Adopted By Hamilton One Shots

Abi - (Luke Au) Meds

I felt ropes connecting my legs to whatever surface I was on, and that's when I started writhing. The more I tugged the tighter they confined me and I started to sweat. I couldn't see, making the immediate decision that I was blindfolded, my hands flew to my face, moving around a little bit to feel no fabric.

I kept kicking. Pain finally soared through my body and I let out an instinctual scream, and then another and then another and then a familiar voice stopped me.

"Shut the hell up." He said, and my heart leaped into my throat. Light had poured into the room I was in, and I looked at the familiar face of the man pointing his gun at me. Realization poured over me, as I saw my legs, tangled in bed sheets, that it had been a dream, but I still woke up in the unfamiliar room of the man who kidnapped me.

I think it had been two weeks. I had lost track of time, not having anything to base it off of, but I had started to go crazy. The longer I spent making the pleading and desperate eye contact with Luke, the faster my heart beat.

"Did you really think I wouldn't hear you screaming at the top of your lungs at three in the afternoon?" He asked, readjusting the pistol in his hands. I stared at my lap in response and felt the bed curve down. When I looked back up, Luke had crawled over me, and shoved the nose of the gun into the base of my throat. "You're playing a dangerous game." He added.

"I was dreaming." I managed, the gun stopping the full ability of my voice. I locked eyes with him and my body felt like it had begun to beat along with my heart, throbbing, my head aching. "I didn't know I was screaming."

"Princess—" He started, pushing a hand onto my side, his thumb landing firmly at the base of my breast and his other fingers spreading up my back. My heart nearly stopped, fear coursed through me and I scooted back, away from him, yanking my legs up and hugging them to my chest. "Get up."

The instruction startled me. Luke had now moved into a standing position, his gun trained on me nevertheless. I, very slowly, moved out of the bed. I was weaker than I expected. Each time I stood up, usually to use the bathroom which was conjoined with the bedroom, I felt lighter and lighter and dizzier and dizzier. Fear played an important role this time, however. The dehydration and isolation prompted the majority of the weakness, but the pure fear the feeling of a gun on my back put into my heart provided the wobble in my step and the inconsistent stride as I finally left the bedroom for the first time.

I was led to the kitchen counter. Luke had reached around me to pull out a stool, and I had eagerly taken it, once again yanking my legs up against my chest, trying to take up no space, trying to become invisible. I watched carefully as Luke placed the pistol, apathetically, on the granite countertop, then take one step toward the sink to open the top of a box of pizza. Soon enough a piece landed in front of me, and I forced a smile up at him, confused as to why he was feeding me this way.

It was daytime, I noticed, as I looked around the apartment. Light was pouring in through the kitchen window, and I could see the brick wall of a neighboring building. I strained my neck a bit to see the street, and my heart skipped a beat seeing the moving cars and busy sidewalks of NYC. People going about their lives, people being happy.

"Eat." Luke cut off my thought and I looked back at him, leaning on his hands propped up on the countertop, with a beer sitting next to him. He was wearing sweatpants and a black t-shirt. His hair looked unwashed and I noticed a black tattoo of an arrow peeking out from underneath his shirt sleeve. 

"Thank you." I managed, picking up the food. I felt him watching me as I ate, his eyes scanning me. The pizza made me want to hurl immediately, he had been giving me granola bars and water up until this point and I apparently wasn't ready for cheese and meat as well. "Please don't hurt me I'm so sorry." I whispered.