New Title 7 (7 page)

On the sixteenth day of 'captivity', I searched laptop computer files for a certain book. I loved the story so much I had to read it again. Plus I hated asking Brandon to buy me ebooks.

Kingdom of Love,
a romance listed in Documents. I clicked and noticed a suspiciously named file underneath:
hotties02.wmv
.

I clicked it, steeling myself for...

A video popped to the screen. I reclined on the sofa, watched in jittery anticipation as a shaky home video showed footage of my current bedroom. Upon the bed lay a nude blonde girl with duct tape on her lips.

Gasping, I cupped my mouth, fingers trembling as I continued watching.

Video footage stabilized once the camera was placed on a dresser. The lens aimed at the girl's body and the camera man, naked, strolled to the girl and mounted her.

Brandon
.
Jesus Christ, Brandon. Why?

She wrestled a bit. He seized her wrists and lifted, pinning her arms flat against the mattress.

"Are you a virgin?" he questioned and she whimpered a denial.

Brandon proceeded to have sex with her. Or was it rape? Regardless a sharp object gnawed and gashed my heart.

Video cut to a black screen followed by footage recorded inside a car. A spotted windshield obscured the exterior and two males snickered.

Wicked, wicked laughter.

This newest video zoomed in and focused on the exterior of
Cappuccino Palace
, where I used to work.

Coincidence? No.

Footage played in slow motion as a girl entered the beige building. She was medium height, slim. I recognized her clothes.

My
clothes.

This girl was
me
.
ME
. My hand clamped my lips while I choked on anguished cries.

"That's her?" A guy asked on the video. It wasn't Brandon's voice.

"Yep. That's her." He released a drawn-out sigh. "I think her name is Mira—er something."
That
was Brandon.

"Really? So you like her, eh?" A chuckle.

"Fuck yeah. I mean, look at her. She's fuckin' beautiful. Don't you think she's a little hottie?" Another chuckle.

"Sure. But I prefer blondes with more booty, myself," the friend said, laughing and yucking it up. "Hers is a little on the flat side. I like something to hold onto when I fuck doggy style."

"Psssh. Bullshit."

Bitter bile shot to my throat.

"So what are you gonna do? Ask her out or record video to watch later while jacking off?" He roared with laughter.

"I dunno. Maybe I'll fuck up her car. That way she'll get stranded, then I can offer her a ride to my house." Brandon laughed so hard he fought for breath.

Nausea threatened to overflow so I tightened my lips and throat, but couldn't avoid watching this heart-breaking train wreck.

"You serious, dude? You're gonna fuck up her car?" the guy asked.

"Hell yeah. One way or another, I'm gonna fuck the
shit
out of her." More laughter. They were having the time of their lives.

And I was a piece of meat. Nothing but a vagina.

"C'mon, Brandon. Seriously."

"I
am
serious."

"No you're not. You wouldn't have the balls."

"Really? Is that so?" Brandon said.

Video ended.

Sickened, I stared at a blank screen.

Brandon had it all planned. What's more another guy knew his plans.

He KNEW.

Queasiness ebbed. How long had I been sitting here gawking at the screen?

Who cares?

Shivering, I closed and laid the laptop on the next cushion. Troubled ramblings flooded my brain:
Should I? Should I email Dad and try to get the hell away from Brandon?

But—what the fuck's Dad's email? I forget. Is it [email protected]? His age is in there... somewhere.

I got the laptop and flipped it open. After navigating to my email account, I clicked
Compose Message
.

'Dad
,
I've been living with this guy named Brandon. He took me from the coffee shop 2 weeks ago.'

I hesitated, unsure of what to write, mind swirling with confusion. Should I say Brandon took me against my will? Did he take me against my will or had I
wanted
him to? Couldn't remember or clear the fog from my head.

I forgot to write my location, not that I knew where Brandon lived. I just knew he lived in a neighborhood near Houston.

Like Dad always said: I was book smart but possessed no common sense. I should've memorized landmarks while Brandon drove me to his house. I certainly should've glanced at the number on his mail box—though it'd been too dark. 

