How to Be Cliche (A Novel)

(39) Hashtag Deep

hi.

Watch the Hunter x Pepper vid I made to the side!! If for some reason it's not letting you watch the vid on mobile click the EXTERNAL LINK option on the right bar of this chapter and I have a link to a page where you can watch it!

:)

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                    I was in the middle of a steamy dream involving Liam Hemsworth and chocolate chip cookie dough, when a sharp, unbearable jolt of electricity woke me up.

                  The first thing I noticed was an electric pair of violent, cold blue eyes glaring at me from across the room.

                  The second thing I noticed that I was still in Hunter's bedroom.

                   The third thing I noticed was that my hands were chained above my head and my toes were barely touching the ground. Unfortunately, this was an all too familiar experience because I had been hung similarly in my own backyard shed.

                  The fourth....I had a muzzle on. I immediately went crazy, trying to break free from the chains with every ounce of strength in my body. I must have looked like a real boob, bringing my legs up to my chest, swinging wildly side to side, trying to kick at my chained hands with my feet and hanging upside down like a monkey.

                  Finally, I settled on getting back to my normal position. Hanging hopelessly in front of a clearly pissed off and highly unpredictable Alpha-male. Relaxing, I acknowledged Hunter's physique as any female would, skimming my eyes over his Armani black button down, medium wash blue jeans, and work boots. I hadn't ever really seen him in such an expensive looking shirt. I pinned him as more of a t-shirt kind of guy.

                  Then again, I also pinned him as not a serial killer at one point...

                  As time went on and Hunter stared unfazed at me,  I started to read his body.

                  Posture. Rigid.

                  Eyes. Glaring.

                  Head. Tilted downwards.

                  Eyes. Still...glaring.

                  Jaw. Clamped shut.

                  Stance. Ready to pounce.       

                  Eyes.... Still glaring, yet beautiful.

                  Hands. Behind his back. Considering he was a serial killer, that definitely was not a good sign. There could have easily been a chainsaw back there...or maybe a grenade.

                  As if hearing my thoughts -- maybe he did, Hunter moved his hands to his front, revealing the sleek black taser that had awaken me up from my Hemsworth dream.

                   "Evening," I said casually, popping my lips after, and pretending to admire the room around me. The muzzle provided me room to speak, but not enough to rip Stevie Wonder's heart out of his body and shred it into a million little pieces for chaining me up. "Or maybe it's morning. Could be night time? One can't really tell when one's been the captive of a psycho for who knows how long, you know? The muzzle is nice, by the way. But is it real leather or pleather? Because it's starting to itch."