralyzed him, the intensity and eagerness emanating from them making him wish she never looks away. If her eyes were the last thing he sees before he died, Mike seemed to have no complaints.
He was under her spell and he loved it, every second of her weight on his thighs and her eyes keenly wolfing him down felt like a dream, an amazing dream Mike doesn't want to wake up from.
But then the grip on his wrists tightened a little too much for his blood circulation and the magic was gone.
"Who are y-"
He was silenced by her small, yet hard fist colliding with his jaw. Before he could even do as much as register the pain, everything around him turned pitch-black and he was out like a light.
When he woke up, his limps were sore and the area of his left ribs hurt like hell. The pain was pulsing from his jaw all over his face and slowly to his entire body, any element of numbness fading and the cobwebs of sleep untangled.
At first, his vision was blurry and all he could make out was a messy palette of dark green and orange. A few blinks later that blur turned into an intricate pattern painted across a wall. His head was spinning, the repetitive motifs sending him into overdrive.
He was in a closed space with no windows that much was for sure. Most of the furniture was draped with dusty, white cloths except for a billiard table in the middle.
As he scanned the place, and he winced when he tried to bend his waist to the right, his eyes caught sight of a staircase leading upwards. That's where he must have come from.
But wait… how did he get there?
The pain in his jaw grew more prominent and his entire day thus far replayed in his head in fast forward; packing, driving in the busiest of streets, getting flipped off by someone that could have been his grandma, the beautiful house he would stay, the phone call with his mum, that gorgeous woman pinning him on his car seat and punching him senseless.
Way to go, Wheeler, your stupid hormones are about to get you killed!
Granted his poor sex life –which translates to 'he is still a virgin'- has him susceptible to falling victim to his sexual frustration more often than not. And he feels like the biggest idiot on the planet for being so mesmerized by this very attractive intruder that he didn't even consider his life might be (or definitely is) in danger.
Wide awake now, Mike's brain screamed to his limbs to carry him the hell out of there, to call the cops or something and save himself. He made to sit up, only to have a sharp pain shoot from his ankles, wrists, torso, and ribs all over. A quick glance at his body and he discovered he was restrained –judging by the still lingering pain in the places he was tied, it would have to be some kind of wire later covered with tape. His next instinct was to scream for help, but his voice was muffled by another string of tape glued to his mouth, tugging at his scarce facial hair vexingly.
Dear Lord, he's so dead!
In a stupid spring of hope, he wiggled and thrashed around, hoping that maybe his captor hadn't done such a great job at tying him up. No such luck. Of course, he was glued in place! His kidnapper would have to be a huge idiot to make such a colossus slip up. A captor that happens to be Mike's literal dream girl –at least regarding appearances-, could pack a killer punch and was smart enough to tie his up, render him mute, injure him in places that would delay his escape and chose to so all of that in a thinly resided neighborhood where there was little to no traffic, so no chance of anyone hearing his screams if he were to miraculously get rid of the tape in his mouth.
So basically he was trapped in his own house by a clever woman who had God knows what in store for him and there is a 99% chance he will die, just when he was about to make a fresh start.
The universe must hate him!
Everything was so quiet and ha was alone, had been alone for a while now, it was getting under his skin.
How long has he been out? Shit, he can't even tell the time without natural light. He forced his wrist to move and bring his fist parallel to the floor. Not only did it the wire digging in his skin sting, but it was also in vain. His watch had been removed. She had removed it.
What on earth was she planning to do with him? Was she some kind of nut job that took pleasure in torturing her victims, a serial killer notorious of being invisible from the law? A part of Mike did not want to believe his assumptions, but his mind concocted all kinds of gruesome scenarios of what she could e or do to him anyway. Mike's knee grew jittery, a natural reaction whenever he was anxious, but he had to restrain himself if he did not want to cut his foot with the wire.
He forced himself to take a few breaths and calmed his aching foot. Silence again, too much of it. Come to think of it, where was she? If she wanted to kill him, torture him, sell his organs, or whatever sick plan she had, where was she? What was she waiting for? Was she bringing others with her? Or did she just leave him there?