I typed,
'Will you come and pick me up? Me and Brandon got in a fight and I can't live here anymore. I forgot his physical address, so email me and maybe we'll figure it out together.'

Brief pause.

Fuck it.
I typed my father's possible email addy, then hit
Send
. A message popped up: '
Your message could not be sent at the specified address. Please ensure the email is complete, correct and written in proper format without spaces.'

"Fuck." I substituted 44 for 43 and jabbed
Send
. Another message followed:
Your message could not be sent at the specified address.

Frustrated as fuck, I slammed my fingers on the keyboard, switching, scrambling email words and hit
Send
.

Same goddamn 'failed delivery' message!
I gripped the sides of the screen, ready to smash it.

Goddammit, what now?
I googled Houston's Police Department and found it. Yet—I didn't want Brandon arrested. I just
didn't
.

These raging inner storms of indecision drove me insane. 

Insane
.

The upstairs door
clicked
. Footsteps resonated as he swiftly descended the steps. I exited the HPD site, minimized gmail and flung the laptop aside.

Jesus
.

"Hey baby." Brandon approached the sofa and sat, faced me part-way. He balanced a small yellowish box in his palms. His laptop was perched behind and I gave it an occasional, shifty-eyed glance.

"I have something for you." He smiled warmly and twinges of guilt met my conscience.

"What is it?" I gazed at the box.

"Open it and find out." He offered and I gingerly took and rotated the unlabeled box. Tears burned my eyelids but I wouldn't let them shed.

I mentally erased those awful video images. No more heartache. No more.

"Go ahead. Open it," he pursued, eyeing me.

I lifted the top to peer inside. Layers of tissue paper concealed the object. I fished out the wrapping and glimpsed a breath-takingly beautiful, miniature snow globe. I chewed my bottom lip as I tipped the box upside-down to coax the object's release. It was tiny enough to hold in my palm.

I held his magical gift between us, my gaze riveted to the whimsical globe and angel within. With outstretched wings, a golden angel palmed a dove. I shook the orb and glitter showered, shimmering amidst the celestial sculpture.

I was speechless. Astonished.

An inscription decorated the porcelain base:
'Then the devil leaveth him, and, behold, angels came and ministered unto him.' Bible: King James Version, 4:11 Matthew.
Gold-plated leaves surrounded the quote. A turn key projected from the bottom.

"Yeah, it plays music," he said. I turned the key and my eyes rounded as the globe gently chimed Chopin's Nocturne #2.

"Wow. Thank you so much, Brandon. I've never seen anything so pretty."

"No problem."

"Are you... Christian?" I asked, still gazing at the angel.

"Not really, but my mother is. I stopped by a Christian shop to get something for her birthday, then I saw the snowglobe and thought of you."

"You did? Why?"

"Because you're an angel, Mia.
My
beautiful angel."

Music abruptly ceased and I stared at him, trying to hide my deep confusion.

"What's wrong?" His slight smile faded and my gaze slid to the globe.

"Nothing." I turned the key and melancholical music chimed. "Nothing's wrong at all. I love the music and I think this is so—so pretty."

"You're pretty too."

"Thanks."

"You've been quiet today, Mia. You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah." The song slowed and I replayed it. "Actually, I've been wondering about something." I kept my eyes on the angel.

"What is it, Mia?" His tone deepened.

"I wonder if my dad's trying to find me."

"Even if he finds you and I go to jail, it doesn't matter because I'm going to die." He shrugged. "To be perfectly honest, I'm not afraid of jail or dying. I'm afraid of being away from you."

"Me too, but I'm curious about something else."

"What?"

"Would you ever consider letting me go?" I focused harder on the snow globe.

"Fuck no. Why?"

"Just asking is all," I said quickly.

"Do you
want
me to let you go?"

"Of course not." I wound the key for the hundredth time.

"What are you thinking, Mia?" he accused.

"Nothing really. I don't want to leave you. You're being paranoid."

"Hm."

"You remember the day we met at the coffee shop?" I asked, spinning the globe. Glitter lifted and fell.

