Unwanted Cupcakes

Chapter Four

He walks into the room on the right and slams the door shut. And, why is he always slamming things? There really is no need for it.

I take the time to scope the place out.

The entrance, where I stand, is open and light. Shoes are left and tucked into a neat pile to my left, below a mantle piece that holds a fireplace. The wall it's featured on's painted a scarlet red, the surrounding walls a shade of grey so light it seems almost white. A black chandelier, pretty and grand, hangs down, tiny teardrops of silver dangling off of it.

First assumptions; the house looks incredibly decent. Pretty and homey, even. Totally not what I would've expected murderer-style to be. Though every person has different tastes, murderer or not, and just because Gunguy killed didn't mean he couldn't pursue interior design.

Straight ahead leads into what I assume to be some type of living room, left leads me to the stairs that spiralled up, white wooden steps with grey carpet running through them, and right takes me to the room Gunguy's in. With no interest in going going right, and deciding left would be for later, I head forward.

The assumed living room was the same warm shade of grey that the outside had been, black sofas lining the back wall with an huge, expensive-looking TV set up on a wooden frame in front of them. A Sky box was placed underneath and I was almost tempted into sitting down and rewatching an episode of Game of Thrones.

I don't, though, instead carry on forward where the most-likely living-room branched out into an open area with a marble-coated island in the centre. And just behind it--fucking jackpot--a back garden door. And it seems too fucking good to be true--there was a key. Inside the lock.

I smile mirthfully, walking over as quick as I can. With a smirk in place I grab the key, muttering an, "Idiot," as I shake my head. Way too easy.

Just as the oh-so-beautiful clink of the key turning in the lock sounds, the almost-as-beautiful (but totally much more beautiful) sound of Gunguy's voice calls out a tired and frustrated, "And exactly what do you think you're doing?"

I close my eyes tightly. Sighing deeply, I spin around and fake a smile. "Nothing much, really. Was just testing to see if this lock was sturdy enough. Don't want anyone breaking in and killing you, right?"

Gunguy nods along sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest and nope, definitely not looking at those. "And?" He asks, raising an eyebrow, "Is it sturdy enough for you? What is your conclusion, oh great lock-master?"

"Not bad," I chirp.

Gunguy rolls his eyes, marching forward and pulling me away. He re-locks the door, sliding the key somewhere behind him--probably into the secret pocket he's made in his asshole. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it wasn't sticks up his ass, but rather keys. He key-ps them in his ass, my mind provides. Ha.

"Not even ten minutes have passed since I told you not to escape and you've already tried?" He asks, exasperated. I roll my eyes--I have a feeling it's something I'd be doing a lot in his presence.

"Can you blame me? You aren't exactly a ball of sunshine. And I wasn't just going to sit on my thumbs while you held me captive--what--get off me! Where are you taking me?"

I resist as much as I can when Gunguy grabs my wrist and starts dragging me forward, but past experiences tell me it'll do shit all. We're heading towards the stairs and I begun to panic, no knowing him well enough to dispel the ideas beginning to form in my head.

I grab onto the bannister once we reach the stairs, holding on like it was a lifeline. And who knows, it very well may be what with the whole he's a murderer thing.