Black Rose

Bad odds.

The silence pressed in around me. My throat ached from the screaming in the car. I lost track of how long I had been lying there. It wasn't as though I could move, though. My kidnapper hadn't given me that liberty.

I could only hope that people were looking for me. Jordan. My parents.

Although I couldn't help but doubt it, I wondered if my parents even cared I was gone. They never seemed to care when I was at home. Even when I acted out, skipped school, went to parties and did drugs, they just pretended as though nothing happened. The only time they ever even gave a damn was when I told them I was gay. I could go out and be a delinquent all I wanted, but god forbid I kissed another girl.

They never seemed to care about me. They were always too busy with their busy lives and perfect careers.

I was so busy thinking about my parents and feeling sorry for myself that I didn't notice my kidnapper until he was looming over me. I blinked up at him and frowned.

"Are you here to let me go?" I asked bitterly, and he just smirked.

"Not quite, though if you promise to behave, I will free your arms and legs." He said, pulling a pocketknife from the back pocket of his jeans.

I said nothing, not trusting myself not to blow my chances of getting free. I stayed deathly still as he leant down and cut away at the thick grey tape around my wrists, then moved down to my ankles.

He tore the tape away and rolled it together into a lump, before stashing the knife back into his pocket. I watched as he tucked it away, a plan forming in my mind.

"I assume you have more questions, my rose. I brought you down some dinner. We could eat together, and I can answer them. Sound good?" He asked, and I slowly nodded.

He held out a hand to help me out of the soft covers, but I ignored it and pushed myself up without him. He smirked but said nothing. I wobbled on my feet, having been bound up for so long, but managed to stay upright.

"Let me help you, my rose." He said, reaching out to hold my arm, but I smacked his hand away.

"I am not your rose, you perverted psycho." I snapped, and I watched as his eyes grew dark. He pursed his lips and said nothing, pulling his hand away.

I let out a shaky breath and looked down at the floor, leaning against the nearby wall to steady myself. The man made no more moves to help me and instead stared at me through beady eyes.

After moment, he spoke, his voice clipped. "Come, my rose. Our dinner is getting cold."

With that, he opened the door and held it open for me. I slipped out and down the corridor, to the living area. I glanced at the table, expecting to see two bowls sitting there, but was surprised to find just one large one filled with pasta. I frowned, turning to my kidnapper as he followed me into the room.

"Aren't you eating?" I asked him, and he just smirked, before making his way to the table and sitting down in front of the bowl, pushing his chair out so he can still see me.

"Yes, pet. The question is whether you are." He said, placing a fork into the bowl.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I have one condition for you to eat, and for you to ask your questions," he said, pausing as if for dramatic effect. Then, with a smile, he said, "You have to sit on my lap, and let me feed you."

My eyes widened, and I shook my head. "What the hell? No. I'm not sitting on your lap."

The thought made my skin crawl.