I stare back at the eyes that I can barely make out. They're light in color and the only way I can witness them peering back at me is the extreme contrast in hues between the tinted limo windows and the honey-colored orbs. "It's too sunny for a little lady like you to be out here in the open fields of these Irish springs." I lower my lids at the sarcasm of the mysterious man's voice. "Are you lost?"
Taking a look around the dark alley, I glance over my shoulder and back at them. "Are you lost," I probe back with my hand reaching for my pocket knife.
"Oooh, scary!" He sneers back. "What are you going to do, stab me with your little juvie toothbrush shank? Do I look like I want something from you?" The eyes brighten, you can tell he's grinning. Whoever this man is, he's got a wicked sense of humor. He lowers the window for me to see down to the center of the bridge of his nose. I can see his point. He looks to have all the money in the world– which takes rape out of the equation because why go for the dusty alley girl who's got paint all over her when you can find someone like Karyn Parsons. He laughs. "I didn't think so."
I intensely stare back, lost for words. I don't know what else to say. I don't even know why a random rich guy is bothering me.
"Get in the car," He says.
"I don't ride with strangers."
Another chuckle's let out on his behalf. "Get in the car or I'll be glad to call MPD and let them know a little rascal is running around coloring their building's walls." My eyes lower at the threat. I've got no ID at the moment. That means if I get arrested, they're so going to lock me up and throw the key away.
I'm nervous as I walk toward the long black limousine. The doors are unlocked as I pull on the handle. Once it opens, an indescribable aroma meets my nostrils, filling them with a heavenly perfume. The gold and black interior fills the entire vehicle. On the far other side, those same pair of eyes watch me as I take a seat and close the door. He taps on the partition twice before the car starts moving. I sit, secretly afraid, and look up at him. He knows I'm packing so he better not try anything.
"Where do you live, I'll take you home."
His voice– I know that voice. "The Upper Eastside." I murmur as I think over the familiarity of his tone. And that's when it hit me. Seven June's ago, I'd gone to the movie theatre to see one of the most electrifying movies the world's ever witnessed. It featured this big rockstar. "Hey, you're Prince," I find myself pointing out.
"No, I'm the King."
Again, my eyes drop to a low squint. "Ha ha, that was a good one." I dryly reply. The sarcasm has got to go.
Legs crossed, he stares back at me from the other side of his limo. Hands folded in his lap and a slight smirk dancing on his lips, he continues staring at me. "You're quite interesting looking." My neck jerks back at his comment without knowing whether his words are to be taken as a compliment or an insult. "Are you mixed? You look mixed."
"Maybe."
He nods his head with a hum. "Do people call you Dottie?" He jests in reference to the hundreds of thousands of freckles that cover my body. A large majority on them rest on my face, I'm sure he can see them. He probably thinks he is funny. With an attitude, I shake my head in decline. "Hmph, they should..."
"Are you trying to insult me?"
Ignoring my words, he points at my backpack that carries my spray cans. "You like Disney?" He questions calmly.
Offended, yet again, I sit up in the plush seat with my hands on my knees as I nearly shout back at him. "What do you think I am, twelve?!" His head cocks in a shocked sense of curiosity. Maybe he did think I am younger than sixteen. "I'm nineteen!" I spat.
"Hmph, if I'd know that... I would've just called you a cab," He admits, forcing my eyes to roll. His questionnaire continues as more inquires run through his mind. "Do you like Dalmatian because they're black and white with spots, like you? The resemblance is undeniable. I dig it on a deeper level."
I scoff, placing my backpack in my lap. "I never imagined someone like you to be so inquisitive."
"Questions give you answers and answers bring knowledge. Knowledge is power. Only stupid people dislike questions." He takes a pause and reaches into a miniature slot next to him. Pulling out a bottle, he cracks the seal and brings the very tip to his lips. "What's that say about you," he sings.
"Seriously? Stop the car! Let me out of here, I can catch a fucking bus!"
His eyebrows rise in amusement. "As much as I'd love to call you PottyMouth, I think this is only in the heat of the moment. Anyway," He takes a small sip of his water, I assume it is water. Hell, it could be vodka. If it is, I'd hope that he's willing to share no matter how annoying he is. "So, Dottie, what's up with you playing Picasso on that wall? Is the world your coloring book?"
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
