Show Me What Home Is

Chapter Two: What Home Is

Chapter Two: What Home Is

Jennifer's POV:

Fuck it.

I try opening the door anyway but the large ape-like man grabs the edge of the door, his strength preventing me from sliding it open far enough to slip through.

"Let go you big ass moose! What are you, a rent-a-thug?" I finally let go and the door slams shut and I bang my fist on the very strong glass.

Oh my God what's happening? What have I gotten myself into... is he mafia? Drug Lord? Sex trade? Just some psychotic rich guy?  What's going to happen to me? I wasn't in my right mind last night, I would have never let him take me, kiss me...

For the past four days I haven't had my depression and anxiety medication because my mom won't get it filled or pick it up, and when that happens it messes with my head, bad. I'm one month from being eighteen but the pharmacy would make no exception for me to pick it up myself, I even tried to bribe them, that's how much I depend on that medication.

I take a calming deep breath, which does no good, and turn around when I hear the frying of the food stop. Michael is facing me.

"Rent-a-thug? Really?" He smirks.

"You can't keep me here..." I taper off.

He walks closer, about two feet from me, "Oh, yes, Sweetheart, I can. Five grand was enough to convince your sorry drunken father, Johnathan Kane, not to report you missing, pull you from school, and pretend you don't even exist."

"My mother-"

"Your mother, Amanda Kane, is too damn scared. She'll listen to the prick." He interrupts me.

Oh my God... I can't believe that I believe him. My father was a greedy, abusive drunk, and my mother was a scared little mouse doped up on pills all of the time.

"How did you know?" I ask, tears stinging my eyes.

He walks away, setting plates and silverware onto the breakfast bar, "I watched. I came from a family.. well, a place I should call it, just like yours. I couldn't leave you there. Besides, I'm going to show you what home is." His green eyes make contact with mine and a shiver goes down my spine.

"I don't need you, in a month I can get out of there-"

"You needed Carly. All of the time. You were always there. Now you have a permanent place to call home." He keeps interrupting me as if he already knows all of my questions. Has he done this before?

"Because I wasn't of age!" I yell at him.

"Don't raise your voice at me Jennifer Constance Kane," he threatens me, a dark look in his eyes, "besides, you only had like, what, fifteen hundred dollars? How long did you really think that was going to last you? You have no aspect of money, of life. Not yet."

He knows my full name, my family, my friend, my life... how long has he been following me? There's no other explanation.

"Why were you following me?" I ask as a tear rolls down my right cheek, although I try to hold them in.

"Because, you're like me. Your soul, it's like mine and I love it. I finally found you... six months ago working as a manager at CiCi's. I assume you only got the job because Carly Anne's father, Christopher Owens, owns the place; trying to help you out."

He has a short temper, so I'm careful with my words, "Leave Carly alone..."

"I don't intend to include her. Not unless she makes me. I never liked her; too friendly, too happy all of the time."

"What are you going to do?" I ask, hesitant.

"I told you, I'm going to show you what home is."

Show me what home is? What does that mean?

"Come. Sit. Eat." He picks up two large plates, both containing scrambled eggs, hash browns, and pancakes.

I obey, sitting at the end of the brown, white, and black marble breakfast bar.

I jump in shock and my heart races as a plate goes over my head and two arms cage me. He sets the plate down, but he doesn't move his arms, no, he leans on the bar, burying his face in the right side of my neck.

My whole body tenses and I don't move. He inhales deeply, letting out a quiet, unpleasantly sexual moan.

"You need a shower." He backs away quickly and takes his seat next to me as if he wasn't just acting like a total creep.

"I know.." I say quietly.

He picks up his fork and eats comfortably, while I hesitate to even pick up my fork.

"You need to eat, you're pale, you probably haven't eaten in a few days, have you?" He turns his head to look at me.

He's right... this asshole is always right.

I don't reply and he just hums, continuing to eat.

It looks so good; it smells so good. I haven't had a home cooked meal since my memaw passed away about six years ago.

God forgive me I can't resist. I hastily pick up my fork and shovel the delicious meal into my mouth, gulping down half of the cup of orange juice.

I look out of the corner of my eye and see Michael smiling as he eats.

I talk with my mouth full, "What? Did you roofie me?"

"No, you trusted me. You're having a meal with me..." He replies with a blank voice.

I swallow my food, "Let me make it clear, I didn't trust you, I was just starving."

His fork freezes halfway to his mouth, dropping to the plate. He turns his whole body to me, his chair spinning with him. He has that dark, disturbing look in his eyes again...

"You. Trusted me. You ate with me."

"Just because-" I don't get to finish my sentence.

With just one hand it wraps all the way around my throat and I struggle to breathe, just barely getting any air. I grip his arm, trying to pry it off, but his strength is remarkable.

I choke out the word: "Stop..."

"Do you trust me that I'll stop before you die?" He asks his face inches from mine.

I don't reply and his hand tightens to the point I stop breathing, "Please..." I use the last of my air, "yes..." I'm forced to give him the answer that I think he's looking for.

He lets go and I collapse from my chair, hitting the floor, choking heavily as I grip my most likely bruised neck.

I begin to shake and weep, "Why? Why are you doing this?" I choke out a sob.

He looks down at me calmly, swallowing before he speaks, "So I can show you what home is, Love. Don't worry, I'll make you happy here... with me."