Chapter Two: Pointless Options
Sometimes I really question my position in life.
Waking up with everything wrong at once was definitely not a good feeling. My head was hurting as though I drank a barrel of alcohol in one gulp; and there's a bile taste in my mouth as though I ate shit, threw it up, ate it back up, threw it up again, then a dog ate it, threw it up, then I ate it back up again.
Yes, that bad.
I heaved as I sat up, my mind spinning with the action. Where am I? This isn't my room... is this heaven? No, wait, I'm probably going to hell.
Wait, hold the phone! I'm on a bed, handcuffed. Red lights flashed in my mind, and I tugged at my restrains with a confused desperation. Why was I handcuffed? Why was I on a bed? Oh. My. G... goose babies! Did Tomas Lanky rape me? The thought sent a deep shiver down my back, I testingly twisted my hips, relieved when I didn't feel any pain. So not raped. That's good I think.
I sat up on the bed, leaning against the headboard. What the fuck is going on?
I was never one that desperately did things, mostly due to lack of interest, so after tugging at the handcuffs to no avail; I did the obvious and gave up seeing that I wasn't going to get released any time soon, so instead I started humming loudly, my voice bouncing around in the semi-dark room.
"Shut up the fuck up." A voice came out of nowhere, startling me. Instant irritation swelled inside of me, which was odd, considering the situation I was in. I paid the voice no mind, continuing to hum to my heart's content. "I'll cut your tongue off if you don't shut up." The voice behind the door threatened, and I pouted despite his words.
"Stop bullying me, fucktard!" I shouted back, raising my voice at higher pitch to op for that child's tone. I've been told before that I have the mentality of a 7-year-old child. I waited patiently for a response from the man, disappointed when I received none.
At this rate, I'd given up on everything. My head was hurting, my mouth was dry, my hands were tied, and my nose was itchy. Things couldn't get any worse.
I continued humming, yet at a considerably quieter tone. Not because he told me, though. I swear. That was, until the door slowly opened, revealing a man. A new man. Not Tomas Lanky or that old fart that was yelling me. Nope, no, this new man was fucking hot. The type of beauty that required a freaking pause to admire it all. He was fucking sizzling with hotness. In an erotic way, not... literally burning. Hot diggity damn.
"What are you singing?" Asked the new stranger. I beamed at him in response, smiling as though I weren't kidnapped and handcuffed to a fucking bed; which was oddly erotic.
Just as I was about to go into a historical rant about the background of the made up song I've created, another man walked in.
"That's the guy boss."
Tomas Lanky, you bastard!
"You don't look like the type of man." My voice broke past, interrupting Tomas Lanky before he could go any further.
"Type of man?" Tomas Lanky must have assumed I was talking to him, gruffly replying to me. But I wasn't, I was talking to the other man. The hot one.
"You don't seem like a pimp." The insult was absolute garbage by any standpoint, but it was the best I could come up with at such short notice.
"The fuck are you talking about?" Tomas Lanky clearly didn't understand, and the 'boss' beside him only glanced between us with amusement.
"Aren't you a prostitute?" I said it as though it were the most obvious thing ever, and I watched with satisfaction as Tomas Lanky slowly turned red, taking a step closer to me with a deadly gleam in his eyes. I burst out laughing, watching him with a sarcastic look, acting like fighting children. But when a low chuckle interrupted our childish feud, we both turned to the silent man observing us.
I'd forgotten about him.
"You're something else." He muttered, eyeing me up and down. If I weren't tied to a bed I would've flipped him off just for the hell of it.
"Like an alien?" I asked, my voice dripping deadpanned sarcasm. Now, don't call me retarded. Cause one) that's offensive, and two) fuck off.
The man laughed again, his handsome face lighting up with the simple movement. Not to mention, the man's deep voice was incredibly attractive. Stop it Chris! He kidnapped you!
Then, just as easily as he laughed, his face turned stone cold. A shiver traveled down my spine. And definitely not the good kind. A sense of dread enveloped me, and the feeling that something bad was about to happen was unshakable. Like a shadow.
