Taken

Defended

I am tired all the time.

The garage is hot but I shake from hunger.

I had one sip from a lukewarm bottle of water two days ago, and although the boys seem better fed, they haven't given me anything to eat.

Since I found out that I was being ransomed for twenty thousand dollars, my mind has been going around in circles with the simple conundrum: If my parents don't pay the money, I will be killed. If they do, I will be released.

My parents are not the type to just do what people tell them, so they will probably try to rescue me.

When they try to save me, they will be killed also.

Then there will be no one to pay the money.

So I will be dead by the end of this month.

Books will tell you that coming to terms with your imminent death is easy.

It is a complete lie.

The truth is, the fact that a bullet might be in my skull by the end of this month scares the crap out of me.

Every time I push the thought to the back of my mind, it resurfaces twice as intensely at before.

The only thing keeps me from going insane is the boy. Maybe if he really does love me, perhaps he will keep them from killing me.

But then again, he hasn't ever defended me before.

Ron and Nick come in through the small door and talk in hushed voices in the corner. The look on Ron's face is nonchalant, but Nick looks flustered.

The older boy crosses his arms and strides over to face me.

"I have decided that we need to send your parents a little reminder of what we are going to do if they don't send us the money by the date I asked."

He brings out a pair of scissors from the waistband of his jeans.

"I hope they'll instantly recognize your hair, otherwise we might have to send them something else."

His hard little eyes shift to my tied hands.

I have to choke back a scream.

I hadn't seen myself since the night I was kidnapped, and I knew my hair was probably a mess, but the one thing I took pride in was by hair. I liked it. It was long and blond, a light, almost white blond.

If he cut off my hair, I'd lose the last piece of normal I had in this place.

The scissors flashed in front of my eyes, moving toward my hair.

"Wait, Ron."

Ron stops and steps back.

"What the heck, Nick?"

"Sorry, I just-I think we have the whole mysterious silence thing going for us right now, you know? If we break the silence, It's kind of like we are the desperate one instead of them."

Ron contemplates this, while focusing on the scissors. Every time he tilts the pair of sharp blades in his hand, they catch the light..

It seems like ages before he slips the scissors back into his jeans and turns away.

He walks out the little door, with Nick trailing behind him.

Just before the door shuts, he turns to face me, his brown eyes staring into mine.