Don't Talk to Strangers

VIII

- Dan -
I slipped on a cool, collected smile and strode forward, trying to ignore the blazing pain from my tired limbs.

"Glad to see you've made it back," she breathed with ice dripping from her mouth. "I was beginning to think you'd given up or run away."

Her demeanor had changed. She was no longer the naive, wary little girl I'd picked up. She'd hardened after her scare of realization. Sure, kidnapping is illegal, but it hadn't been kidnapping per se. She'd only trusted the half-truths I'd fed her and come willingly.

"I'm surprised you haven't called the police on me," I replied huskily.

"Who's to say I haven't?" she countered. I didn't respond, just stared into her eyes, trying to understand her. She gave nothing away.

Had she or hadn't she?

She took a breath and advanced dangerously. "You'd better be feeling some guilt right about now, or I'll sure as hell make you feel something," she snapped, nearing my face.

Against my will, my heartrate sped up. I'd never faltered during interrogations or confrontations before—what was happening?

We were locked in the stalemate for some time as I battled my thoughts and emotions. Then she stormed away from me, pacing in angry lines. She screamed at me, "Who? Who is the real one out to get me? Who was that man you were supposedly 'saving' me from? Answer me—at least give me that."

I stared her down, finally saying quietly, "Someone worse than me."

She stilled, fury raging behind her eyes. "You're going away," she hissed, stepping up to me again, "for a very long time." She hovered in front of me, practically shoving daggers down my throat. My hands became clammy and my frustration grew. My instincts screamed to back down, but I couldn't. I clenched my fists.

She noticed. She smiled. A cold, animalistic smile I'd never received before, but given many times.

That's when something broke inside of me and I did something I didn't know if I regretted.

I kissed her.