Fading Scars

Chapter III- Flight of Whims

After all the airport hassle, it was just the two of us in a room, not very big but adorned with exquisite decor. It was a far cry from the usual bustling arrivals hall.

'You need to eat. You're very pale,' he said.

I didn't argue and accepted the plate of soup he handed me.  Maybe it was his company, maybe it was my hunger, or maybe it was the mess I unwittingly got myself into—either way, that soup tasted like heaven. I felt a bit awkward with the croutons crunching, but my stomach kept urging me to keep adding more. Almost playfully, he grabbed a spoon and helped himself to some of my soup, creating more crunching noises while fixing his gaze on me. I looked down, wondering what he was up to. Did he have intentions beyond sharing a meal? With me? If it weren't for the magazine lending him credibility, I might have doubted his identity. And what did he claim to be anyway? I only knew because of that magazine conveniently placed on the plane. When I looked up, he was still staring at me. I looked for a spot on the wall to look at. I couldn't face him. He smiled, knowing he won the battle. But not war! I had to find the strength to fight. Couldn't let him hold all the cards. Now, the big question was: How?

I slurped the last bit of my soup, and he seemed to have wrapped up his meal too. Craving more, I decided to get up and help myself to another serving.

'I like it this way...' he said, a slight smile playing on his lips as he watched my every move.

What's there to like? I wished I could have retorted, but gratitude held me back. After all, I was basking in VIP privileges solely because of him. Was I really with him? A mix of fear, uncertainty, and maybe a bit of desire swirled within me.

'Mr. Reed,' I persisted, conveniently ignoring his preference for Michael.

'Miss Garcia?'

Once again, that accent of his left me momentarily speechless. Gathering my resolve, I placed the bowl halfway down.

'Why am I here... with you?' I barely managed to utter the last word.

He flashed that half-smile again. If looks could kill, I would've taken him down right there. I couldn't stand that disconcerting grin, conveying nothing but 'I'm in control' and 'I'm running the show here.'

'Don't you want to be here?' he retorted, catching me off guard. I didn't know I was supposed to desire being in the midst of a kidnapping.

I was stuck, not knowing how to respond. Did I want to be here? Did I not want to be here? Back to square one with my mixed emotions. How did I go from being intelligent to suddenly feeling like a fool, trying to figure out if I desired to be kidnapped or not?

'That's not what I meant,' I attempted a strategic escape.

What on earth are you talking about?! my conscience shouted, 'You don't want to be here. We don't want to be here'? 

Ignoring all the signs, I continued, "I don't know much about you," settling back into the chair with a second dose of soup.

"But you researched me," he remarked.

"I know what's in the magazine, but I don't know if it's true."

"Yes! At least in this magazine, it is! But there are many more truths about me," he added cryptically. "However, as long as I'm Mr. Reed to you, I believe that's all you need to know."

Out of nowhere, he dropped this bombshell: "Do you know that love is renting a stranger?"

"Rent a stranger? Huh? What a mess! I exclaimed. What does this have to do with my kidnapping?!

"Yes, until you know someone, you can only assume that they are telling the truth. And you rent them for a set period of time."

"But then there's a possibility that the magazine is not telling the truth?" I asked, confused.

"Marriage says '...until death do you part,'" he said, the last part in a priestly tone, making me smile.

"I understand! So, it is death that dictates the length of this stranger's lease?!" I asked rhetorically.

"Exactly. But to get to know this stranger at all, you have to rent them," I said, trying to formulate something coherent. He quickly completed it, "'...till death do us part.'"

How crazy was this conversation? Once again, I was foolish enough to think he was flirting with me. And I didn't know how to flirt. I definitely didn't know the mating dance of holding gazes, running my tongue across my lips, or biting my lips. My greatest asset was to lower my eyes and look at my feet, in this case, the soup. And that's precisely what I did.

I bit off more than I could chew. I couldn't eat any more. Pushing the bowl away, I admitted defeat. To my surprise, he leaned in, taking the spoon from my hand, licking it lightly, his eyes fixed on mine. I shifted my gaze downward, feeling an unexpected intensity in the air. And this is it, the mating dance. I was petrified watching him do his dance that was clearly working on me.

He stood up and circled the small table between us. I remained firm in the chair. He got closer, his perfume was much closer and touched my senses. He got down his 1.90 meters with one hand resting on the table and the other on the back of my chair. What do I do? What should I do? It was no longer a question of suspecting that he was flirting, it was a question of asking why me? Was he on his company's flights picking up stupid girls and dazzling them with that look, that body, that posture, that smile? What should I do?

My wide-eyed stare and slightly open mouth betrayed a mix of astonishment and desire. I was at a loss, uncertain of how to respond. His next words cut through the charged atmosphere.

"Let's get out of here," he murmured, rising effortlessly as if it were the most natural thing. Still, he had to grab me by the arm.

"They'll say I drugged you," He protested.

"It wouldn't be a complete lie."

A genuine laugh escaped him, the first of the evening. The tension cracked, and I caught a glimpse of a shared joke with a subtle connection.

He gazed at me and grinned, his smile revealing immaculate white teeth against his dark skin. I found myself compelled to trail behind him. My feet seemed to disregard logic, yielding to a mixture of desire, pleasure, and fascination. He interlocked his fingers with mine, and we exited the VIP room.