THE ORANGE GIRL

chapter ten

Monday, 2nd November 2015

8:45PM | Yoongi's Apartment

They were expecting a struggle, for bones to be broken and blood to be shed. But when you simply stood there and shrugged your shoulders at their demand to comply and come with us, they realised they were going to have to improvise.

Uninterestedly, you had watched the two men in masks that resembled the beaks of birds wander around the apartment, kicking and turning and smashing all in their path. An eyebrow was even raised at the small pouch of red that one had revealed out of a black briefcase, slashed open to leave a sizeable pool of crimson to spread over the lightwood floorboards, seeping into the corner of the rug that Yoongi had always told you to never damage.Poor guy is going to go nuts when he sees that.

After making sure the facade of a struggle was made obvious, a scene playing out where you had fought back, which inevitably made you crash into chairs and gradually through the glass of the pretty coffee table you had always admired, the two men easily looped your arms behind your back and bound your wrists with a cable tie that could have been tighter. Before you left the flat you had come to call home over the weeks, one of them faced the floor to ceiling windows, the sheer curtains parted from when you had watched the sun bleed orange onto the horizon, and he shrugged into the shadows of the city skyline.

You thought it curious that they had blindfolded you before letting the car roll into the shadows of the night, but you had come to learn that you were once a person to never be second guessed, to always take precaution around. Nonetheless, you did not struggle as they tied a hard knot at the back of your head, and they did not care about the strands of hair that were snagged uncomfortably into the material. You remained silent.

As soon as the car had rumbled to life beneath your thighs, you began to count the seconds that passed. Two minutes and thirty-two seconds until you were taking a hard corner that had you slamming your temple to the glass of the window. Eleven minutes and fifty-seven seconds until the pair in the front seat began to quietly mumble gruff words to one another, not loud enough to be audible over the engine. Twenty minutes exactly until the speed of the car was increasing, the force pushing you hard into the leather of the seat, your lack of senses beginning to make your mind spin. Thirty minutes and ten seconds when you heard one of them yell shit in a voice that was too honey sweet for a man who was shoving a girl's head between her legs, holding you down until your nose was touching your knees and whoever was peeking through the windows from the stoplight or a shop window was completely out of sight. Fifty-one minutes and forty-nine seconds until the vehicle was slowing to a stop, gravel crunching beneath the braking tyres before the car doors were clicking open, slamming shut, opening again for fingernails to dig into the skin of your upper arms and yank you from backseat, feet dragging on the rocks as you were hauled to a place that smelled of oil and metal in which you would hopefully, finally die.

And when that thought passed your mind, a twisted smile wringing your lips, an unfamiliar feeling that you could not quite catch onto fleeted through your chest.

Fifty-five minutes and two seconds until you were thrust down into another chair. Ankles and arms were not bound to the wood, rather bright white light flooded your vision as the blindfold was jerked from your head, ripping wisps of tangled hair from your scalp. The room, no, garage gradually came into focus, the walls lined with racks of car parts and tools that had been abandoned, the cement floor covered in scraps of metal and hubcaps and worn down tyres with four rusting, long forgotten cars lined up in the bays that once would have been utilised to repair them. But the place had definitely been deserted for years.

"I must say," The voice that had cursed in the car began. "We were surprised to discover you were alive. There were rumours, but a Capo only believes his fellow Capos or his King. Though it seems our King has been telling lies."