A flash of hope sends a new surge of energy through his body. Mike was never the judgmental type, but he had to admit that the woman was dressed like some kind of street punk or junkie or a homeless person. Could she have just knocked him out to steal food and other appliances of his home she could sell?
Mike dismissed the thought. If it was a simple case of break and entry, she wouldn't have tied him up like that in his own basement. Even if it was, she was still here, she must be.
Mike couldn't take the uncertainty swelling inside him. He wanted to know what the hell was going on and why this was happening to him!
Confident his captor was still around the house, he did the only thing that seemed reasonable at the time. He made some noise… by thrashing around hard, so hard he fell on the floor on his left with a loud thud.
Pain shot from his injured ribs, excruciating, and a painful reminder of how weak he was at the moment. The tape stifled his groan.
There is no way she did not hear that.
He waited for a few moments that lasted eons, eyes glued to the staircase.
Nothing
The tape drowned a groan of frustration and he squirmed, his restrains digging at his skin uncomfortably. He doubted the rattling sound he emitted was strong enough, and so with every ounce of strength in his gangly, skinny body, he thrashed around like a fish out of the water, resulting in a louder thud than before.
Mike had to cease his endeavors almost immediately to not cut his wrists and ankles. Hopelessly, he exhaled through his nose and closed hi eyes, the pain in his ribcage much more evident now that his hope subsided.
An ominous realization sank in.
She left him there to die.
That's it, it has to be. It's the only thing that makes sense. His captor, as gorgeous as she might be, has to be a psychotic sadist that takes pleasure in leaving people by their lonesome to rot. Is this his fate? Is this how he was meant to go?
If so, Mike hates it. A sob vibrated in his throat. He is still so young. The twenties are supposed to be the peak of your lifetime, not a one-way ticket to your inevitable doom. Mike has his studies, which might suck but at least he can do whatever he wants after he gets recognized as a writer. He has a whole new world blossoming in his head, crying out for materialization and recognition. There are so many people out there he could meet, so many smiles he could frame at their faces with his stories. There are Lucas and Dustin, his best friends for life. The three of them have sworn to stick to their brotherhood till they are old enough to need diapers. And then there is the love of his life, somewhere in this globe, this human soul that is probably blind enough to not notice his physical flaws and with godsend patience and affection just for him.
But no, Michael Wheeler, bad luck charm extraordinaire, hopeless romantic and the king of the nerds is about to perish in a filthy basement of all places, with his elf Queen and human sorcerer as his only company. And they are not even real.
He can picture it vividly now: Michael Wheeler, loving son, and brother, AV Club president and the king of the nerds rests here, is this rat hole that smells like shit and cherry…wait, cherry?
Mike cuts his inward lament short and bats his eyelids. At first, he has to squint to adjust to the extra light washing over the basement. Then a pair of long, tight-clad legs emerge tucked in boots that could prove lethal if their owner accidentally stepped on your toe. Seconds later there was a tiny wait, a medium chest, broad shoulders, and a pretty face to go with the legs. A pretty face that looked more pissed that Mike's history teacher when teased about his hemorrhoids.
The woman, his captor, crept closer to him, the living personification of 'if looks could kill'. Apparently she was not happy to see him, alive? Breathing? Tossed on the floor like a dead rat her cat could have dragged in? Mike knows not, but he has a feeling he is about to find out.
For a moment, none of them utter a word, simply taking in the sight of each other. The angle is uncomfortable, but that doesn't stop Mike from noticing her golden-brown locks that poof at the roots and fall messily near her shoulders. They are so messy and funny it's kinda cute.
Bind by her spell once again, any trace of fear that had seeped in his mind dissipated. It was hard for him not to feel all fuzzy and funny around her. Mike's best attempt in putting in words why he reacted this way in her presence would be; she is pretty. Sure, many girls he has encountered had been pretty, and always out of his league. But there was something about how effortlessly she carried herself, how her tiny frame tricked you and masked her strength, how her hazel, smoky eyes looked so wild yet so soft at the same time. She was a mystery of wonders and Mike wanted to discover them all.
