Beyoncé: 20 years old, intelligent, single and independent. She always gets her way. Her father is the most powerful man in the US, so that adds to her cockiness. Her whole life will change when she is kidnapped. Jay-z has helped her father with mon...
"This is what you call undercover?" Asks Shawn with a tired look on his face as he is sipping from his Capri Sun. I roll my eyes.
"Shawn, you told me that I can pick how I want to change my appearance so I can look 'unlike me'." I say as I run my finger through my new hairstyle.
I told Shawn yesterday morning that I want to leave a message to my friends. He asked me what type of message and I told him that he could read the message before I will give it to them. I want to write something but I didn't know what. There was no need for them to save me because Beyoncé wasn't alive anymore. I am getting used to that though. Or at least I am trying to.
"But a red wig?" Asks Shawn as he lets out a big sigh.
"Yes. Look, I like the way this frames my face. Period."
"Alright." He says as he looks outside the window of the bathroom. He had one of his men do my hair because apparently, they all had normal jobs. And this guy was a bomb ass hairstylist.
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"Well, I will use some plain clothes, some that won't draw any attention, and I'm done."
"Oh...and I suppose that the red wig doesn't draw any attention?" He asks with a raised eyebrow.
"Your sense of humor is unmatched Mr. I-kidnapped-my-girlfriend." I say and he pulls out his tongue at me. I giggle. "Watch out for that tongue because I might shove it in my ass and keep it there."
Shawn bursts out laughing.
"Damn I never thought that it would backfire." He says shocked as he places one hand over his mouth. I smack my lips.
"Alright, I'll do my make-up then we can go. Get ready." I tell Shawn as I opt for applying a little concealer, some powder under my eyes, do some wings with my waterproof eyeliner and apply lipgloss. I am going for a 'no make-up' make-up look. Nervously, I bite my lips as I look in the mirror. Who are you? Asks a little voice inside of my head. I can't believe that I accepted the fact that I am kidnapped and that I admitted to him my feelings. I didn't bring it up and neither did he. I guess that he met his goals. I love him. Good Giselle! Now go and give him 8 kids! I roll my eyes as I try to push those thoughts away. Focus because you need to send a message! I say to myself as I get up and I walk to the living room.
"Shawn, you done? Let's go. We are going to be late!" I scream.
"COMING!" He screams from our room. I giggle. I like it when he gets mad because no matter how upset he is, he will be sweet with me while he has a mug on. All angry looking but generous at the same time. A fatal combination for the clitoris.
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