[https://i.imgur.com/Myxa9pw.gif]
CHAPTER 31: HIGHJACKED TO HELL
It’s weird the places life takes you sometimes.
When I woke up this morning, I did not expect to be later abducted by a pair of gorillas in suits right in front of my friend’s house, then shoved in the back of a black four-wheeler with black-tinted windows, where two more suited gorillas awaited.
Who is it who’s going around buying clothes for animals? Is that Old Lady from Babar the Elephant somewhere in the neighbourhood? I never trusted that old broad. She’s louche. Who finds an elephant in the street and thinks, “Oh! I know. Let’s adopt him and buy him clothes! Also, I shall hire a private tutor and turn this elephant into a gentleman!”
Old people are weird. Ahhh… Where was I?
Oh, right. I’ve been abducted by a quartet of clothed gorillas.
In fact, I’m almost sure one of the two who were waiting in the car is a woman, but her square jaw and small, mean, sunken eyes lead me to the decision to avoid committing a social faux-pas by outright asking. They didn’t introduce themselves, so I inwardly named the four of them Humpty, Dumpty, Scarface and Gorilady.
We ride in silence. I’m sweating abundantly under four unblinking stares. Brash as I am in-game, people don’t respawn in real life. So pardon me if I worry. Also, I don’t know where we are—or where we are going, evidently. The windows are not only tinted; they are black. I can’t see outside, not even through the windscreen. Nothing but the faint shifts in inertia betray that the car is actually in motion.
I try to take a look at the Sat Drive to get a sense of our destination, but the presumed female is in the way and looks like she’s unlikely to move. She seems rooted to her seat. I bet even if the car crashed, she would remain in the exact same position in the wreckage until someone extracted her with a crowbar. I clear my throat. “Err... Where are we going?”
Might as well try.
““““………””””
My question is met with silent stares.
Well, I tried.
“…not a talkative bunch, are we?”
““““………””””
“Guess not.”
With a sigh, I recline in the backseat, trying to find a comfortable position—a difficult task, squeezed as I am between Humpty and Scarface.
That said, all things considered, I would think that I’m taking this whole kidnapping business well enough.
I’m nervous, sure, but not overly so.
I guess… maybe I should be more panicked at my current predicament. Some might argue I should be attempting to escape. But I would then point out this isn’t some Hollywood action movie. Realistically, a young adult in average physical shape such as myself cannot escape four bodybuilders while inside a moving car.
So, since there is nothing to do, overly worrying is just a waste of energy.
I’m good at conserving my energy.
Read: I’m lazy.
Yeah, sure, whatevs.
Anyway, with all that said...
I’m bored.
“Does anyone mind if I sing?”
““““………””””
“I’ll take that as a tacit permission.” I inhale deeply and, after a short breath for dramatic effect, I start singing at the top of my lungs. “99 bottles of beer on the wall! 99 bottles of beer! Take one down and pass it around, 98 bottles of beer on the wall!! 98 bottles of beer on the wall, 98 bottles of beer! Take one down pass it around, 97 bottles of beer on the wall! 97…”
Mwahahahaha!! You fools! Not trying to escape doesn’t mean I’m resigned to accepting this situation without fighting back!
Prepare to suffer, gorillas.
* * *
Thirty and some minutes later.
“…It’s a small world after all!! It’s a small world after all! It's a small, sma~ll wo—”
“We have arrived.” The woman—presumed—interrupts me with a strained voice. I fall silent and raise an eyebrow her way then at her colleagues. Their stoic expressions are even stonier than before, and their small eyes are quivering with something like trauma.
Good.
Or maybe I just imagine it.
Whatever.
Dumpty, to my right, pushes the door open. He steps outside in something of a hurry, and I follow calmly. The three others exit through their respective doors. The car has stopped in an underground parking lot. There are other cars, but nobody else. The four doors of our car slam shut in unison. The sharp noise echoing off the concrete walls and low ceiling startles me.
Before I can make any witty comment to cover up my scare, I’m quickly encircled by a wall of muscles and glares.
Hmmm… Are they perhaps annoyed at something?
Gee. I wonder what that could be.
