Good Intentions| Editing

Thirty One

My eyes couldn't pick what to focus on. They kept flicking back and forth, back and forth without control. Between Mr. Wells' sinister smile on his face and the black, metal gun in his right hand, I couldn't tell what was scarier.

Chris stepped out of the elevator, his predator eyes finding his prey. He took slow steps towards me while he swung the gun around his fingers, like some toy. I thought about running and trying to fight him, but that would be pointless. He had the upper hand. And his upper hand was his gun.

His eyes were dark, purple circles under them. He looked like he hadn't taken a shower, and smelled of sulfur. But aside from his facial features, he looked impeccable. An Armani suit sat upon his figure, a blue tie, and his hair a rumpled mess. He'd be any women's wet dream. Apart from the fact that he had a gun in his hand, and a crazy look in his eyes.

Why was he wearing a suit if he just got out of prison?

"How've you been? You look even more ravishing since the last time I saw you." His malicious eyes scan me head to toe, stopping at places I never would let him see.

Deciding to not play his crazy person game, I say to him, "And you look even more delusional since I last saw you."

Mr. Wells takes another step forward, about two feet away from me. Me being my stubborn self, I don't back away from him, not wanting to show how scared I am. And boy, I am petrified.

"I waited all day for you to come out of this building. Heck, I even snuck into your car because I was so desperate."

Shivers run down my body from his words. My voice is shaky and breathy when I reply. "Desperate for what?"

Chris shoots me a menacing smile, and tilts his head to the side. "Are you so clueless, Arabella?" Chris waits for a response, but nothing comes out of my mouth. Rolling his eyes he continues, "So I decided to just come in here and get you, tired of waiting. That stupid janitor was in my fucking way, but don't worry, it's just us now."

Panic shoots through me, seeing that he would likely kill anyone to get what he wanted. But what did he want?  So I decided to ask.

"Mr. Wells, what do you want from me?" I say finally backing away from him and moving behind a desk to put more space between me and my assailant.

"Oh please Arabella, call me Chris. If I'm going to kill you, we might as well be on a first name basis."

Tears bubble in my eyes, completely terrified of the man in front of me. He was going to kill me. Shoot me cold. Usually if someone was going to kill you, you'd think of your family and all the regrets you have. Yet my mind flicked to Harry and whether he finished the Mac 'n Cheese.

Deciding not to let my last thought be about food, I make a run for it. I sprint towards the staircase, hopping over a falling trash can. But I immediately come to a halt when a gunshot sounds throughout the office floor. "Sit your ass down, Arabella." Chris says stomping towards me and grabbing the collar of my jacket. He throws me into a rolling chair, pushing me up to the desk, turns on a lamp and then sits across from me. "Why are you crying? I didn't kill you yet, darling."

Chris stands up from his spot and reaches across the desk, wiping the tears away from my eyes. I cringe away from his hands, feeling violated. "Why are you doing this?" I ask through my silent cries.

Chris leans back in his chair, closing his eyes and puts his hands behinds his head, leaving the gun on the desk. "So, so clueless."

My hand itches to reach for the gun, but a buzzing on my lap stops me. Looking at Mr. Wells, I make sure his eyes are still closed. I pull my phone out and see a missed call from Harry. I also had four texts within minutes of one another saying, 'Where are you?', 'If you changed your mind about tonight just tell me', 'Are you still at work?', 'That's it. I'm coming to get you.'