"What about it?"

"Did you notice me before that day? I mean—had you seen me at the coffee shop before?"

"No. Wait—yes. I'd seen you before."

"You had? When?"

"Maybe a few weeks before." Long pause. "I have something to confess, Mia."

"What is it?" I suppressed a shiver.

"I was stalking you for a while. Well, not stalking per se. I saw you for the first time last month while you were leaving the coffee shop. I was parking, thought you were very pretty." He paused. "A week later I saw you again. You were so beautiful and I couldn't think of anything else. Like I said—all I could think of was you, I dreamed of you every night. Christ, I thought I was losing my mind. All my friends thought so too."

Such romantic words calmed my anguished heart but I
had
to stay on track with my questioning.

"Did you come to see me before we met?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "One day I went in to get a closer look, but you were too busy to notice me. Anyway, I saw how blue your eyes were... couldn't stop looking at you. Your striking eyes, your hair, your lips. You looked like an angel. After that I forgot where I was or what I was doing there. That's when I knew... I
had
to have you. Absolutely. No matter what it took."

I turned to him. Hunger shone in his eyes as bits of gold from the globe reflected on his cheek, blending well with his complexion. 

"You've had girlfriends before, right?" I asked.

"Sure." He lowered a brow and wagged his head, puzzled.

"Did you let them sleep down here? In the basement?"

"Yes, you could say that. Why?" Tension hardened his features.

"Just wondering." I avoided further eye contact by winding the key, marveling at the orb's glittering specks.

"Look, Mia, what's the deal with all these questions? Is there something specific you'd like to know? If so—come right out and ask, stop pussyfooting around."

"I was wondering how many girlfriends you had before me. That's all." 

"Right. I've had a few girlfriends but didn't feel shit for 'em. Does that answer your question?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Feel like talking about something else?"

I faked a giggle. "Sure. We can talk about anything you want."

Suspicion drained from his handsome features as he reverted to his tender self.

He leaned in and his shapely lips engulfed mine, widened my mouth with a forceful, rapid, ravenous kiss while his tongue thrust in a sexually suggestive rhythm.

My knees weakened, legs utterly liquified from his expert kissing, his experienced caresses. Seductive, irresistible, tantalizing.

I withdrew long enough to set the globe beside the laptop. But Brandon grabbed my shoulder and shoved me against the cushion where we made out, passionately kissing, touching, loving. He glided a hand under my shirt to rub and tickle my stiff, sensitive nipple.

He wanted sex but I felt the sting of an oncoming headache—sudden and disappointing.

"Wait," I said as he raised his T-shirt above his navel. "I have a headache and I think I'm running a fever."

Brandon straightened his shirt, smoothing it over his flat stomach. He slid his hand across my forehead and gently framed my cheek.

"You
are
a little too warm." He placed a damp kiss on my brow and arose. "I'll leave you alone tonight. Hopefully you'll feel better by morning. We'll see." He bent to retrieve his laptop.

"I miss watching my porn." Crooked, boyish mischievous grin. "Don't worry. I'll give it back."

"Keep it." I was no longer tempted to snoop or email Dad. I'd much rather forget that experience. Every time I'd glimpse the laptop I'd be reminded of Brandon's disturbing home videos.

No thanks.

I twisted to watch him leave. "Good night," I quietly said. "Thanks again for the snow globe."

"You're welcome. I love you, Mia." He headed upstairs.

"L—love you too."

"
I'll love you forever
." His voice diminished as the door shut.

Sadness overwhelmed me and my face feverishly burned. Aside from everything else, illness was the last thing I needed.

Dammit
. How would I get sick here in the basement? Brandon was the only person I was around. 

Weird.

Later he gave me two painkillers. Shortly afterward my headache vanished.

I still felt hot.

I
nstead of improving, my fever remained and aggravated me every day.

Sometimes my headache rebounded as well.

Brandon had taken my temperature and it registered 99.5. Not much of a fever but I was sick of feeling hot. My lower belly,
especially
, was hot to the touch. It was the craziest thing.