Hell's torturer: The Demon in Disguise

Part 2

I feel bad for leaving Jamie, but today she was honestly getting on my nerves. I got flashbacks of my parents, who demanded to know what I was doing every second I was not under their constant surveillance. I guess that they are probably more concerned about me having sex before marriage, rather than being kidnapped. It wasn't until I moved out that they started to loosen their grip on me. Most people take it for granted when they don't have to call their mom every hour they are away from home, and then get immediately slapped and yelled at on the rare occasion they forget to do so.

Most people are going to go no contact after suffering the hell I suffered through, but as much as I hate to admit it, I was still dependent on them financially. Rent and those damn student loans don't pay themselves, and my measly salary as a content writer surely wasn't enough to cover them.

I look down at my mud-covered dress, which only amplifies the sensation of misery downing over me. Part of me feels embarrassed for leaving dirt in such an expensive car, I would be burying my face in my palms if it wasn't for the fact that the person driving me got me in this state.

We stop at a red light and my eyes dart over to Damian. He catches me staring and I give him the type of smile you give someone when you are both waiting for the elevator.

"What position are you being interviewed for?" He asks in his deep husky voice. "You seem pretty nervous about it or... maybe it's because of me?" He adds with a smile and a devious look in his eyes.

"What?" I say in a quiet, timid tone, feeling a sudden warmth engulfing me. My cheeks are probably redder than the light that I'm so impatiently waiting to turn green.

"Oh, it's nothing. It's just that not many women would agree to take a ride from a stranger. This interview must be really important to you."

"Isn't it the same when you take an Uber? I mean, anyone could be behind the wheel. How do you know you're safe with me?" I say jokingly.

"Touché."

"I'm getting interviewed for a position as a copywriter, but I don't want to bore you with details of my job. How about you?"

"I own a small pharmaceutical company. Nothing crazy, most of the time I'm either stuck in a meeting or behind the desk, looking at the stock market, buying and selling shares. It's really boring."

"For you or for everyone else?" I see a small smirk creep upon his face. I can tell my question intrigued him, but even so an answer didn't follow. His eyes stay fixed on the road. "I've always had an interest in chemistry, but once you make your hobby into a profession it drains all the fun of it. They say: "Do what you love and you won't have to work a day in your life", but I see this statement as complete nonsense. Life is more complicated than just following a dream. Having a passion for something doesn't make it any less stressful, wouldn't you agree?"

"I guess so..." I bite my tongue, thinking back at the time I had to choose my bachelor. I loved writing, but my parents never would have encouraged me to pursue a creative career, so I had to settle for journalism the very same way Rachel had to settle for graphic design because who the hell sells paintings these days? It's weird how we are told to prioritize a good job rather than a fun one to be happy, but in the end, we find ourselves miserable because of that choice.

"We're here." Damian's voice breaks the weird tangent my brain decided to take. I didn't even notice when we arrived.

"How did you know where I live?" I ask him a bit confused.

"You told me your address earlier and I typed it on my GPS, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure..." I did not remember, but I'm such an airhead that I might as well have. I wait for him to park and, get out of the car before I further embarrass myself with some stupid question.