tabloid junkie (Michael Jackson)

April 8ᵗʰ ─ 2:10 ᵖᵐ

Distract him. Knock him out. Grab the keys. Get out of there.

I'd revised the plan about a million times in my head, and now I was ready to go for it.

My captor was sitting in front of me, I don't know how I could notice that, after all, it was dark. He must have been sitting on a stool or chair because his breath wasn't hitting my face or anything.

"I know you have no idea what's going on right now." His rough voice had taken a soft note. "So I'm about to tell you."

I paused the words in my head and sat up straight.

"I was passing through Bellmont, Virginia in 1990," I prepared myself for this story, not knowing what would happen. "That's were I met Freya."

My eyes widened. Freya? My mother?

"One night of reckless drinking and the next week she was pregnant," I could practically hear the sound of him scratching his neck. "She was afraid, started talking about abortion, and I wanted to reassure her things would be okay. So I took her to this small restaurant and we ate peacefully, and then she ordered a bottle of wine. Delicious Diana was the name of that drink."

Tears clouded my eyes because I think I knew what this was leading to, because I remember this story, except it was told in a whole different way.

"Freya wanted to name her second child after that drink, and she did..." The man paused. "I'm your father, Diana."

I let out the breath I'd been holding in for the longest.

"But you can call me Milo." He said, and I could hear him nearing me.

But there was one thing I had more than the shock of being with my father after 12 years. It was fear, and that's what caused me to strike him across the head with the wrench I'd had my hand on for the longest.

I let out a cry when he toppled to the ground, limping toward the light switch, I flicked it on. I gasped, dropping on my knees beside my father and grabbing the key chain that had been clipped on his jeans hook, as anticipated.

I limped toward the basement stairs, heading up them and trying every key on the chain. They were about a million there.

I heard him groaning when I finally got the right key. I felt tears slipping from my eyes as I turned the key in the bolt, struggling to open the door when I heard him stumbling toward him.

I let out a cry when I FINALLY got the door, open, I was inside a bright kitchen; I raced toward the only door I saw and now I was in a livingroom.

I saw it. I saw the exit.

I darted forward, twisting the knob and I was free, but fear was still pulsing through me so I tore forward.

I turned at a bright, blaring sound to find my eyes staring between two headlights. And the sound of my scream as that vehicle crashed into me.