As we were driving on the highway, only a few miles away from El Paso, the song "Eyes Without a Face" by Billy Idol, played softly in the radio. I sighed, trying to gather my courage before breaking the heavy silence.
"How did you write so soft and gentle? You don't act like it at all. "
Richard's grip on the steering wheel tightened. He didn't respond immediately, his eyes fixed ahead, a smirk slowly curling on his lips.
"You don't act like your writings either," he finally replied, his tone mocking. "Your letters... they're just... more gentle than you."
I felt a chill run down my spine.
"How... how do you know about my writings?" I stammered, my heart pounding in my chest.
"I've never shown you my writings. I've never sent you any letters. What the fuck are you on"
Richard chuckled darkly and reached under the seat, pulling out my bag—the one he had taken when he kidnapped me at least that's what I assumed. It had my makeup, some of my clothes, and my journal. He flipped it open, turning to a 'page'..
He cleared his throat theatrically and began to read aloud, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Richard, your sharp jawline and intense brown eyes draw me in. Your dark curls and shoulder-length hair add to your mysterious aura. I can't help but notice how attractive you are. Even when I was terrified, I couldn't take my eyes off of you. "
My face burned with humiliation as he continued.
"I was struck by how you took the blame instead of me, how you protected me even though you barely even knew me," he read, his voice sing-song. He looked at me, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.
"Really, Delilah? My curls? Do you want my hair routine?.. Alright, first, you have to wash it with just soap and water and let it air dry, then do not shower for a week. That's how you get this delicious look." He finished his sarcastic discourse with a hysterical laugh, although I'm not sure if it was sarcastic he does look like he has not showered for a week.
"How did you get my bag?" I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady, though it trembled with fear and anger.
Richard shrugged nonchalantly. "I took it right before I scooped you," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It was actually that was my first guess, anyway. He is, too.. predictable.
I could feel the walls closing in around me, the realization that he had been watching me, invading my privacy, long before that night. My stomach churned with a mix of terror and nausea.
I shrank back, tears welling up in my eyes. The weight of embarrassment, maybe.
Richard continued to read from my journal, each word a mockery of my feelings.
"I was drawn to your mysterious gaze, and the way you seemed to know exactly what to say to keep me calm," he mocked. "Even though I was scared, I can't help but notice how you looked out for me."
