Chapter 18

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Matilda's POV... A few days ago

I woke up with a start, in a room I've never seen before. My eyes scan the room in a panic, trying to figure out where I was. It wasn't what you would expect in other stories of people getting kidnapped. The room was nice, almost nicer than Jason and mine.

It was spacious, probably the size of a normal-sized living room. The three of the walls were painted a simple white, while the one the bed rested on held a detailed greyish-brown wallpaper. A large window let the sunlight shine in to the room, providing enough natural light to save power from the ceiling lights. Two smaller windows hang next to the large one, and a double window are set on the wall next to the other windows. The grey carpet only made the room lighter.

It was relieving to see that Ricky was sleeping next to me, under the warm comforting sheets of the modern-looking bed. Deciding against waking him and causing a fuss, I pull myself off the bed slowly, almost tumbling to the floor at how weak my legs were. My hand grips on the dresser, trying to make little noise as I pick myself up again.

My feet drag around the room, literally. How many drugs did they put in me?! I search for anything I can use as a weapon, or clue to where we were. My body finds its way to the window, and my eyes search the scenery outside. There were men in black suits- bahhh Men in Black, totally going to make that joke later- anyways, The were guarding the entrance of the property, and I could see little figures in the tree area along the border.

What a boring job.

The door knob suddenly rattled, and a scream nearly left my lips. Instead of getting caught awake, I sprint for the bed, launching myself off the carpet, bellyflopping onto the left side of the bed.

Little did I know, Ricky was on the edge of his side, and as my body collided with the bed, it jumped the cushion on his side, and he quickly fell off the side.

"Shit." I mutter as Ricky begins to cry loudly.  My body scrambles off the bed, moving to aid my poor son. "I'm sorry, honey, I didn't realize..." all they comes from my lips are apologies as I hoist him up and back onto the bed.

The door finally opens, and in walks a small, plump old lady. Her hair is a grayish-brown color, and her skin is like a porcelain doll.

My body is against the bed, trying to calm Ricky, but as the lady makes her entrance, my eyes shoot up to her. "Listen, I don't know what you want, I don't know why I'm here, but my husband will get me out of here as soon as possible... Name your price." The sound of my voice rings through the room.

Ricky's cries die down as I begin speaking, which I appreciate. Guess who's getting ice cream once we escape! Oh how I'd die for a cookie dough ice cream with rainbow fucking sprinkles!

My thoughts are cut off by the woman's laugh, which peaks my confusion. Her laughs ring through the room for a good 30 seconds. "What's so funny?!" I question, rubbing Ricky's head, beginning to get more and more annoyed.

"The boss doesn't need money," she speaks, folding her arms in front of her small frame. "He'll see you soon. Don't worry."

"Can you tell me what we are doing here then?" I ask her, tapping my foot impatiently on the carpeted floor.

"The boss needed that other little boy for money or something." She shrugs. "Asking for two billion or somethin'."

My eyes widen. I am official the worst babysitter EVER. "You're saying this so nonchalantly! That's a three year old boy being SOLD!" The volume of my voice heightens, and I'm ready to attack this bitch.

"Calm down, dear." The woman sighs. "He's being ransomed to his father. I'm not worried about him."

Oh fuck. Laine is going to kick my ass. Sign my death certificate, I better go incognito.

"Your ransoming him to his FATHER?! Do you know how dangerous that is?!" I shout at the lady.

"Aye, it's what gets the boss paid." She shrugs. "And when he gets paid, we get paid."

"Well, what do my son and I have to do with this?" I question the lady skeptically.

"You are more involved in this than you know, dear." The old hag smirks. "But your answers will be answered soon, when the boss is ready."

She turns to leave. "Until further notice, you'll be staying in here. Knock three times on the door if you have to use the bathroom. Aston- the guard outside your door, will see that you get there. And I'll bring food throughout the day. Knock on the door five times if you're hungry, and pound on the door if you are dying." She smiles wickedly towards me before exiting quickly.

The lock clicks, and horror fills my mind as reality sets in.

"Mommy... My head hurts." Ricky groans, rubbing his newfound bump from the fall.

"I know, sweetie... sorry for jumping up onto the bed." Sincerity runs through my voice, and I try to soothe him.

"It's okay Mommy. Who's that mean old hag?" He asks me, and I gasp at his choice of words. Damn... he must have learned that language from his father... definitely not me! It couldn't possibly be me who would ever say such vile words to a child! Definitely not...

"Ricky... don't speak about others that way..." I sigh, moving to sit on the edge of the bed next to him.

"Why Mommy? You always talk about Daisy from your yoga class that way." He speaks innocently, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Shit. C'mon Matilda! Think of something quick! "Uh.. Daisy is a snapping turtle that the yoga instructor keeps in the studio!"

"Than how is she being a whore?" He questions, causing me to full-on gasp.

"Ricky, enough." I say sternly,
Climbing into the sheets next to him. My eyes spot a remote on the side-table, and I pick it up, confused at what it was supposed to do.

I click the power button, and a patch in the ceiling opens and lowers a large TV.

WHAT THE FUCK?! DOES THIS THING HAVE NETFLIX?!

My fingers press random buttons, bring up an icon menu.

THEY FUCKING DO HELL YA!

Well, I know what will keep me occupied.

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Sorry for the confusion! I accidentally posted this chapter and had to unpublished it! I am so sorry!

Oh and BTW...

THANK YOU GUYS FOR 40k!!!!!! THIS IS MIND-BLOWING!!!

Here's a quality laugh for your troubles:

Here's a quality laugh for your troubles:

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