The Professor

Twenty-three

  I freeze against this strange man. Tears begin to slide down my cheeks as I breathe roughly through my nose.

  He slowly turns me around so that we climb into the back of a van where one man operates it from the driver's seat.

  My mind can't help but imagine the worst case scenario. What are these men going to do to me? Are they going to kill me?

  The man with the gun sits across from me on the floor. He still points his weapon at me. He wears a black hoodie, exposing his pale face and green eyes. I've never seen him before. He must be around his thirty's.

   It smells awful in here, like smoke and alcohol and mildew. It's dark in here from the lack of windows, creating a dim, green glow from the walls.

   I begin to contemplate on asking what they plan to do with me, but I fear that it will result in my pain. So I keep quiet. Speechless. Not a mucsle moving except my speeding heart. More tears stream from my eyes further, damping my cheeks.

  The man across from me slowly pulls out a phone from his hoodie. He keeps the gun pointed at me as his eyes watch me intently. He then raises the phone to his ear and speaks with a low, hoarse voice, "We got her. Do we still stick to the plan?" He pauses for a moment to hear the response. He nods and replies, "Alright. Will do." He clicks off the phone and slides it back in his pocket.

  Do they know me? What do they want with me? This can't be just a random kidnapping for no reason. How? How do they know me? What do I have that they want?

  I bow my head while sobbing. I imagine that I won't be able to go home. Maybe I will die. And no one will know.

* * *

   We pull up to a small motel. If it weren't for the dim sign being lit up, I would've assumed that it was abandoned.

  As we climb out of the van, the man grips my bicep for my restraint. He keeps his gun pointed at me from his hoodie pocket.

   We stop in front of a door with three numbers on it: 286. He opens the door and pushes me through it before following me in with the other man. The door shuts and the only sound that remains is a dog barking and police sirens off in the distance.

  He pushes me back so I sit on the edge of the bed. He points the gun at me while demanding roughly, "Don't move." His eyes watch me before he gradually turns his back so that he faces the other man.

  They both mumble quietly between each other, occasionally glancing back at me.

  I swallow hard as my muscles tense beneath my skin. I haven't moved a finger since I sat down. My palms sweat on my thighs as I gaze ahead of me at the blank wall behind the dresser.

   Is this how I really die? Murder. What have I done to deserve this? I'm too young to die.

   The man with the gun turns around and strides toward me. I notice a dark, dragon tattoo on his neck.

  He stops before me, placing the gun on the dresser behind him without turning his body. He slouches so that his hands rest on my thighs. His thumb slides up my skirt as he smirks at me.

   Instinctivly, I slap his hand away.

  He snarls at me aggressively.

Fuck, is he going to hurt me now?

   Suddenly, he grabs both of my wrists and pins me down against the hard bed. He hovers over my body as I squirm beneath him helplessly. The tears come back as I breathlessly attempt to escape from his grip. My heart pounds against my chest quickly as the adrenaline tingles my thighs.