Blinded by Perfection

43- Criminal Minds

Chapter 43 | Criminal Minds

I'm already thinking there will be a second book! What do you guys think? Also, I entered in a contest, hence the participant sticker.

Qotc is what's your favorite food?
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In unrelentful retaliation, I forcefully struggle against Chance's evil and unyielding clutch.

The skin on his smooth hands is suddenly freezing to the touch, which is a big temperature change from when I was holding him on the bike or when we were on the couch. At that time, his skin was so warm, signifying a warm heart. However, now that I know the real him it somehow makes his slightest touch more sinister. And since I know he's the Black Hoodie Guy, his touch definitely seems more capable of doing scary deeds.

Due to the ominous feeling coursing from where he holds me, a renewed vigor to escape from my certain doom arises from the depths of the bones within my body.

"Get your dirty hands off of me you worthless, pathetic, crazy, stupid, demented, good for nothing piece of humongous ―" I shriek into Chance's palm until it presses against me tighter, meanwhile twisting from side to side to loosen his grip. Just the slightest waver in his clasp and I can be home free.

I'm about to add a line of curse words just to insult him more than I already have ―even though I never curse― when I'm cut off by his other hand. It constricts across my stomach so tightly that pain radiates through the spot, and my ability to get air to my awaiting lungs becomes challenging. A little squeak of surprise and agony vocalizes from my mouth at the vicious behavior, which he muffles by pressing his hand more against my mouth.

"Are we done with the little temper tantrum?" He menacingly snaps from his spot behind me.

Already, he sounds like a different person to my ears. I bet if I could turn around and see him, he would look different too.

Perspective is a powerful thing. No wonder I never heard the relation between Chances and the Black Hoodie guy's voice. He must've realized this because he used that to his advantage, acting all perfect and innocent so I would never suspect him.

Now that I know who the real Chance is, it's all beginning to click into a picturesque photo. I cannot believe I had been so insanely oblivious to the crystal clear relation to the similiar body shape and voice between the Black Hoodie and Chance. This explains why I had thought he was the Black Hoodie earlier. Once my perception of him was out of the picture, my brain recognized who he was immediately.

Nevertheless I couldn't figure out the danger I was in in enough time, so here I am, trapped in Chance's grip. It makes me feel uneasy, that's for sure, but it doesn't stop me from stubbornly throwing more insults that are probably indecipherable to him because of his hand.
"Do you have a brain? I said get off of me, wacko! You're twisted and sick!"

When he doesn't answer my maligns said by my filter-less mouth, I attempt to wriggle of out the makeshift cocoon his arms hold me in. The effort drains me greatly, for it's like trying to push a ten ton elephant off of me, but I fervorously continue on until I'm exasperated.

The feeling of the energy seeping out of my body gives me a sense of deja vu. I can vividly remember this happening in a dream. I was stuck and couldn't move, but could hear hystaric voices around me. The scenario I'm in is so extremely similar, it leaves me a bit shaken. Is it fate I dreamt that and this happened? I don't know.

"Kirsten, stop struggling or else I will have to make you stop. Warning, it will hurt," Chance orders in an abnormal bass like tone.

Normally I wouldn't even consider listening, but normally I'm also not being choked and threatened by a psychopath. Plus, I have to face the fact I'm not getting out of here anytime soon, despite my best efforts. It's an unfair fight.