His Identity

56

|Nick's POV|

I've seen this movie before.

I was four when I was first kidnapped by my dad's over obsessive crazy girlfriend. Bethany, I think her name was. Woman strapped me to a chair and placed me on the edge of the roof of her own home. She threatened to push me. That shit show led to the accident my mom had— she fell off the roof.

The reason she did all that was because of my dad. Fuck her though. Whatever, she's irrelevant. Her death was the only relevant thing about her.

"So, Nicholas." The voice of my kidnapper drawls out, making me look straight at him. I'm hanging in the air, a couple of centimeters above the ground, my hands are chained above my head.

I've always wanted to float in the air but this wasn't what I had in mind. Not the time for jokes, Nick. Right, of course.

My kidnapper's a man in his thirties, probably. He looks like that one character from Lord of the Rings. The creature motherfucker— Sméagol, was it?

"Just Nick will do just fine," I mutter. While my name is Nicholas, I've never really been addressed as such. Everybody just calls me 'Nick' and I've grown accustomed to that. Hearing someone calling me by my actual name sounds weird for some reason.

"Nicholas," Sméagol presses, lips twisting in a sick smile. I roll my eyes. You do you, I guess. "Do you know who I am?"

"Nope," I narrow my eyes at him, digging in my head to see if he's somewhat familiar. But he isn't. I got nothing. I don't know who he is. Probably one of my parents' enemies. "I have no idea."

"Look carefully," he inches his head forward. "Who do I look like? Do I not remind you of anyone? Have you never seen me before?"

The name of that elusive creature dances tantalisingly close on the tip of my tongue but I refuse to let it slip away. Though I yearn to witness his reaction, the gravity of the situation demands seriousness. I stifle the urge to mock and instead, with measured restraint, I shake my head in response to his question. "I don't even remember what I ate last night."

He rolls his eyes and unleashes a barrage of curses beneath his breath. "Travis," he announces sharply.

"Scott?" I inquire innocently.

An irritated grunt escapes him. "No, you insufferable wretch," he retorts, closing the distance until his unsightly face is only mere inches away from mine. His widened eyes, in their exaggerated state, border on the verge of absurdity. "Take a good look," he commands.

I suppress the urge to laugh. Don't laugh, Nick. This is serious shit even though the way Sméagol is acting is incredibly comical.

"We're gonna find out what I ate last night if you keep invading my space like that," I quip, much to his evident displeasure.

Without hesitation, his fist connects with the side of my face. "Fuck you, kid," he spits venomously. "You are just like your fucking parents. Annoying, irritating, frustrating." Psychopathic.

The metallic taste of blood floods my senses as it coats my tongue. Great, my lips are fucked again. How am I supposed to kiss Aveline now?

I shake those thoughts away. Damn fucking it. She's the last person I should be thinking about right now. I lied to her face despite everything. I'm such a god damn liar. But I was going to make everything right before this nonsensical motherfucker jumped me.

That's right. I had decided to tell her every fucking thing after spending a couple of hours drowning in guilt and self hatred. Aveline trusts me and I like her so I can't keep lying to her. I'll never stop feeling like shit with every breath I take otherwise. I won't be able to look at her in the eyes while knowing damn well I'm still hiding stuff from her. We'll never get anywhere if I don't 'fess the fuck up.