The spell was broken when she had walked right in front of him- he had been so busy wolfing her down with his gaze he hadn't realized she had approached him. Fear slipped through the cracks of the now broken enchantment. His captor was just standing there, sizing him up as he stood frozen –not like he could move much- with his overactive brain weaving tones of scenarios of what she would do to him.
He was right, wasn't he? She is a psychotic lunatic who enjoys tormenting people. Oh Lord, he is going to look like one of those victims in the Saw movies! Mike was sweating profusely. He must have been sporting the most incredulous expression ever because his captor's face dismissed its threatening look and replaced it with a light pull on her lips, amusement dancing in her eyes.
She was taking pleasure in his fear while all he could do is squirm under her impending gaze. Jesus Christ, could she just get this over with already! His mental excretion is torturing enough already. But no, she just carries on doing nothing but looking at him with that smug smirk and those piercing eyes.
Fear starts to give way to irritation. What does she want? Why is he chained up like that? She is not a thief that much Mike has established. The only logical conclusion would be that she wants to torture him, revel on the sight of him struggling as life abandons him. But she just stands there, looking. Even if he wasn't so overwhelmed, more focused, Mike still would not have been able to tell what's on her mind, aside from the obvious amusement.
Is she toying him? She is definitely toying him. Something Mike had suspected she would do but was not expecting it to be like that. If she wants to kill him, she better make it quick because godammit he can't take it anymore; just standing there, shrinking more by the minute under her.
Mike's knee was shaking, jittering painfully against the restraints. But he hardly noticed the pain or the scowl that laced his features. Without so much as think like a rational human being, Mike broke the ice.
"What? What do you want?" he barked at her.
The way she reacted was far beyond his expectations. Not like Mike knew exactly what he was expecting, but it certainly did not include his captor taking a cautious step back and her jaw slack. She looked taken aback, almost scared, and for a second Mike felt a stab of guilt.
The woman was quick to recover from the shock, clearing her throat and features hardening. Reluctantly, she shrugged.
"Oh, I want many things. A house by the beach, a dog; Labrador would be nice, my own waffle machine and a normal sleep schedule".
She uncrossed her arms and bent over to pull Mike up, then started lugging him towards the brighter part of the room.
"And you want these chains gone, am I right?"
Mike craned his neck from left to right; the previous strain had left an inevitable discomfort that would stay there for a while. His heartbeat echoed in his ears as he listened to her. Where is she going with this? What the hell is going on? Get me out of here! That's what he wanted to scream in her face. But he didn't. Instead, he opted for listening. It's not like she will free him if he asks so.
His captor walked behind him and placed her palms on Mike's shoulder, the heat of her touch bleeding through the fabric of his shirt. His breath hitched at the sensation. It only got worse when she leaned into his ear.
"So, you and I both want things we can't have right now," she whispered, sending thrills riding down his spine.
Amidst the haze of sensations distracting him, he managed to catch one keyword; now. Does that mean that she intends to set him free later? No, that would be stupid, unless she is referring to his future corpse. Unwilling to allow his brain to send him on a tailspin, he spoke.
"Who-who are you? What do you want from me?" he croaked out, her warm breath in his neck messing with his speech.
The woman walked in front of him again, bending slightly to keep Mike on eye level, she looked dead serious.
"I am many things. I am either the person that can chop you up and feed you to the stray hounds, or I am the person that can allow you to live if you do exactly as I say. Take your pick, twig".
Mike did not like the nickname, he especially hated how it was a part of a very threatening proposition he seemed to have no say in. Either he does whatever he says or he is done for. She was serious, he could tell.
There was something he couldn't comprehend, however. That woman could end his life and move on with her own if he refused to obey her. She has the upper hand and she is well aware of that, but Mike can't help but notice how tight her jaw it, or how stiff and on edge, she seems. Sure, she attempts to pull off a carefree façade, but when Mike has his eyes on her, he sees the little things that give her away. Curious, he presses on.
