Love me, London

fifty-one

I was dead.

I must be dead. There was no other reason against it. The level of comfortness and lightness I was feeling, it was hardly describable. My mind was finally at a place of perfect silence. So peaceful, I didn't want to wake up. I didn't think I could, but then, I did.

Forcing my heavy lids open, I lifted my weary head from a leather cushion.

Suddenly, much like the lightning, a rush of blurry memories illuminated my mind. A more realistic jolt I felt shooting through my body as I awake and became fully conscious.

What happened next unfolded like a terrible silent movie. As I began to look around, I came to realize I was sitting in the back of a van. I looked out the window, and there was nothing but darkness.

I normally never cursed. No matter how upset I was. How messed up the situation had been or how angry the person had made me, I would never ever curse at anybody. But the moment my eyes fell upon the familiar face and it broke into a smile that almost managed to hide the guilty look in his eyes.

I let it out.

"What the fuck, Luke!" I shouted at him. I was so pissed. So angry. I could hardly refrain myself.

"London, calm down!" While he was at it, I made sure to throw a few punches and kicks his way.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" I kept yelling at him, slapping his arms, punching his chest repeatedly until he gave up and stopped trying to fight me. He just guarded himself.

"Stop hitting me!" He growled but only used his arms and hands to block my punches from his face. He made a huge mistake leaving the area of his stomach unprotected, though. I threw another punch there. He cussed and clicked his tongue annoyingly.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Luke asked as I continued to stare into his face. The audacity he had to ask me.

"No." I answered through my clenched teeth and jaw.

"Good." He gave me a lazy nod, "Lay back and try to relax. This can't be good for the baby."

"Seriously?" I hissed, slapping his arm one more time and this time, I earned a small yelp from him, "You fake kidnapped me and you're asking me to freaking relax."

"London."

"What's your problem?!" I yelled at him again. It seemed like no matter how many punches or slaps I threw, I wasn't getting the satisfaction I deserved.

Luke cleared his throat lightly and for a second our eyes crossed. He was trying to avoid eye contact. Something was not right.

"Where are we?" I asked him and we both looked around. It was like the van was parking in the middle of nowhere. Deep inside a forest, perhaps. There were only trees branches and bushes I spot.

"Luke, I sweat to God..."

When he didn't say anything but kept quiet and wore a serious look on his face, that was my cue to shut my mouth. I swallowed back the sharp retort that was threatening to escape my lips.

"We need to talk." He finally spoke as he slowly turned his head in my direction. If it wasn't for his strained expression, I would still be screaming at him, calling him names. But I tried to calm myself and only thought of the good things he had done for me.

In a much more polite tone, I said sharply.

"If you really need to speak with me, all you have to do is ask." I crossed my arms above my chest and moved my body sightly in my seat, "You certainly didn't have to drug me and put me in the back of some van. What you did back at the garden was way out of line."