On His Terms

○×49 part 2: weird rescues & blackouts○×

<Always have an escape plan. Always.>

|Jadesola|

*Mature content. Also, SLIGHTLY UNEDITED BECAUSE MY ASS GOT LAZY and I recommend that you play the song above on repeat as you read!*

3 am, Saturday, September 18, 2021

WHAT?! KILL me now?

Damn, I'd just worsened my plight.

Yanking away the bloody chaplet around his collar, Richard grabbed a knife off the table, the dim light mirroring the unholy gleam of his murderous stare. With every predatory step he took, my chest heaved rapidly, blood thundering in my ears.

I bolted my eyes shut, reluctant to look at the harbinger of my death. I didn't want to die. Didn't want to be killed in cold blood yet. I had so many dreams, aspirations and people to live for. Especially the young one nestled in my womb.

So think, Jadesola. Think!

"I have one last question," I blurted out immediately, reopening my gaze, trepidation playing havoc with my bladder. Any second from now, I was certain I would piss on myself.

Standing in front of me now, the monster's blue eyes narrowed into slits. "Yes?"

"What was my father like?"

He regarded me through a curious gaze, striving to gauge my intentions but I fixed my face in a pleading guise, despite the urge to quake violently. Having gleaned his answer, he replied in a nonchalant tone, "Kincade was a good but stupid man who was willing to lay down his entire life for his family. You never had any memory of your father?"

An expression, akin to gloating, was painted on his face, like he was happy he'd stripped me of a fatherly figure.

Tearing my eyes away from that smug look, I stared at the incense blazing in the corner. White clouds billowed through, a haze of spicy, aromatic smoke. "No, I don't. My mother told me he liked to play the piano and since my childhood, music has always been a source of fascination to me. The magnificent grand piano, an object of interest. I'd yearned to play the piano, striking those keys with my nimble fingers as I created my own passionate melody. Then, writing down notes, singing along as I played a beautiful tune that enclosed me in an intoxicating bubble, lost in my world."

Continuing, I fished out all the English vocabulary I'd been forced to learn while in school. "Except that my mother shattered that dream. I couldn't fathom why but she'd forbid me from touching the piano in our house, much less joining piano lessons. That had been odd and I'd cried for days, throwing terrible tantrums but she'd stood her ground, unwilling to grant me her permission and with time, my musical infatuation faded until it was only a very slight longing."

The loud clapping of Richard's palms ripped me out of my self-induced reverie. Startled, I shifted my eyes towards him.

"Great speech," he taunted and shook his head, the knife pointed downwards at me. "It was so perfectly well spoken that I nearly shed a tear. You should be a stand up poetess. How about that?"

Bitch.

While we had conversed, I had been observing him to notice if there was any weak spot but found none. For an old man of sixty years–I'd gleaned that from his diary– he was unusually strong.

Disregarding the lump lodged in my throat, I tipped my head up and fired at him, "Kian hates you! You will never be a father figure to him, especially when he finds out you're behind the killing of those innocent children!"