Kidnapped Part 1

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Warnings - sex for gifts, manipulation, toxic relationship, kidnapping

Being in love with your best friend was hard. Everything he did seemed to light me on fire. I knew he would never feel the same. He was even dating someone right now. Fucking Kelsey. It was obvious to everyone, except Timothée apparently, that she only wanted him for his money. He'd told me a "funny" story about one time she "joked" she'd never suck his cock again if she didn't get the new Louis Vuitton outfit she wanted. I thought it was horrific. Timothée had laughed.

Thankfully, he wasn't someone who neglected his friends for his girlfriend. We talked just as much, and hung out just as often. Currently, we were on an outing together, at a restaurant. He looked so pretty in his baby blue suit. I wanted to play with his curls, and love him the way he deserved.

"Sorry, I have to take this, it's Kel," he said. I cringed at the nickname.

"What is it baby?... what? Oh no? I'll be right over."

"What's the matter?" I asked blandly. Kelsey was the most over dramatic person I knew.

"She tripped and fell down a couple steps, she wants some comfort," Timothée said, and waved to the waiter for the bill. I was astounded, did she call him when she stubbed her toe too? Or when it rained?

"So she's okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, she said she wants a get well soon gift," he chuckled. So that was her angle.

"Sorry, I know it's early, but I gotta take you home," he apologized. I nodded stiffly. We got into his car. I was quiet part of the way, but the rage inside me was boiling up.

"Timothée she doesn't like you!" I finally screamed.

"What?" He asked, swerving a little at my outburst.

"She wants you for your money, everyone can see it. She's using sex and injury to get gifts!"

"That's such a awful thing to say," he barked back. "Why are you saying that?"

"Because it's true!"

"Don't say one more word about her!" He snarled.

"She's a selfish airhead who would drop the second someone with a bigger check came her way. She's rude and manipulative, and I hate her!"

Timothée wheels squealed as he slammed on the breaks. I heard him unlock the doors.

"Get out," he roared.

"You can't be serious," I scoffed. "It's 11."

"I said get the fuck out of my car!"

I rolled my eyes and got out. He sped away. I realized how dumb I'd been to comply, when I felt a hand clamp down on my mouth. The last thing I remember was a chemical smell.

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