Taken

Chapter 9

Harry's already in the tub by the time I reach the door.

I slowly take off my clothing, afraid for him to see my bare.

He has already once, but this time is different.
I'm undressing in front of him, willingly.

His eyes never take themselves off my body.
Somehow, it's comforting.

"Come in." He smiles when I'm completely nude.

I smile back and walk cautiously to the bath.
I take one step at a time and sit down in the steaming,hot water.

"Does it feel good?" He questions while he scoots a bit closer.

I nod,
"Very much. Thank you." I wasn't exactly sure what I was thanking him for, but the water felt so good on my aching body, I was saying anything.

"I'm glad." His voice sounding closer to me than it was before.

I open my eyes and lift my head off the back of the tub.

I lift my hand from the soothing water and take it to Harry's cheek.
With a surprise, he let me.

I've always wanted to be able to touch his face,
his cheekbones,
his dimples,
and his plump lips.

I pull back, afraid of my thoughts, remembering where I was, who I was, and who he was.

He lightly grabs my wrist,
"Please don't stop."

He places my hand back on his cheek,
"No ones ever touched me like this, before." He reveals to me.

I bite my lip to keep me from showing any emotion.
I felt terrible for him, because that's probably why he was so dark and cold.
No ones ever shown him affection or love.
It's like a vicious dog who trusts no one, but now is finally letting himself be petted.

But, I couldn't tell him that.
I'm already weak as it is, this will just make me that much weaker.

He lets go of my wrists, hoping I don't remove my hand, but I do.

I see the light in his eyes shut off.

"I'm sorry, it's just-" I begin.

"Don't. Don't apologize. It's not your fault. I'm surprised you let me kiss you. I'm surprised you're not balling right now. Usually, that's what girls do when they're around me." He
chuckles at the end but sadness bellows in his eyes.

I keep my head down, thinking of an answer.
Damn, I have so many to choose from but just can't pick one.

"Why did you do it?" His words eliminate all the thoughts in my head.

"What?"

"Why did you stop me after I threw the lamp? I could've hurt you. You weren't afraid?" His eyes meeting mine once again.

"It's out of habit. I'm used to people throwing and breaking things, so I wasn't really taken back. You could've hurt me, but at that moment, I guess I wasn't thinking of it." All my words true.

"What do you mean, you're used to it?" He seems interested as he travels closer.

"You probably don't care. It's nothing."

"Please, tell me. I care." His hand grasping mine firmly in reassurance.

I look at our hands together and back at his errorless features,

"Alright." His eyes instantly relighting themselves.

"Well, my mom ran off on me and my dad. She packed her bags and left. My dad was already a big drinker, but now...He's a straight up alcoholic. He punches holes in the wall, throws glasses, tv's, lamps, mirrors, anything really breakable." I slightly giggle at the end to lighten the mood, but Harry's eyes are fool of concentration, and his lips create a frown.

"So, to calm him down, I usually do what I did to you. I hold him behind his back and just hold him. Then I say what I said to you, except say his name." I smile then suddenly my eyes begin to water.

"Why did he become an alcoholic?" Harry questions.

"He blames himself. He thinks if he was a better husband, he would still have a wife, and I'd still have a mom." My tears betray me as the slide down my cheek.
I'm grateful when Harry doesn't ask anymore questions and brings me in his arms, allowing to cry on his shoulder.

"You don't deserve to be in pain for his or her mistakes. They don't deserve your tears." His voice making the aches in my heart settle.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I can't help but be curious.
He just caused me to have a concussion hours ago.

"I think I should be asking you that question."

He slowly untangles my hair and rubs my back.

I release myself from his shoulder, and study his face, his body, his everything.

I never noticed the unique designs of his arm tattoos.
They all are so beautiful.
He has sleeves all the way up of exquisite tattoos.
I never thought I'd be so tranced my black ink.

I begin to move my hand and trace a rose tattoo on his left forearm.

"This is my favorite." I smile.

"Mine, too." He beams.

I began to draw his lips in my mind, but I start to draw mine on them, too.

No. Jennifer, he kidnapped you. He gave you a damn concussion. What are you doing? You're not this type of girl. Don't think about his body. Think about home. Think about what your friends would think if you told them you even kissed him, willingly. You stupid girl. This obviously is a trick, Jennifer. He just wants to fuck you then leave. Get out of that tub.

I listen to my thoughts and pop out of the tub.

"Where are y-" He begins, but I cut him off with a yelp.

"Don't ever touch me like that again, okay? Don't ever get that close to me. I'm not that type of girl."

"Jennifer, you aren't making any sense."

"Yes I am! I can't believe I actually just bathed with you. And I did it, because I wanted to! Do you know how scary that is? You really know how to woo women, don't you? You do this to all of them, right? Fuck! Just take me home! I want to go home!" I can't think straight as I collapse on the floor, hyperventilating.

He gets out of the tub and snugly wraps a towel around his waist.

He begins to try and help me up, but I shake him away.

"Don't touch me!" I snap.

He rolls his eyes and walks to the door,

"Fine. Cry your fucking eyes out for all I care." He slams the door behind him, and I'm pretty sure I hear something shatter.

I stay on the ground rethinking my whole outburst.

The air in the room seems colder, and the light suddenly darkens.
My mind seems to finally be accepting my fate.

I didn't have one.

Fate is what you're meant to be in life, and who you end up being with.

I'm not meant to be taken from my family.
I'm not meant to be taken from my friends.
I'm not meant to be taken from my myself.

This isn't me.
This girl crying into a rug, hair matted, bloodshot eyes, trembling hands, and broken heart, isn't me.

Someone finally decided to turn on the 'on' switch in my brain.

I got kidnapped, and I'm a teenage girl.

I slam my first against the white, granite cabinets.

I know exactly where they're taking me.

I know exactly who they are.

What there job is.

They're my first class ticket to my worst nightmare.