Well, in any case, I’m not enjoying this. Glares notwithstanding, my appreciation for muscular bodies doesn’t extend to men. As for the woman(?), she isn’t only muscular but, like her gorilla brethren, she is neckless, more square than human-shaped, and her facial features don’t suit my aesthetic tastes.
Take Athena as a comparison. I won’t lie and say Thena is a paragon of beauty—she is half-orc after all—but at least she possesses an authoritarian grace and elegance that makes her look sharp and imposing rather than coarse and scary.
This woman(?) just looks like a brute.
What? I’m biased. Sue me.
So, no, I’m not happy.
And now, I’m thinking of Thena again, and my mood is souring even faster. Of course, my current status as an abductee doesn’t help me see the brighter sides of things. I sigh. The Jakande family must also be worried. I wonder if Hope contacted her agents in the underworld already. Or more realistically, if Yasmin assembled a gang of her bloodthirsty martial arts disciples to hunt down my soon-to-be-dismembered kidnappers.
One of the said kidnappers commands me to start walking. I comply with a grumble. “It’s a small, small world.” I hum distractedly to counter the oppressive silence. I am gratified to see the two preceding me flinch.
We reach an elevator and step in as soon as the doors open. We fit, somehow, but it’s a tight fit. All I can see is suits. Someone press the touchpad, and we’re off to the higher floors.
“Still not going to tell me where we are?”
““““………””””
“Did you ever consider entering a declamation contest? You lot certainly have a talent for the verbal art.”
““““………””””
“Ah, I see.” I nod to myself. “You’re more into embroidering, I understand. Wiping off bloodstains with an ugly handkerchief is just bad taste, and if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. I totally understand.”
““““………””””
“I must say, as specimens, you’re quite intimidating. Burly and brawny, not a bit scraggly or scrawny, and you certainly got biceps to spare. How hairy are you, by the way? Just asking.”
““““………””””
“I also want to ask. How many eggs did you eat as children to grow this large? At least four or five dozens every morning, I bet. I mean… each one of you is roughly the size of a barge.”
““““………””””
“Is one of you named Gaston?”
““““………””””
“......”
““““………””””
“……”
““““………””””
“…this elevator is pretty slow, isn't it?”
““““………””””
“……”
…
……
………
…………*ting*
“I think this is our stop, gentlemen… and other.” I cast a suspicious look at the woman—presumed.
We move out as a compact block, having taken the shape of the lift car. As we progress into a non-descript hallway, I’m still so compressed my feet barely touch the floor. “Err… I can’t… feel my legs anymore… or my arms… I think… you’re blocking my cir…cu…lation—ugh…”
Halfway down the hallway, the four human presses separate with a *pop*. The sound effect might just be in my head, though. It rather lacks in oxygen right now. I drop down, stumbling, and then I stand still, waiting for sensations to return to my numb limbs and for the hallway to stop spinning. Unsteady, I raise an outraged finger. “This is the worst service I’ve ever seen! What kind of kidnappers are you? I have standards, you know?! Ugh!!”
“This way.” The woman(?) grabs me by the arm and drags me roughly through a door I hadn’t noticed. The other three stay out. The room is small and dark, only partially illuminated by the light coming from the hallway behind us, and my “gentle” escort blocking most of it. In the darkness, I vaguely distinguish a table and a chair.
She pushes me down on the chair. “Stay here. Don’t try to go out, or else…” Looking up and meeting her shadowed glare, I gulp, my earlier bravado melting like snow in the sun.
Come on. We can take this Neanderthal. Elbow to the throat, kick to the gut, she bends down and—BAM—knee to the face. Then search her. I’m sure she has a weapon. Afterwards, we can deal with the ones outside. The door is too narrow for them to come at us all at once.
And then?
Then we find a way out.
That’s crazy.
No. You’re crazy. You’re talking to a voice in your head and making plans to kill people.
“One last thing…” The woman stops and turns back as she was about to step out. For a brief instant, I have the irrational worries she heard my inner dialogue.
She steps back in and leans down at eye level. She bares her teeth in a grimace. I lean back, putting as much distance between our faces as the backrest will allow me. I swallow anxiously—and do my best to ignore the voice in my head shouting me to head-butt her in the nose and choke her once she’s down. She narrows her eyes. The poor lighting makes her unpleasant face downright scary. I want to wipe the sweat trickling from my brows into my eyes, but I don’t dare move.
