As I step into Maxon's room, the vacancy left behind by his absence strikes me with the force of a toothache's persistent ache. It's not just an emptiness of space but a void that echoes with the memories of his presence. The room, once filled with his essence, is now a repository of echoes and shadows, and the pain it invokes is almost physical.
Yet, amidst my heartache, I find myself contemplating the agony Mrs. Karen must be wrestling with. Her world, too, has been torn apart, not only by the imminent departure of her son but also by the revelation of her husband's unfaithfulness—a revelation Maxon unceremoniously shared during his visit yesterday when he came to collect his motorcycle.
The task of bidding farewell to her son, coupled with the shock of uncovering her husband's betrayal, must undoubtedly feel like a punishment of the cruelest sort.
As I leave the confines of the house for school this morning, my eyes are drawn to the garage once again. Its emptiness mirrors the void in my chest, a physical space bereft of Maxon's bike, which has become an extension of him.
Walking towards school, crossing the condo courtyard and about to step onto the opposite sidewalk, a sensation emerges from behind, and something is pressed against my back, my last rib. A voice then whispers in my ear.
"Get in the car. If you make a sound, I'll shoot. Got it?" The words freeze my brain.
"Please, don't hurt me," I beg, my heart racing. "I don't have money or a phone. You can check my backpack if you want."
"Do as I say, quietly."
Trembling, I obey, walking alongside him until we reach a black car parked about fifteen meters ahead.
"Get in," he orders, and I do as instructed.
I sink into the seat, my eyes fixed on the driver. He's older, probably around fifty, while the man who accosted me couldn't be much older than thirty.
As he slips into the car and takes the seat beside me, he produces a cloth bag, beginning to pull it over my head.
"No! Please!" I struggle, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Stay quiet!" he orders, the bag enveloping my head, and my hands secured with tape. "You can go, Howey."
The engine roars to life, and tears stream down my face. During the journey, my pleas escape from my lips, "Please, don't hurt me," "You've mistaken me," "Just let me go," while he repeatedly commands my silence.
After what feels like an eternity of torment, the car comes to a stop.
"Need assistance, Tom?" the man in the front queries.
"No, Howey. I've got this."
Tom.
My fear intensifies. He's the puppeteer behind this horrifying ordeal. I start yelling 'Help' and thrashing as he hauls me out of the car, but my head remains ensnared, my hands restrained, and I stumble, my forehead colliding with the ground.
"Try anything else, and you'll regret it," he warns, helping me up. "Cooperate, and you'll be alright."
"Why are you doing this?" I whimper, my voice strained.
"Ever try catching a squirrel, Margo? Yeah, that's your name, right?" he muses, leading me forward, though my lips remain sealed. "They're clever little creatures, always scampering up trees, evading capture. Quite the challenge to nab one."
A door creaks open before us, and Tom's grip on my arm stays firm.
"Mind the step," he cautions. "So, to catch a squirrel, you bait it with the right kind of nut. You take away its treat."
YOU ARE READING
A Bad Boy in my life
Romance"I used to think I knew what being hurt felt like, but then I met him. How I miss the days when he was a stranger to me" *** When Margo is dragged into the Stirling family's house, where her mother works as a maid, she comes face to face with Maxon...
