Control Freak ✔️

17 every little dark thing

Caleb sat with his fingers in his hair as he hovered his nose over the half-empty cup of coffee, welcoming the steam to rise up and hit him as she poured more from her urn. "Thanks, Jasmine," he muttered.

"Don't mention it," she cheerfully replied. "Rough day?"

"Incredibly."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"I don't wanna trouble you."

"Can I guess?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Girl problems?"

His ears perked up, which was enough of an indication to her that she was right even if he wouldn't admit it.

"Us girls can be crazy," she said. "Especially the really pretty girls."

"I think crazy would be an understatement in this particular case," said Caleb. "It's just... I can't even explain to you what's going on right now."

"Well, do you care about this girl?"

"I do."

"Then hold her down," she advised. "Don't turn her away. If you do, you'll do more damage than you know."

"Why's that?"

"A woman's heart is never organized. Her emotions are chaotic, sometimes coming out all at once. But if she can't be herself, she'll seal it all off. She'll be afraid to show you any of it."

"Hm," he pondered. "You know, you're really good at this. What's my tab?"

"For the coffee? On the house," she declared with a smirk. "For the advice? I'll send you the bill."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. I always pour you the stale brews we were gettin' ready to throw out anyway," she chided, sauntering away.

"Gee, thanks," he scoffed, briskly pulling on his jacket. "Later, Jasmine."

"Oh, and Caleb?"

"Yeah?" He poked his head back in.

"Flowers never hurt anybody," she suggested.

"Got it," he acknowledged. He'd keep an eye out for one of those flower stands on his route. The real question racking his brain, then, was what kind of flowers to get. He knew she liked flowers, she was always stopping to sniff them anytime she got the chance to. So...any type of flowers will do, then, he thought. She likes them all.

He found a stand a few blocks down from her house. Roses. Those are the romantic kind.

"What kind of flowers are best at saying 'I was an ass, I'm sorry?'" he groveled with a likable smirk.

"Well, what kinds of flowers does she like? What's her favorite? Start there," the old flower woman advised.

Caleb shrugged. "She likes, like, all of 'em. I dunno, is there a difference?"

"Depends on the girl. I would say, most girls wouldn't mind a bouquet of roses..."

"Ah, the most expensive kind, I see," he griped, digging around for his wallet. Once he realized it wasn't in its usual spot, he went about the typical full-body pat down routine. Still, he came up with nothing.

"I don't have my wallet," he conceded.

"You could recite a poem," the cheeky peddler replied. He got her message loud and clear.

"Shit, I probably left it at the cafe," he groaned to himself when he was alone again. He took out his phone and searched for the cafe's number before quickly dialing it.

"Hello?" a woman whose voice he was unfamiliar with answered. "Yes, hi, my name is Caleb Morris. I think I may have left my wallet there this afternoon."

"Hm, well, we haven't found any yet. Something might turn up, though. We'll call you if we find it."

"Thanks," he replied before ending the call. He figured it was too late to turn back around, especially since he wasn't even positive he left his wallet at the cafe. The only thing to do was face the music head-on, assess the damages, and see if he could get Ivy in a good mood.

He paused at the door, holding out in front of him the key she had given him so early in their relationship. She was so trusting.

"Ivy? Hey, Ivy?" he called, entering the dark house. "Mmph!" he exclaimed. A large hand had clamped over his mouth.

"Easy. Easy now," crooned the giant man. Caleb's frantic eyes found Ivy's: much colder than he remembered them being. His body struggled to resist. "C'mon, bud," the man continued. "No shame in doing things the easy way, especially when the result's gonna be the same, you get me?"

Caleb ignored the advice and instead kept wriggling his noodle body like a helpless worm between the angler's fingertips. All his writhing just irritated his captor, and made it easier to sink his burly forearm deep beneath his chattering jawbone. It wasn't long before his body went limp, and his vision faded to black.

They sat him in a chair. The big man tied his wrists and ankles to the legs while Ivy watched. He slowly awakened to the sight of her stoic countenance again. He searched for the love in her eyes. He found nothing.

"I-Ivy, please," he moaned. "Is this all because of this afternoon?"

"Gag him," she sternly commanded.

"No! Ivy, no! Be reasona-bull— ugh! mmph! mmph!" His words were silenced by the cloth.

"Wonder how much rich daddy's willing to pay to get his little man back," mused the gardener, playfully slapping Caleb on his cheek. "Guess we'll find out soon, huh sport?"

Jasmine didn't rush to collect his mug and spoon, the afternoon crowd was fairly sparse and plenty of tables were available. Towards the end of her shift was when she decided to start bussing the tables. She reached down and grabbed something wedged in the booth crack: a black leather wallet. The i.d. was Caleb's.

Caleb's pocket started vibrating. His new friend seemed overjoyed to assist him in answering it. "Hmmm, well now, whoever could that be?"

"Give it to me," Ivy demanded. He passed the phone her way as it continued to buzz.

"Caleb?"

"Who is this?" an icy voice on the other end of the phone answered.

"Oh, um, this is Jasmine, from the coffee shop?"

"This bitch," she mouthed, before really hamming it up. "Oh hi, girl! What's up?"

"Nothing much. Caleb stopped in for coffee this afternoon and left his wallet."

"That Caleb," she sang.

"Yeah," Jasmine politely agreed.

"Anyway, just wanted to let him know it was here. I'll give it to the opening manager and he can come get it tomorrow."

"Hey, could you bring it over actually?"

"Well, I mean—"

"Oh, come on, just bring it to my house. I'll throw in a nice little reward for you if you do."

"Is Caleb there?"

"Caleb's here, but well, I just cooked him such a big meal, ya know, he passed right out. I can wake him up if you really wanna talk to him."

"No, that's okay, I'll just swing by and drop off the wallet."

"Okay, here, take my address..."

"Mm. Mmmm!" He tried his best to be heard, wailing at the top of his lungs. But all the sound was muffled by the cloth pulled tight around his mouth. He watched as she brought the phone from her ear, with his frantic eyes darting about, taking everything in garbled fragments. He felt a heavy arm resting on his shoulder. He followed the sensation and human warmth until his vision cleared and his eyes could focus on his captor. It was the gardener; the one with the tattoo running up his neck, and a toothy grin for the girl smiling back at him.