What is she going to say?
“I do not do embroidering.”
“……”
“……”
“…eh?”
“I knit.”
“……”
“……”
“Understood?”
I shake my head up and down vigorously.
She nods, satisfied, and walks out, slamming the door behind her.
I hear the sound of a lock turning, leaving me trapped in complete darkness.
“……”
Eventually unfreezing, I slowly scratch my head. “…What just happened?” Distractedly, I pat down my pockets, subconsciously looking for anything that might be useful. Useful for what? I’m not sure. I guess I’ll figure it out when I find it. Sadly, I left my lock-picking kit back home.
I have no idea how to pick a lock, anyway.
Why did I even buy that kit?
I’m startled when my hand comes into contact with something hard, flat and rectangular. I frown, slip a hand into my pocket… and fish my phone out of said pocket.
“……”
Now that I think about it, they didn't search me, did they?
“……”
Something useful? That’ll do.
I swipe across the screen and... nothing happens.
I try, again, in vain.
…
……
………
The battery is dead.
My head slams against the tabletop.
Sometimes, a facepalm just isn’t enough.
* * *
I don’t spend much time wallowing in gloom. A mere few minutes after I was left alone, a key turns into the lock and the door swings open, briefly revealing a tall, slender and feminine form before it slams shut again without leaving me time to do anything. In the dark, I hear quick but heavy footsteps walk around the table.
This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.
Abruptly, a bright light is shined straight into my face. “Ugh.” I raise a hand to shield my eyes.
What the fuck? Are we really doing this?
Through gaps between my fingers, I distinguish the same female silhouette as a shadow next to the light source.
“Nicolas Siegel, do you know why you’re here?” The voice is an edgy contralto, deep with a feeling of danger, like a tiger about to pounce. It feels familiar, somehow, but I can’t quite place it.
“Nope. I don’t have the faintest clue.” I don’t see a point in lying.
“A few days ago,” the voice continues slowly, “you took a young woman home with you for the night.”
…
……
………Ah?
Is this what this is about?
Eva?
Why? Is she a daughter of the mafia, or something?
Why does nobody ever tell me these kinds of things?
Like… Hello, how are you, oh by the way, if you approach me, gorillas in suit will abduct you.
Simple.
Things would be so much simpler if people merely talked to each other.
And here I always thought Hope would be the one to get me kidnapped someday…
Right. I probably should answer.
“Well, not exactly. I—”
“Do you deny?!”
Wow. Untie your knickers, lady. They’re in one hell of a knot.
I shake my hands negatively. “No, no. I don’t deny anything. I just think your wording might lead to misunderstanding. I did not ‘take a girl home for the night’. I offered a classmate my guest bedroom because someone had caused her to be locked outside her own home.”
“……”
“…Ma’am?”
“…ahem. So you do admit that you and the young lady in question spent a consequent amount of time alone together at your residence?”
I briefly thought of answering that Eva and I are both smart, self-aware, independent adults and that whatever we did together was none of this woman’s business… but something told me that would be a terrible idea. “Why does it feel like you’re trying to make me answer in a way that would justify beating the life out of me? And don’t you try to deny it! I have a large experience being…” My voice falters. “…beaten by women.”
Pffft.
Oh, just shut up.
I finish up, “So I can clearly sense the foreplay—forewarning signs.”
Dammit!
You’re a lost cause.
“……”
She remains silent, so I take the opportunity to interject. “And can you direct that light somewhere else? My eyes are highly sensitive.”
That seems to break her out of her silence. “I’m the one who asks questions here!” Something slaps the table. Her hand, I suppose. “You’re in no position to make demands!”
I tsk. “Am I asking questions or making demands? Stick to your narrative, lady.”
You just did both.
I know.
I try to hide a smirk.
“You…” The woman’s voice shakes with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “You…”
“Me? Me? Ooooh!” I clap. “What eloquence!” I exclaim with all the sarcasm I’m capable of—while privately wondering what the heck do I think I’m doing pissing off my captor?!
I blame the nerves. You've been way too tensed this past week.
It’s true I feel like something inside me is uncoiling.
