How to Be Cliche (A Novel)

(37) A Dash of Paprika

Basically I accidently deleted this entire book! So the reason you got so many notifications is because of all of the issues I was having. Now it appears to be fine! It was very scary!!

Please vote if you enjoyed!

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                  "Nobody knows the trouble I've seen..." I gloomily clunked the crystal glass in my hand filled halfway with water once against my cage bars, creating a single clink. "Nobody knows the--"

                  "I told you to shut your mouth or else I would take your water away. What part of that didn't you understand?" Hunter barked from across the room, not bothering to lift up his head from what he was doing. His voice alone was sharp enough to shut me up and he knew it. For a few seconds at least...

                  What Hunter was doing, by the way, involved a journal, a pen, and very angry facial expressions.

                  Let me break it down for you.

                  I was in a cage.

                  There I sat like a helpless animal: sitting Indian style at the bottom of a dog cage, two sizes too small, and a cold, uncomfortable metal, with my left elbow resting on my knee and my head propped up in my hand. It was the only position I could stay in the crammed amount of space that I had, and it sucked donkey balls. My neck was seriously cramping up, it was pretty damn cold in the room, I was still dirty and covered in blood, I was starving...and he wanted me to be quiet.

                  Yeah.

                  If only the bottom of the cage was a Tempurpedic mattress, then maybe I would have been quiet.

                  I swiped my finger over the bottom of the cage, rubbed my fingers together, and sniffed them. Alright, at least it was a clean cage...

                  I sniffed my fingers again.

                  Kinda...

                   I looked up from the metal cage towards the dark-haired man curled over a large mahogany desk, writing in, yes, his journal. The exact journal I had found in his bedroom the first time I was in his house, might I add. The one with a mysterious drawing of a girl. Except this time, we weren't in his house. We were somewhere else. Somewhere freezing cold, where there was a constant nearby sound of running water, and the floors were stone. It was a large area without any dividers between each room. A kitchen. A living room. A dining room. A bedroom. A...cage room.

                  There were a couple pieces of furniture. A bed, a desk and chair, many lush red couches arranged in different parts of the room, a fridge...  Everything was different shades of red and black. On the ceiling dangled the biggest chandelier I had ever seen in my life, lighting up the entire room with a slight golden glow all by itself. Wherever we were, which was so far I had pinned down as inside of a cave, reminded me of a big apartment, except freezing and no homey feeling to it what-so-ever. This "house" reminded me of a set on a movie, where every item was picked to perfection so that the audience can make a connection to the characters, yet fake-feeling when you got up close and forced. Hunter was one of the lead actors on this particular set.

                  A cell phone rang. Hunter cursed under his breath. He reached into his dark jeans, and lifted the phone to his ear, briefly darting his blue eyes in my direction. "Hello?" His features hardened significantly. "Nacho. Just the screw up I was thinking of. Tell the Pack to stay out of here for now, they can crash at my house, but make sure they don't break anything or it's all on you." Hunter raised his voice. "Yes, that includes you, idiot! No, you're not out of the pack. This isn't some girly clique, you'd be dead already if I wanted you dead!" Hunter leaned back in his chair. Realizing I was staring at him, gave me a wink that unfortunately made my girly parts squeal with aliveness.