Rattling stirred me, waking me from my slumber. My eyes fluttered open as my head rose in time to see through the darkness a figure step through a door, locking it behind them. A flip of the switch, and I cringed against the harsh light.
After adjusting, I looked at the man, and everything came rushing back.
I guess in sleep I hoped to forget I was a captive taped to a chair.
Six walked to the bed, dumping half a dozen plastic bags.
“Did you just wake up?”
I scowled at him.
He chuckled, then stepped over, ripping the tape from my mouth.
“Ouch! Asshole, motherfucking hurt!” The sting of the tape taking hair was worse than a wax job.
“You’ll be fine.” He rummaged through the bags, pulling out a few boxes of hair dye.
“What’s that for?” I asked, even though the answer was obvious.
“Are you going to tell me what you know?”
I shook my head again.
He pulled the gun out of his waistband. “Should I just shoot you now?”
“No.”
He tore open one of the packages, emptying the contents before locating the instructions. “Then it’s time for a change. Your hair is too unusual. We need to blend in.”
“Oh, hell, no.” I shook my head and glared at him. “I’ve never dyed my hair, and I’m not about to start now.”
“You won’t. I’ll be doing it for you.”
I cursed as I looked down at my restraints.
He disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing a few minutes later with his hair inches shorter than it had been and what I assumed was a bottle of dye for me. I whimpered as he began squirting the brown liquid onto my hair, scrunching it in with his glove covered hands. I cringed with each crinkle, my bottom lip jutting out.
The only good thing was if he was bothering to dye my hair, I was going to live a little longer. But how long would it really be before I got a bullet of my own?
After he was done, I was stuck waiting for him to get the chemical smelling shit off my hair while he showered.
A few minutes later, he walked out of the bathroom naked, running a towel over his hair. My mouth popped open as I stared at the chest and cock my tongue spent a lot of time getting to know not twenty-four hours prior.
Was I really thinking about that now? The clenching of my thighs, as best they could in their restraints, answered that question for me.
“You couldn’t put on clothes?” I asked, embarrassed by my reactions.
Slut much, Paisley?
“What does it matter?” He moved the towel across his chest and down his legs, making sure to shake his junk at me. “Besides, it’s not like you haven’t seen it before.”
Yeah, but that was before I knew you were a murderer.
He opened up a leather bag he brought in with him and pulled out a knife. After slipping it out of its case, he stepped over to me and sliced at the tape. It hurt like a motherfucker when he yanked it off my arms, taking some fine hairs with it and making me regret I pulled my sleeves up, before doing the same to my legs.
Stiffness had taken over from so long in one position that it took me a minute to stand.
“Go wash that out,” he said, then handed me a T-shirt. “Here.”
I looked at him as I took it, noticing something was off.
“Your eyes…”
They were blue when I met him. I was sure of it. Bright blue, but no longer. Brown with flecks of gold and honey—an effect contacts couldn’t replicate. His real eye color.
He didn’t say anything, but it was another part of Simon that was a lie.
When I stripped my shirt off in the bathroom, I noticed a few spots and stared at them.
Looking down at my pants, there were more of the same small dots. Then more on my shoes, contrasting against the white.
Red dots.
Blood.
I stared down at them, all the fine droplets, my stomach rolling as their origin flashed through my mind. More tears fled from my eyes.
Everything was tainted.
I finished pulling off the rest of my clothes, suddenly happy for the T-shirt from the psychopath, and stepped into the disgusting shower. The moment the warm water hit my skin, tears streamed down my cheeks full force. There was no stopping the torrent flooding down my face or keeping the wailing cries in.
Every emotion poured out. So many feels, and no strength left to handle them.
The warmth helped to calm me some, to soothe me, but nothing could assuage the guilt or fear hanging over me. What was I going to do? How was I going to get away from him?
A fluke is the only thing that separated me from my coworkers, my friends. An ironic karma that stayed a bullet for a time.
When the water began to cool, I quickly shampooed my hair and made sure all the dye was off my eyebrows before I was forced to return to him.