"So, you tie me up into my own basement and then you threaten me into doing your bidding?"
She licked her lips and backed away, straightening her body.
"No, not exactly. This wasn't even supposed to be your house".
"What?"
"Oh yes, buddy. This place was supposed to be mine".
"Wait, are you doing all this over a mix-up? Are you crazy?"
Mike couldn't believe his ears. That's what it was all about? Was she really that butt-hurt about the owner probably accidentally offering the house to two attendants?
The woman placed her hands on her hips, "It's not a mix-up. It's a critical error, but enough of that. Here's how this is going to go," she leaned back in, their eyes locked in a silent contest. Mike's chest rose and fell fast.
"You are going to carry on with your life and pretend I'm not here at all. You talk to no one about me, no friends, no family, and no girlfriends. You stay out of my way and I stay out of yours and we will be two happy roommates until I can get the fuck out of this place. Any questions?"
Oh, Mike had a tone of questions. And yet the only thing that wormed out of his mouth was a disbelieving, "What?"
"You want that in Spanish? You, me, roommates for two months, you speak of this to anyone you are a dead piece of meat, end of the story".
Mike's eyes went comically wide. He still had trouble grasping the situation he was dragged into. Is this woman for real? She just wanted to…live with him, for two months. And she expected him to pretend she did not exist. After that evening, that would be a Herculean task. Why is she letting him live in the first place when she could keep the house to herself? Not that Mike is complaining about the chance to stay with the living, but it's all just so… strange.
Before he had the chance to utter a single question, his new roommate was freeing him from his restraints and tossing him the key to the house.
"Can you cook?" she asked so casually as if she hadn't just forced him into coexisting with her. Flabbergasted, Mike nodded, unable to say anything else as blood rushed back to his wrists and ankles. The woman smiled.
"Good. Get your stuff. Lunch in an hour," she made for the stairs, leaving Mike cemented to the ground, rubbing his wrists.
His mouth gaped open like a fish, trying to impose order on his scrambled thoughts. On a wimp, he managed to croak out a few words.
"Wait!" he yelled, "I-uh… I don't even know your name".
Ok, that was not what he wanted to actually ask but it wouldn't hurt to have that certain piece of information to his arsenal.
The woman was already halfway up, skipping the stairs like she was running away from Mike and his questions. She pursed her lips and took a minute too long to answer.
"It's Jane".
"Well… I'm Mike".
"I know," she uttered and rushed up the stairs.
Mike took a few much needed minutes to will his thoughts in order. This woman, this Jane, wanted them to be roommates in exchange of him keeping her existence secret. That was it. That was all; no torture, no blackmail –okay, maybe a little bit of blackmail but not the kind he was expecting- no minced Mike Wheeler in the gutter.
Jane's presence, the way she had leaned in and whispered in his ear, her touch leaving a warm imprint in his skin, had been a serious distraction for the functionality of his brain- dear lord her skin was soft and his horny ass brain wondered how it would feel without his shirt on. But now that she was away, Mike easily spied the glimmering suspicion in her bizarre deal.
Jane could very well be a runaway, a criminal fleeing the law. And she wanted him to give her a home until she could go back to society doing God knows what illegal stuff.
Or maybe –the part of his brain that was hopeful and infatuated whispered- maybe she was an innocent convict falsely accused. Both made sense and if the second option held truth, Mike would have less of a hard time sleeping at night.
Listing his questions, checking the marks on his wrists and ankles –not that bad, but there was a large bruise in his ribcage and it hurt whenever he tried to take a deep breath- and picking up the key from the ground, he tossed his frustration aside and climbed the stairs up to their new home.
Apparently being a hostage means getting the guest room at your own house. Mike would complain hadn't he already known she could knock him out cold within seconds. So onto the guestroom, he settled.
An hour after their initial conversation –if you could call it that- Jane had been locked up in the bedroom and Mike was busy moving his stuff in and processing what the hell he had gotten himself into.