I shrug and raise both hands, palms up, as if in helplessness. I’m already committed. It’s too late to back away. Once you tickle the dragon, you better make it laugh. “Maybe I should go out and talk to the goons who brought me here. They had more in the way of conversation. You, on the other hand, aren’t exa—”
“SILENCE!!” Two thumps rattled the table, and I wisely shut up. From the way her voice broke on that word, I don’t think I’m the only one unhinged in this room. “What are your intentions towards Evangeline?!”
“An interest born out of curiosity, which may or may not have evolved into an unrequited crush which I fully understand has very little to no chance of ever reaching fulfilment considering her sexual preferences and androphobia, hence my stance of settling for aiming at a friendship which I hope may become close."
“…………”
“What? Not detailed enough?”
T-t-t. Some people are so hard to please.
“You…”
“Me?”
“You…”
“Me?”
Are we doing this again?
“You SHAMELESS FUCKER!!”
Before I can react—
We really need to work on your reaction time.
I know, I know…
—several things happen almost at once.
The blinding light is knocked aside. Its beam sweeps across the room and reveals for a heartbeat a female shadow swinging her body acrobatically over the table. I stumble to get up and nearly topple backwards with the chair. A pair of hands wraps around my throat in a firm grip and squeezes. The lamp hits the floor with a noise of broken glass. RIP, bulb. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY SISTER!!” RIP …me?
The door slams open in a torrent of light, first from the hallway, then from the room itself when someone I guess flips a switch. Should have checked for that earlier. Something catches my shoulder in a vice and pulls me out of the woman’s grasp. Her nails leave burning scratches on my neck.
“Hellen, what the fuck!?” A man shouts, too far and in the wrong direction to be the person holding my shoulder. “I know you’ve had a shitty week, but are you trying to get us slapped with a fucking lawsuit?!” Clearly, my well-being is a priority here. Nice to know.
A second later, a skinny guy comes into view. Long-haired, pale and thin, he looks like someone with a not-so-distant history of substance abuse. However, his eyes are sharp when they briefly stop on me. Then he zeroes in on the woman and continues shouting at her.
It’s then that I get my first good look at my interrogator.
She is tall and lean—athletic is the term I would use—with a warm skin tone that compliments well her spiked hair dyed scarlet. Her clothes are dark and edgy, matching her voice, but wrinkled, as if a couple days old. Her face is androgynously handsome, but dark rings eat at her slanted eyes fixedly glaring my way, ignoring the man still berating her. An ugly snarl twists her features, further ruining her handsomeness.
From her expression and posture, the skinny man’s hand on her shoulder—acting more as a psychological barrier than anything else—seems to be the only thing stopping her from pouncing at me.
I glance behind me. The guy holding my shoulder has mocha skin, and half his face is covered in angry tribal tattoos. They continue over his bald scalp and down his sculpted muscular arms. Our noses are almost touching. He gives me an apologectic smile not matching his scary appearance and releases me. I mumble insincere thanks while rubbing my neck and then my shoulder. This better not bruise. I don’t like unnecessary pain.
Unless it’s inflicted by a handsome woman.
That aside, I’m still trying to figure out what’s going on.
A movement by the door attracts my gaze. A woman just entered the room, and she is now standing in the doorframe with a sad frown on her beautiful face.
I’ll repeat it. She is beautiful. One of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. And I’ve met the Elven Queen—she was screaming and shooting arrows at me, but still. Her pure white dress clings softly to her slender form. Her pale blonde hair cascades down to the small of her back, framing a light-skinned face hosting two bright sky-blue eyes. She really is stunning—not my type, mind you, but objectively remarkable. No matter the place or time, you can’t really argue with symmetry, healthiness and poise.
And large breasts.
That’s beside the point. Not to mention historically inaccurate.
I stare at each of them in silence.
Her breasts?
The people!
I stare at them not because I have nothing to say—the Infernal Lands would sooner be covered in chocolate-chipped ice cream—but because it suddenly clicked why that voice sounded familiar.
I know these people.
Not personally, of course—I make a point not to associate with gimmicky kidnappers—but I’ve seen them on TV enough and, above all, heard them enough to be sure I’m not mistaken.
The blonde woman is Angel, lead singer and pianist of the band Faust, said by her fans to be the very incarnation of Purity.
