Kidnapped [Original Version]

It’s just past midnight, and I’ve been staring at the same spot on my bedroom floor for what feels like hours. Down the hall, Frank’s voice cuts through the thin walls, drunk and sharp as usual. He's yelling at my mom.

I'm sure the whole building can hear him tonight.

We moved here two years ago when Frank decided he was a “city guy” and swapped our quiet neighborhood for crowded streets and constant noise.

I try to block out the shouting, but when my name gets thrown in the mix, I roll my eyes. My mom used to stand up for me, but over time, she’s learned it’s easier to keep the peace. I can’t really blame her.

Normally, I’d put in earbuds and drown it out, but tonight I feel restless. A walk seems like a better idea. It’s my last week of senior year, what’s one night of lost sleep?

I slide off my bed and step into my sandals. The window latch clicks as I push it open, and the cool night air spills in, instantly easing my anxiety.

I hop down, landing softly on the grass, and shut the window as quietly as possible. I inhale deeply, savoring the break from all the yelling.

The low purr of an engine pulls me from my head. My eyes flick up to see Josh, my cute next-door neighbor, lounging in his car, one arm draped casually out the window.

Oh God. I probably look so stupid.

Unfortunately, his eyes are locked on me, and there’s no escaping now.

A cocky smile tugs at his lips, sending a wave of self-consciousness through me.

"Isn't it a little late to be sneaking out?" His tone is light, teasing. "It is a school night, you know."

I blush,"I guess so. What are you, a cop?" I take a small step closer.

"Where are you headed?" he asks, his tone relaxed.

I force a shrug, avoiding his gaze. "Um… anywhere but here."

He knows exactly what I mean. Living next door, he’s no stranger to Frank’s drunken tirades.

He lifts his hand lazily, holding up a joint. "Wanna hit it? Relax a bit?"

I let out an awkward laugh. "No thanks, I’m not that cool."

The words slip out before I can think of anything smoother, and I instantly cringe. Could I sound any more lame?

He shrugs and leans back. Before he can say anything else, I lift my hand in a quick wave.

"Well… see ya"

I step past the car, hyper-aware of his eyes on me. God, please don’t trip.

Slipping my hand into my pocket, I pull out a crumpled five-dollar bill I’d almost forgotten about.

There’s a mini-mart down the street. Maybe I’ll grab a water, then head back to bed.

Once on the main road, my gaze lifts to the dark sky, searching for any sign of stars.

Of course, there are none. Not out here in the city.

I cross the mini-mart parking lot. The door creaks slightly when I push it open, the little bell overhead letting out a sharp jingle.

The clerk barely glances up from her phone, looking thoroughly uninterested.

I head toward the back, grabbing a water from the cooler. A weight settles in my chest.

It’s sudden, heavy, pressing. My steps falter.

I shake it off, forcing myself toward the cashier, but before I can take another step—

BANG.

The door slams open behind me. The bell shrieks.

I jolt, my heart lurching. Instinct takes over.

I drop into a crouch behind the nearest aisle, my heart slamming against my ribs. This can't be good.

A man's voice cuts through the air, sharp and aggressive. A loud BANG echoes off the walls, something slamming against the counter.

I hold my breath. Eyes wide as I risk a peek around the corner.

A man stands at the register, black ski mask, body rigid with tension. His words are sharp, commanding, but my brain barely registers them.

Because there's a gun. A flash of metal in his grip. Pointed straight at the cashier. A sickening chill rushes through me.

The cashier is fumbling with the register, hands shaking, trying to keep up with his demands.

I can’t hear the words. All I can hear is my heart, pounding so loud it drowns everything else out.

Through shallow, frantic breaths, I press my back against the rack of chips, shrinking into myself.

I glance up at the security mirror in the corner.

Oh God. If I can see him… he can see me.

A sharp wave of nausea grips my stomach. This can’t be happening.

The thought barely registers over the sharp ringing in my ears. Somewhere beyond the fog of panic, I hear the cashier’s frantic sobs. The rustle of cash. The crinkle of a plastic bag.

Then, a sharp clatter.

Something crashes to the floor, loud and sudden. I flinch, a small, broken whimper escaping my lips before I can stop it. Oh God.

The air turns suffocating. The cashier keeps moving, keeps obeying, but everything else is silent. Too silent.

I don’t have to look. I already know. He heard me. I messed up. Big time.

A slow, heavy thud breaks the silence. Boots. Getting closer. Each step is unhurried. Intentional. Like he’s savoring it, drinking in my fear, enjoying the way it rolls off me in waves. I close my eyes tightly.

Then...nothing. The footsteps stop. Right in front of me.

I want to keep my eyes shut, pretend I’m invisible, but I can feel him. His presence is suffocating.

A sharp pulse flickers through me as my lashes flutter open, my gaze dragging upward. Slow. Fearful. Helpless.

He towers over me, his silhouette swallowing the dim light above. Too tall. Too close. His head tilts slightly, as if taking me in, assessing my fear, my trembling limbs, my wide, pleading eyes.

My stomach plummets.

Before I can process it, before I can think, he moves.

A sudden snap of motion, his hand shoots out, fist tangling in my shirt.

