Rage

♠EIGHT♠

The exciding ray of sunlight hit my face, the whole warmth of the room was pleasantly comforting, the sheets were comfortable and i didnt want to wake up. I needed this kind of comfort, i held the pillow tightly as i stared at the wide glass revealing the beauty of the city. It was relaxing, New york is huge and everything in it sutes the rich and fortunate, others are survival. We seek happiness but we get survival, we keep surviving till our time is up and till then we hope for a miracle. A change of fate.

The long glass door is leading to an open balcony with a couch and a table. Black to be precise, the whole prison has a mixture of black, white and gold.

I dont know why im smiling at the beautiful sun slapping my face, comfort is an understatement.

Wait, i glance around. Only then does my brain comprehend and register the fact that im in Sals bed, the Devils bed. I jerk up almost falling face first, on the ground, i remove the tangled sheets off me. I look around again. His room is no different, why would it? The table is neatly arranged. Sometimes i wonder if he spends anytime in here. A week since i was kidnapped, a week and i havent happened to see any affection he has for anything. it makes me wonder if he could be a robot, as a human we have things we treasure, Sal has none. His bed, regular sheets, his desk, regular paper work, his closet, regular suits and shoes. No glimpse of colour or something special or unique. He's style is regular and neutral.

Last night. The look in his eyes, he looked at me like he was trying to pass a message, one my brick head couldn't get. Im certainly sure he needs help now. My anger has led to different issues of pain, myself and others but never have i intentionally cut myself and maybe i hate myself enough to think of my own death but still never in my 17 years of living have i cut myself.

I shake off the thought, my major problem is how i got in his bed, i remember very well, i slept on the couch after i lied to Dior that i dont eat tomato. How would i be able to eat? How? After seeing such horrific action.

Dior understood, thankfully

"Sal" i yell his name but no respond, i hope he's fine and not cutting himself. Maybe he's at work. Sal is a workaholic, most of the time, i only get to see him at midnights. what kind of human works everyday even on saturdays? especially after what i made him do.,

The water caressed my skin as i watched my hair gently, Sal doesn't have any hair products ive seen but i still use them regardless, i only hope one of them isn't dye. Ill be soo damned.

After the long shower, i dress in grey tight sweat flays and a pink tank top with a white long sleeve zip up top. On saturdays i go for a run and i didnt hesitate to put this outfit in my cart when i saw it at the mall, it was sport worthy and simply beautiful.

After getting ready i bring myself to leaving the room, the wide hall made with white walls and designed with several painting portrait, the paintings were unique they weren't the common one you would see in an art gallery, maybe he does have something unique, maybe even precious to him. The fact makes me wonder where Sal bought his paintings from. the one i adored most, was the spiral painting with a splash of orange and blue, i dont know why it looked soo perfect but it did.

"Sal" i say but this time with less effort. I should apologize for yesterday and ask him why i was in his room, i walk downstairs only to see two men they were all suited and coming into the larger view was Sal on opposite angles. he was in a suit as usual and his wrist was bandaged and that made me wonder if the two men noticed his wrist. Guilt kicked in my guts. One of the men had tight curls while the other had long straight brown hair.