The man behind me goes by “Cerberus,” drummer of the band Faust. According to the foul-proof source that is the internet, he is a brute who adds a tattoo for each damned victim he dismembers with his bare hands and sends to Hades.
The skinny man is Cheshire, guitarist and bassist of Faust, rumoured to be possessed by the spirit of a malicious cat having lived his whole nine lives before being sacrificed to pagan gods. Possibly. I have my doubts. Cats are too cunning to let themselves be caught and sacrificed to pagan gods.
And lastly, there’s the violinist, lyricist and all-around figurehead and spokesperson of Faust: Hell.
And apparently, from what I just heard, “Hell” really is just short for Hellen… Eh.
There go fans’ conspiracy theories about Wikipedia being controlled by the government to hide demonic presences in our world.
I’m still sceptical, though.
I mean, otherwise, how do you explain Mary? She indubitably is a real-life succubus.
...I wonder if she started playing yet. Yasmin said she’d delivered my package. If Mary is playing UT, I need to remember to tell her to go pick it up.
Looking down, deep in thoughts… I notice my socks.
...
......
.........Right.
I did take off my shoes at the Jakande’s, didn’t I? Err...
I look up, meeting the sight of Hell and Cheshire still shouting at each other while Angel seems troubled at how to stop them. Cerberus has stepped away from me and is casually reclining against a wall, acting as if none of this was related to him.
I wait for another couple minutes to see if any of them will remember my existence. When none do, I clear my throat.
“Ahem.”
The two bickering bandmates fall silent, and four gazes simultaneously converge to me. I reply with an awkward grimace and scratch the bridge of my nose.
“Err... Can anyone lend me a pair of shoes?”
““““………””””
* * *
“So, Hellen, please tell me what possessed you to abduct… err…” Thomas’ voice trails off, and his sunken gaze shifts to me. Thomas is Cheshire’s real name. He introduced himself to me earlier, as he was handing over a pair of slightly heeled boots. Spares for one of his stage outfit, he said… They’re… err…
They look gay.
Well, they fit.
We are currently sitting in a small conference room in what I just learnt is the building of Moon Slice Records, label to which Faust belongs.
Who kidnaps people and bring them to the company they work for?! Use an abandoned office building, or a warehouse! It’s in “Kidnapping for Dummies”, page 9!
According to what Thomas explained right after my “rescue”, the Faust members had been here busy trying out new ideas for their far-off next album—trying to come up with a theme, to be exact. Hellen, usually the artistic mind behind the group, had been acting weird as of late and wasn’t contributing much, causing her mates to become increasingly suspicious. When she disappeared for a bathroom break that became conspicuously long, it prompted the rest of the band to go after her.
After a bit of looking through the hallways, their suspicions were all but confirmed when they discovered four of the company’s security guards—who were supposed to be off-duty today—standing watch by a room that contained nothing of value. Getting past the guards was the affair of a minute, and thus they stumbled upon my strangulation.
Just on time, I must say.
Incidentally, the room I was detained and interrogated in earlier is a small office which Hellen hijacked for her own nefarious purposes.
After some coaxing, she agreed to relocate to a more pleasant location, where we are now. True to her namesake, Angel even brought refreshments and snacks.
Angel is her real name, by the way. I have yet to hear Cerberus’ name. …I have yet to hear him talk at all, actually. But I doubt any sensible parent would name their child “Cerberus”. Though, there are some loony people out there.
Back to the situation at hand, I swallow a mouthful of biscuit. “Nicolas,” I answer Thomas’ unspoken question. Turning to Angel, I add sincerely, “Those biscuits are quite tasty.”
She beams back a radiant smile. “Aw. Thank you. But they’re only crap full of chemicals that are served to the employees here.” Her bright smile as she spouts these harsh words is truly blinding. I choke on another bite of biscuit.
Wiping crumbles from my lips, I raise an eyebrow and glance at the others. Hellen only glares back sourly. Thomas and Cerberus share a look before sighing in unison. Angel seems clueless as to what is going on. “What? What did I say?”
Thomas reaches out and pats her head. “It’s okay, baby. We still love you.”
Baby? Are the Angel and Cheshire together?
Alala… Yet another fan theory going up in smoke, along with the accepted truth that Cheshire and Cerberus get along like, well, cats and dogs. As far as I can tell, they get along just fine. Well, Cerberus appears mostly silent and indiferent.