Let's take it from the top, he was knocked out, the cherry on top on this wonderful Sunday morning, and woke up chained up at the hands of the most gorgeous and probably insane woman he has ever encountered who demands of him to be his 'roommate'. How can she expect him to act like she is not around? How can she make sure he won't talk to anyone? Why does she have to stay in this particular house for two months? What is he supposed to do?
Mike eyed his princess Leia figurine with pure frustration as if the doll had the answers and was keeping them from him. He was looking at the wrong doll. A wry smile played on his lips. Jane resembled Princess Leia. Appearance-wise, she was Mike's ideal girl. As for personality, her first impression wasn't exactly appealing… more like a heart attack factor.
Mike placed the figurine carefully on the shelf with the rest of his collection and made for the kitchen. On his way, before he reached the stairwell, he stole a glance at Jane's room –his original bedroom. The door was closed and it was quiet. Mike wondered what she was up to, but decided to leave all of his questions for lunch.
Entering the kitchen, he was greeted by a plate full of fruit on the table, a set of napkins next to it, and some plastic bags neatly folded in an open drawer. The place was stocked with food. Has Jane been there for a while?
Shrugging his shoulders he inspected the fridge contents and decided on a simple and quick omelet with vegetables and cheese; less waiting for him to see her again. He cracked the eggs and whisked them with spices and a splash of milk before mixing some onion and peppers and dumping it into the heating pan.
Does Jane like papers? Mike blew a curl out of his face and shook his head at his own idiocy. Why would she have peppers there if she doesn't like them? And why was he so concerned about whether his meal appealed to her? Oh, right, because she could serve him a good beat-up.
After he dumped the second omelet in the pan, he made a simple Greek salad, sliced some bread and set the table, all while watching over the omelet and flipping it once. The milk made it fluffy and added volume and Mike smiled in satisfaction of how it turned out, all golden and smooth and fluffy looking, no chars or cuts. For someone who had never needed to cook for anyone, himself included, he had a knack for the art and sometimes baked cookies for Holly whenever his parents fought, or cooked meals for his friends instead of ordering pizza during their campaigns. Mike had grown fond of cooking, as a distraction and means to show love and care to others.
None of those emotions, however, had made it to this dish, only perfectionism, and concern. And it still looked delicious.
After admiring his work on the dining table, he went to call Jane. He was about to knock when he noticed the door was slightly ajar. Curious, he leaned in and then had to shuffle a gasp with his hand.
Jane was only in a sports bra and panties. Her endless long legs were shining from the lotion she was applying, her stomach had a fine definition and her toned ass made him drool. She must have been taking a bath when he passed by earlier and now her skin was silk with lotion, all glowing and inviting. Mike actually checked to see if he was drooling. Then his eyes moved up and he saw her curvy bra-clad torso, her broad shoulders, her toned arms, and the expanse of her neck wet from the water dripping from her still wet hair. Without realizing it, Mike was holding his breath as he took all of her in, every inch he could see send signals south and before he knew it, he had a predicament tightening his pants. He couldn't help it, she was so damn beautiful.
Jane turned around and their eyes met, her face without make-up looking even more gorgeous than before. She seemed unbothered by him seeing her like this as she just stood there, eyebrows raised and expecting him to speak.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to- um… Lunch is ready," he managed to croak out. Jane shrugged and continued getting dressed, focused on finding a particular piece of clothing. Mike regained his respiration and closed the door a little too abruptly.
Get it together man!
As tempting and beautiful as this woman is, she is a dangerous mystery that has intentions yet unknown, probably dangerous too. Despite that, for some inexplicable reason, Mike seemed to trust her, and not as in a friend to confide his deepest secrets. Jane was a tough nut to crack, that was for sure, and in all of her intense and threatening demeanor, Mike's mind was relying on one moment of vulnerability, one that urged him to believe she might not be that bad.
When he had yelled at her in the basement; that's when her hard expression had cracked and showed him a scared little girl, if only for a fleeting moment. Mike tossed pieces of omelet around in his plate, not really eating any.
