Nothing To Prove

3 Can't Help Myself With You

*
Samantha

An hour ago I was in front of my mirror, putting on mascara for a few pictures at the club. The night was supposed to end with me going home, changing into my pajamas and fuzzy socks, and scrolling on my phone. Instead, I was in a black BMW, with a bartender, going to his place.

My armpits were dripping. My mouth was so dry, the word saliva did not exist. What was I thinking? What if I was about to be kidnapped and locked in a basement? I had no muscle to fight him off. No negotiation skills. The best I could do was plead for mercy, which would only turn him on if he was a psychopath.

And if I had to kill him...say with a butter knife—why would he give me a butter knife—IF HE WAS FEEDING ME breakfast with toast and jam while I was chained to the floor with my clothes torn and hair greasy, cause it's been what, a couple of weeks? Months? I'd lost so much weight...but my survivor instincts stayed intact. So I'd be buttering my toast, then...BAM! Stab his eye out, blood gushing everywhere. Then I'd run to the door for my freedom—what if the door was locked and the keys—

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You know I've been talking to you for like the last five minutes?" His forehead wrinkled with raised eyebrows. "Look, if you don't feel comfortable, let's not go. Want me to drive to McDonald's? We can go right now. Whatever you want, just tell me."

"I'm not uncomfortable? I'm fine. I'm just a little nervous." It was normal, right?

"Uh-huh. So if you get mad, who's going to burn my eyes? Your bunny?"

"Huh?"

He pointed at my lap. Oh God! When I was searching for gum earlier, I'd taken out my bunny keychain and pepper spray from my bag. I hadn't realized I've been fidgeting with the ears this entire time.

"Yeah, this is actually a very dangerous mafia bunny?" I kept a serious composure. "It escaped from prison, thanks to his many other... mafia connections, and now he's... retired as a bodyguard. So you know, don't underestimate the cute face! He'll kill ya."

"Of course." His dark eyes glinted with traffic lights. "How could I? The cutest faces are the most dangerous on the planet."

"What?" I chuckled. Why was he going along with this?

"Oh, yeah. They're sick. One day, I might be walking by myself, singing, thinking about the cute girl I took home. Then out of nowhere, her bunny will come and run me over with a car. You know what'll happen then?"

"What?"

"I'll die and the bunny will go home. He'll convince the cops it was my fault." He mimicked a baby voice. "Offisher he wanted to die, he kept throwing himshelf in front of meee."

I snorted out a laugh. "That's a very vivid imagination." 

"Oh, you don't know about my imagination," he said in a filthy voice.

"I don't want to know."

"You want to know."

"I don't."

"You don't know that you don't know how much you want to know."

I looked out the window giggling, then noticed he was turning into a gaited neighborhood. "Oh. We're here already?"

Across the street was a high-end shopping and dining center. Retail stores like Nordstrom, Bloomingdales, and Banana Republic flaunted summer looks on the back the brick walls.

Driving through the gates, he passed a water fountain in front of sky-high towers. But he didn't stop there. He drove deeper through dark courtyards, where one-story apartments stretched with colorful doors and street lamps.