“I’m not a child!” Angel complains loudly. Her childish pout begs to differ, though. She should be in her late twenties, but her behaviour does make her seem much younger. After some more petting, the pout eventually slides off her face, replaced by lazy contentment, and she sinks into Thomas’ embrace.
Who really is the cat between the two, I wonder.
Thomas looks at me with an awkward smirk. “Please don’t mind her. She has no filter in what she says.” I wave a hand to say I don’t mind. He nods and returns to staring at the brooding violinist. “So, Hell… why?”
For a moment, Hellen only glares at him with a betrayed expression, but then she shoots me a scathing look and spits venomously, “He did something to Eva!”
I blink.
I’m sorry… what?
As I process that last statement, I immediately feel the atmosphere in the room shift—and not in my favour. Thomas’ eyes narrow at me almost viciously. I briefly think that it does make him look like a sick alley cat. Cerberus’ face and crossed forearms tense, a subtle change that nevertheless causes sweat to pour once again down my back. And even Angel’s expression turns to one of wounded betrayal, like a little girl who’s suddenly been told her new friend had murdered Santa.
I blink again, still stunned by the accusation, but another thought takes precedence. “What happened to Eva?!” I half-rise off my chair. “Is she alright?!” Something twists inside me, a strange mix of worry and dark burning anger.
Who dares mess with our Eva?!
The angst in my voice must have sounded genuine—which it was—because after scrutinizing my face for another few seconds, the Thomas’ expression relaxes. The skinny man turns his attention back to his glowering bandmate. “What’s really happening, Hellen? You only told us she was feeling unwell.”
Hellen grunted, visibly reluctant to explain herself.
“Hellen.” A startling squeaky, high-pitched voice interjects. My eyes nearly fall out their orbits when I realise this was Cerberus who just spoke.
That voice so doesn’t fit!!
Well... I guess that would explain why he prefers to remain silent.
In hindsight, I don’t believe I ever heard him do an interview.
At the utterance of her name, Hellen’s gaze drifts to the dark-skinned man. They stare at each other briefly; then she lets out an aggrieved sigh. “She hasn't come out of her room for a week… At least not when I’m in the house. I know she’s been eating, but she doesn't want to see anyone. Not even me. She barely even responds when I call through the door.” Her anger seems to deflate as she goes on, but then it peaks right back up. “And it all started just after she went to his home!” She snarls, swiping her arm in front of her and pointing an accusatory finger at me.
A nervous twitch takes over the corner of my eye. I slam a fist on the table. “As I told you, the only thing I did was let her sleep in my guest bedroom! Oh, no, right.” I slap my forehead lightly. “I also cooked her dinner. How evil of me.” I raise my hands and roll my eyes. A sinking suspicion makes its way through my mind. “Whose fault was it that she was homeless for the night in the first place, huh?” It’s now my turn to look at the woman accusatively.
She flushes red and looks away. “It-It was an accident! And she told me she was staying at a friend’s house!”
As much as I want to present myself as the said friend, even my delusions won’t let me be that presumptuous just yet. I know I told Eva that I’m her friend, and I meant it, but it’s another matter entirely to claim so to others. It’s like meeting your girlfriend's parents, except in the realm of the Friend Zone.
Presently, I could, at most, introduce myself as Eva’s punching ball.
Or her stalker.
I really don’t think that would help my case right now.
So you don’t deny you’ve been stalking her.
Is there a point?
I shrug. “Well, she couldn’t find a friend to shelter her for the night, and I was there. So… I offered. She said yes.” I give them the refined version. No need to mention the traumatized screaming and the crying, or her showering in my bathroom whose lock is broken, and absolutely not a word about me tricking her into wearing a pink bunny onesie.
“You said you had a crush on her! You want me to believe you invited her inside your empty house without an ulterior motive?!”
“I said I ‘might’ have something of a crush, and I am perfectly aware I don’t have a chance. Is it so improbable that I just wanted to help a classmate in need?”
You did have an ulterior motive, though.
Details, details…
I can’t stop myself from rolling my eyes, which brings me to meet the gazes of the other three. Hmmmm…
…How should I put this?
Oh, I know.