If she has no other option than to stay in this particular place, then she must be running away from something; the law, criminals, family, Mike doesn't know. Not only that, but the specific two months she mentioned tell Mike that whatever she is hiding from she won't have to for long, that maybe she has a plan to escape or face it. There is a possibility she is not alone in this, that maybe she is a part of some organization. As his brain gears span and produced conclusions, Jane joined him on the table and all but scuffed down her food.
A small, sad smile played on Mike's lips. He always took pleasure in people enjoying his meals, especially his little sister. Yet the cute sight in front of him raised a question; how long has it been since she last ate something?
Any processing in his brain stopped –there wasn't much left anyway- and he remembered he also had a now cold omelet in his plate. Reluctant, he nibbled at a fluffy bite.
"Not hungry?" Jane inquired, startling Mike.
"Not-not really," his eyes darted from her to his omelet, to her now empty plate, "You can have mine if you want to; you know, not let it go to waste".
Jane narrowed her eyes at him, eyeing him suspiciously. Mike couldn't tell exactly what she was thinking, but something about his proposition set her off. Does she think he poisoned the omelet or something?
A few moments of awkward silence passed during which Mike squirmed in his seat under her impetuous gaze, wishing she just said something. At last, she grabbed his plate, her gaze still cold, and wolfed down the cold omelet, helping herself with one more slice of bread. Where does she put all that?
Mike just stood there, unsure of what to do. He still had questions but was afraid that if he started talking he would piss her off. When she finished, she slumped in her seat with a content sigh and Mike chuckled at the sound or more like made a huffy, drowned noise. Her eyes shot up at him.
"What?"
"Sorry…. You just… how long has it been since you last ate?" he sputtered. Jane raised her eyebrow.
"Quiet an unexpected question. Observant, aren't we?"
Mike fumbled with his long fingers, "Sorry I-"
"Stop saying 'sorry' so much, it pisses me off," she stood up, the chair creaking from her force, "I don't need your pity"
Jane walked around the table and made a small jump to sit on it, right in front of him. Mike's eyes were glued on her, flinching at every sudden move.
"You have three questions. Be quick about it."
Mike blinked at her as she crossed her legs, now clad in comfortable leggings. He swallowed the last bits of the bite in his mouth and tried to speak. Of all the moments his brain could malfunction, he chose a crucial one, classic Mike.
Jane drummed her fingers on the table, expectant. After the silence lasted longer than she would like, she sighed and jumped off the table, taking off into the living room.
"Where are you from?"
The question leaped out of his mouth so suddenly he even surprised himself. Jane paused but didn't turn to look at him.
"Indiana"
"Really? Where exactly? I'm from-"
"Next question," she demanded. Mike decided to not risk pressing her.
"Is Jane your real-"
"Yes," again, she cut him off, this time more angrily. Mike noted her vocal reaction and how her shoulders stiffened, "Last question".
"Ok, um…are you…hiding from someone?" Mike cringed at his awkwardness. He initially wanted to seem more confident, but every slight movement on her part had him constantly on edge like she would spin around and kick him in the face or something similar.
This time, Jane did turn to face him and looked him dead in the eye, crossing her arms.
"Bad men," she said. Mike gulped. He had suspected this much, but the way she said it, so vague and so handy for his intense imagination to weave extravagant scenarios stirred his curiosity. He decided to play with fire.
"Do they want to hurt you? The bad men?"
Jane dug her nails into her forearms. Then she lifted one hand and extended her ring and middle finger, folding the others and making a pistol shape directed at her temple. To his surprise, Mike got his answer, but before he could celebrate the fact that she didn't skin his ass for asking a fourth question, she directed the hand-gun at him, lightly touching his forehead. Mike's heartbeat went erratic.
"End of the conversation".
A/N: Hello hello my beautiful awesome people and ST fans. Just testing the waters with a new idea here. Can't promise an update soon though.
I hope you are enjoying this and if you do, leave a review with your opinion or some constructive criticism, both equally accepted.
Lots of love
Irene Rays