1 | Don't smirk

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I had my shit together once. I was five.

Phone in hand, my body felt like I was walking on air, yet fear was still taking over ninety-seven percent of my body

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Phone in hand, my body felt like I was walking on air, yet fear was still taking over ninety-seven percent of my body. The other three percent? Alcohol.

I've learned how to see who's present, know when things are about to go wrong, you get the idea. The typical's of a fucked up teenage girl... who also has been "trained" as a mafia princess for years in a horrid, traumatizing way.

I tip-toed my way into the foyer thats lit up by the golden light shining down from the chandelier, as always.

Does this guy ever turn off the lights around here?

What am I saying. He's a rich asshat. Of course he doesn't.

I rolled my eyes at my thoughts before continuing to make my way towards the stairs with caution. I squinted my eyes shut, silently praying that I wouldn't make noise as I skipped the first step of the huge ballroom like staircase which always has an unpredictable squeak.

My face dropped when the second step decided to gain a squeaking habit as well. I found myself them sprinting up the stairs seeing as its a run or die situation.

He must already know I'm here now.

I ran into my room and slammed the door shut behind me. My head leaned back onto the door, as well as my back, breathing heavily from the fright.

A sigh left my quivering lips before I locked the door with one hand, using the other to turn on the lights as I turned myself around.

I took off my leather jacket before looking up to my bed as I was now only a couple of steps away from it. As soon as my jacket hit the ground, so did my jaw.

He was sitting on my bed, twirling a knife in his finger like some psychopath, which is exactly what he is. He looked up at me with one of the harshest scowls I've ever seen. The only ones I've ever seen have been from him and my shitty excuse of a father.

Oh, fuck.

I raised my hand a bit, ready to reach the back of my pants and pull out my gun. Before I could even move another inch though, I stumbled to the side when he chucked the knife towards me, barely missing my face. It went straight into my bedroom wall and even more fear washed over me.

Do I have a fucking "Stab me!" sign pinned to me or what? Asshat.

I once again reached further to get my gun, even quicker than I did a couple of seconds ago but before I knew it, he was right in front of me. I knew that he would be able to snatch my gun right from me, so I decided to do the next thing that came to mind in the oh too familiar, terrifying situation.

Run.

Before I could bolt, I felt him grip a chunk of my hair, yanking me back, causing me to fall back into his huge build.

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