I barely have time to react before I'm yanked upward, weightless against his strength. A strangled scream tears from my throat, my sandals slipping off, my feet barely finding the ground.

His grip is unyielding. Possessive.

He pulls me closer, and I can feel the heat of his body, the solid weight of him pressing against me. My breath stutters, chest tight with panic.

His eyes sweep over me slowly.

Then, he exhales; a quiet, deep-throated hum, the sound vibrating through his chest as if he’s truly savoring the moment.

His lips part, and when he speaks, his voice is low, smooth… indulgent.

“Well… what a nice surprise.”

The words are slow, edged with a quiet thrill that coils through the air like smoke. Like he’s amused. Like he’s interested.

Like he’s already decided I belong to him.

I thrash against his grip, but it’s useless. His grip tightens.

I hear the sharp inhale through his nose, like he’s drinking in the moment, inhaling my fear, before yanking me closer.

The heat of him is suffocating. Smothering.

Without warning, he moves. Fast. Violent. A brutal tug sends me stumbling forward, my body colliding into his as he drags me toward the front of the store like I weigh nothing.

"Stop!" The word rips out of me, raw, frantic. "Please!"

His response is instant. Unforgiving.

Another yank. Harder this time. My body is wrenched flush against his, my breath knocked from my lungs as his grip locks me in place.

The heat of him seeps into me, hip to hip. Every hard line of muscle, every controlled breath, suffocatingly close.

"Don’t fucking do that."

His voice is a low, dangerous rasp, thick with warning, laced with something darker. It vibrates through me, through the space between us, until I feel it deep in my bones.

My breath shudders, but it’s his eyes that unravel me.

Dark. Intense. Fixed on me with an unshakable certainty, like he’s already decided how this night is going to end.

Then...his gaze flickers downward.

A slow, almost lazy drop to my lips… lingering, deliberate, before trailing back up to meet my wide, trembling eyes.

My stomach tightens, my pulse skipping, but it’s not just fear crawling up my spine. It’s something darker. More confusing.

Terror pulses through me, but I can hardly tear my eyes away from him. I throw one last, frantic glance toward the girl behind the counter, a silent plea.

Then, before I can process it, he moves.

The door slams open, the cool night air crashing into my overheated skin, but it does nothing to clear the dizzying blur in my head.

His grip never wavers. One hand is still locked around me, unshakable, unyielding, while the other clutches a bag stuffed with money.

A breathless, desperate scream claws at my throat, but it’s caught there, tangled in fear, suffocated before it can even escape.

I try to dig my heels in, try to resist, but he’s stronger. Faster.

The next thing I know, the sharp click of a car door being flung open slices through the air.

A shove. A hard one.

I’m propelled forward, my body colliding with the seat, but before I can regain balance, before I can scramble, the door slams behind me.

Final. Locked. Trapped.

My lungs seize. Everything inside me screams at me to move, to claw at the handle, to kick the glass, anything. But I can’t.

I’m frozen. Utterly, paralyzed with fear.

Then...another door. The driver’s side.

It yanks open, a swift, efficient motion. He slides in, unfazed, a contrast to the chaos he’s just created.

Then, without hesitation, the engine roars to life. The car lurches into reverse.

I slam forward, my body thrown against the back of his seat before I can brace myself. A strangled cry escapes me as the force spills me onto the floor, pain radiating through my limbs.

The tires screech, rubber burning against pavement as he speeds away, ripping me from everything I know.

I curl into myself, breathless, shaking, mind spinning.

"This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening."

The words barely make it past my lips, a fragile whisper, lost in the deafening hum of the night swallowing us whole.

My voice wobbles, barely stronger than a breath. “I want to go home.”

The admission shatters something inside me.

Tears burn hot against my cheeks, the weight of everything crashing down all at once. My lungs feel too tight, too small, my chest crushing in on itself as the truth digs its claws in deep.

I should be home. I should be in my bed. Not here. Not in a stranger’s car.

A violent tremor racks through me, but I barely notice. My mind spins, tilts, collapses in on itself, trying to grasp how the hell this happened.

How I went from sneaking out for a walk...to this.

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my forehead against my trembling hands.

But there’s no escape. No waking up. No undoing it. Because it’s real. It’s happening. And there’s no way out.

My face is buried in my hands, my knees pulled tight to my chest. Every sharp turn throws me sideways, nausea twisting deep in my stomach as panic crashes over me in relentless waves.

I don’t know how long we’ve been driving. Minutes? Hours? The rhythmic hum of the tires has blurred into white noise, a distant, dull roar in my ears.

Then, a gut-wrenching jolt.

The car slams to a stop. Tires screech against the pavement, jerking me forward with a force that knocks the breath from my lungs.

Then, nothing. Silence swallows the air, thick and suffocating. The engine cuts out.

A door creaks open.

Then—slam.

The sound is sharp and final. My heartbeat races violently in my chest.

He’s moving. Coming for me.

His footsteps are slow. Measured. He’s taking his time. Enjoying this.

They stop. Right outside my door.

My breaths catches, shallow and unsteady, but I don’t dare move. I strain to listen, to prepare myself for whatever happens next.

But all I’m met with...

Is silence.

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