Imagine a UFO suddenly lands in front of you, an alien steps out and asks you in perfect French for directions to the nearest Taco Bell. Now, picture the expression on your face. There. These three are making the same. Bewilderment with a touch of awe sprinkled in disbelief.
Faced with such a look, I can't resist a very eloquent: “…What?”
“Did…” At the sound of Thomas’ voice, I turn to him with a raised eyebrow. He frowns, visibly having trouble processing something. “Did Eva really come to your house? Our Eva?”
No, that’s our Eva.
Down, girl.
Grrrrrr. Our Eva. Grrrrrr.
I meet Thomas’ eyes. “Short, black hair, long bangs, wears mostly baggy turtlenecks, phobia of men, gets aggressive when scared?” I ask. He nods wordlessly. I shrug. “Then, yeah. Should be the same person.”
“How did you do it?!” He stands up. He sounds desperate. “I’ve known her for years and she barely even looks me in the eyes!”
“That's because you look like a street mugger, dear. You always make children cry.” Angel delivers a surprise blow with a loving(?) smile. The blindsided Thomas collapses back in his chair, head down. I can only chuckle in sympathy.
The dark glare Thomas throws my way decides me to answer his previous question. “Well… I’m not sure why she agreed either. Though, I guess giving her my ID details and address to send to the police in case I tried something probably helped.” Probably how I ended up abducted, ironically. I scratch my head awkwardly. “We follow the same courses at college, but I’d never met her before… a month ago or so? Since she never comes to class. The first time we really ‘met’ was at a music store where… err… well… She ran away after seeing me.”
My admission is received with a pitying silence. I willfully ignore it.
“When I saw her next at school, I was surprised, so I—”
Stalked her.
“—tried to introduce myself, but…” my shoulders slump, “she freaked out, and she hit me…” they slump lower, “with a book…” even lower, “in the face…” My face impacts the table.
It kind of hurts.
Moron.
I finish my retelling face down. “I tried to approach her another few times, but each attempt ended in bodily harm... on my part.” I glance up at Hellen, who seems slightly mollified but is still looking at me with distrust. I scoff tiredly. “I guess that runs in the family.” She has the grace to appear contrite.
Angel suddenly drops a fist into her open palm. “Ah! I know! Maybe after beating him to a pulp so many times, Eva started subconsciously thinking he was so lame and pathetic that she stopped seeing him as a threat!”
…Ouch.
It hurts.
Especially since she might be right.
It’s somewhat bittersweet because this could be why Eva came to tolerate my presence, but at the same time...
I don’t want to be accepted for such a reason!!
“Baby…” Thomas sighs.
“Yes?” I can hear the confusion in Angel’s voice.
“Be gentle with the poor guy.”
“What? But I just thought it was great that he had a way to connect with Eva even though he’s got such a pitifully hopeless one-sided crush.”
Ugh.
Brutal.
“I mean, if I were so miserable, I would be crying myself to sleep after devouring a whole box of ice-cream. But he’s persisting even though he’s been humiliated to this sorry state.”
Please kill me now.
“I really don’t know how someone in such a depressing situation can keep on living with their head held high.”
Fatality.
If I ever reincarnate, I want to be a shrimp.
“I would think I’m a waste of breathing air.”
Perhaps a shrimp is too ambitious.
“Angel! Stop! Stop! His face is becoming dangerously pale!”
Maybe a clam.
“Oh! You’re right! The gloom is almost visible to the naked eye! Hahaha. He’s really such a sad thing…”
You’re not even a person anymore.
Or a sea cucumber.
“Angel! Stop! Stop!!”
“Well, at least that means he’s sort of close to Eva, no? Maybe he can get her to leave her room.”
“Ang—…ah?”
…hmmm?
Oh, sudden resurrection?
Shut up.
I look up from the table and meet Angel’s bright and innocent(???) gaze; then I turn to Hellen, who seems to have been stunned frozen by her bandmate’s words. Our eyes meet, and her frozen features melt into a scowl. She stands up and slams both fists into the table. “There is no way I will ever allow this bastard to step foot into our house!!”
Angel, Cheshire and Cerberus share a look then turn to Hellen with matching smiles.
The woman in question pales and retreats a step.
“…Guys?”
* * * * *