I stared blankly at my kidnapper, his scruffy, brown hair, sea-green eyes and olive skin. He was smiling at me, weirdly. I hated him so much. He had locked me in this dark room with no windows. I couldn't see much except for him and a few tables and chairs. It could have been a basement. I was handcuffed to the wall. He combed his fingers through my ginger hair.
"You sick fuck!" I spat, he smirked at me.
"Tut, Tut Poppy," he mocked, "you don't have to put yourself through this you know. You could just tell me."
"No Flynn!" I bellowed. Sighing, he tucked a lock of my hair that was on my face behind my ear and stroked my chin. I shook my head violently to restore the hair to its original position. I didn't want to tell him what I felt. Not after what he had done. Just thinking about the things that he had done to me, made my eyes water. I wanted him to die so badly. It wasn't always like this, with me and him.