"You've caused me quite some trouble." The man's deep voice was oddly thrilling, and it terrified me. "Are you planning or paying me back? Or must I take it?"
At this point, I had no idea what the man was going on about, but that didn't stop the cold feeling from spreading over me. For once in my life, I had nothing to say.
"A receipt for six hundred dollars worth of sex toys?" Never mind, I did have something stupid to make.
Mr. Bossman looked confused for a few seconds, but I still relinquished in Tomas Lanky's face burning red at my words. Though I didn't laugh this time, because the new man's words stunned me silent once again.
"Let me introduce myself." The man paused, deep voice vibrating into my skull as he took slow steps closer. "My name is Jackson Kaaz." I could basically hear the imaginary record player screeching to a halt, my eyes widening at his words. "What was your name again? Christopher... Christopher Nanami was it? Ah, yes. Quite the popular one around here." The man only stepped closer, and I was frozen still.
Screwed... screwed... screwed... the words swirled in my mind, brimming with questions. How did he know me? Why does he know me? Why does he care? Jackson Kaaz!?
I mean sure, I am indeed the most perfect human out there... not to sound narcissistic... I'm just kidding. But you know who is perfect? NCT's Taeyong, that's who. That man could do no wrong. I mean have you ever seen his.. everything!? He's a living, breathing god...
Not the point! The question I should be asking right about now is, why am I alive, and, what did I do? Because I clearly did something wrong. It is my specialty after all.
This was the Jackson Kaaz we're talking about. The ruthless mafia leader who kills without a second thought. Oh my hell and heaven combined. He's going to gut me, then torture me with my own insides, then watch as I die with a smile of his stupidly handsome face! And even worse, I'm going to fucking die and go to hell, and then suffer eternal punishment by being forced to see my family. (Then again, screw my family, I'll kill 'em too). Assuming they're dead... which I hope they are. Unless I kill them, but then that would make me a criminal. And I, an innocent soul, could never possibly be a criminal!
They better hope they're dead those little fuckers...
"W-we can work a deal! Yes, a deal! Supplies, drugs, anything!" None of this was my forté, but I felt my life was worth a few more minutes of me spouting bullshit.
I'm basically dead already.
Goodbye mother, goodbye father; I hope you burn in a painful fire. Or earthquake. Or tsunami. Or the sun exploding. Or- you get the meaning.
"Why would I need what I already have?" He asks, looming even closer. I was quick to pray to the plumber gods -- don't ask -- to make a giant shit explosion or something to save my sorry ass.
I don't wanna die... but I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all... carry on... carry on...
I'm sorry.
Make the toilets explode with a volcanic eruption of shit, please oh dear shit gods.
My prayers went unanswered when a gun was brought out from inside his suit jacket, pointing the damn thing right at the center of my forehead. Oh dear sweet baby piglets. I'm deader than a turkey in thanksgiving.
Wait, is "deader" a word?
I heard the gun click, and I shut my eyes tightly. I silently waited to die, cursing my very being for somehow getting stuck in this sort of thing. Not to mention, the fact that I was waiting to die. Silently, of all things! What a loser! The anticipation was killing me... oh the irony.
After what felt like an eternity of not dying, I slowly opened a wary eye to find a smirking Jackson. I gave him an annoyed glare despite the gun pointed directly at my face, releasing a laugh out of him.
"Do you really want to die, Chris?" The man asked something stupid, which inquired a stupid response. But before I could open my mouth, I noticed something missing. Or someone in particular. Tomas Lanky was absent now, having left through the door. This doesn't feel right...
"Not really." I responded earnestly, deciding not to drag out this ridiculous act.
"I'll give you two options." Jackson paused, grabbing at my chin and turning my head side to side, as if inspecting me. I'm really getting a bad feeling from this...
"Die here and now, or.." He paused again, flashing a beautifully devilish smile, causing a tremor to run from the bottom of my spine at the seemingly harmless action. Devil! "Or marry me."
Eh?
Eh!?
Marry him!? What the fu- We just met! This crazy bastard! Insane mafia leader! What the fuck!?