How to Be Cliche (A Novel)

(37) A Dash of Paprika

                  You'd be dead already if I wanted you dead.

                  "I'm not angry at you, Nacho. God, would you quit crying, you're a grown man!" Hunter peeled his gaze from me and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know I hate the waterworks. Just...stop.  I'm giving you another chance, next time I'm crushing your skull in. I understand that he had a machete against your throat and the only thing you could do was tell him everything. Of course this is me! Am I not allowed to be nice once in a while? Fuck you, I'm a nice enough guy."

                  I snorted with laughter, earning a blue-eyed glare.

                  "Later." Hunter pocked his phone. He snarled a little at me, which oddly enough, came off as sensual, before returning back to his journal.

                  What was the reason why I couldn't pinpoint the exact location of where I was? Well, when Hunter had tied me up, blindfolded me, and stuck me in front of him on a motorcycle, the last thing I was concerned about was where we were going. I was more concerned with the fact that a man who was blind most of the month, was driving on a motorcycle with me, and the only thing close to a seatbelt that I had on was one of his arms draped fairly loosely around my waist.

                  Did I mention he was riding the bike with only one hand? Honestly, screw where we were going, it was a miracle I hadn't soiled myself once the whole ride.

                  "Dear Diary," I projected loudly from my tiny cage, dramatically reaching out to the ceiling through the bars of my cage. "Today, I let my brother get staked, and kidnapped him and his innocent, very attractive student, who I can't seem to ever call by her actual name." Hunter picked his head up a bit as I continued, visibly annoyed. "I then sent my brother to a "better place" and tied up the attractive girl in a chair. Don't worry, she was as uncomfortable as possible. Furthermore, I pretended to be my brother, so that I could trick the attractive girl into telling me more about my arch nemesis. Or so I say. I say many things I don't mean. I'm a compulsive liar. Oh, and I'm a serial killer who puts a smiley-face mask on in my free time and murders people. Does that make me a bad person? Ex-oh-ex-oh, Stevie Wonder."

                  Hunter slammed his palms down onto his desk, knocked his chair back, and crossed the room to my cage in a matter of seconds. I shrunk back as he reached through the bars of my cage, gripping my glass of water. Our fingers slightly touched, an odd sensation vibrated electrically where skin met skin. We froze. We locked eyes.

                  "Hand it over," Hunter growled roughly, blue eyes emptying like a hourglass until they were pitch black.

                  "No."

                  "I told you to be quiet, you disobeyed that order, now hand the water over."

                  "But I'm thirsty, Masta'!" I screamed theatrically, trying to sip from the glass. In the process of fighting over the glass, water splashed all over Hunter's face. "Oh..."

                  Hunter wiped a hand slowly down his face, visibly fighting back his anger as he plucked the crystal glass from my hand. Eyes on fire, he crushed the glass in his hand, sprinkling its shards on the ground, and then viciously stomping on them with his boots, kicking some of the pieces to the side.

                  "Message... received," I said, as he further pulverized the remaining shards of glass. "So, listen...was that, like, my last glass of water? Because I am actually thirsty... I could start choking or something. I read somewhere in an article, that some girl was trapped in the woods without any water, and she was so thirsty, that she swallowed that little punching bag thing in the back of her throat... Either that, or she drowned. I've never read articles word for word, to be quite honest..."