Chapter 12
“This mother fucker,” I roar into the duct tape to no avail. It’s not like it comes out more than several indistinguishable grunts. I’m in this trunk after he let the top of it fall, and I heard the beep of the lock.
I cannot believe this piece of fucking shit.
Remaining focused is the best I can do so that I don’t have a full on panic attack.
There was a point where I thought, hey, Vert’s got that super hot single dad situation going on. He's so hot, and the brooding, quiet vibes—I love. He drives a bike occasionally and…
Jesus fucking Christ, you want to talk about wet? That’s me when I think about the bossy, mean head of security.
But he has a bit of an attitude problem, and a bit is an understatement.
He is absolutely foul to be around. Not only is he extremely boring, and he takes his lecturing a little bit too far.
Everyone says he's quiet—he doesn't have anything to say—but I feel like they just have not been around him long enough.
Maybe he just doesn't like them, because for me, he's never done lecturing.
He always has something fucking dumb to say.
I sit there with my smile in place, so that he can't see how much I want to actually rip his lips from his body, because why is he still talking when we could be doing so many more fun things instead?
Now he's put me in a fucking trunk.
I'm in a goddamn trunk!
And what do you mean?
What do you mean I'm in a fucking trunk?
After the last time I saw him, I figured, why not up the ante? Right?
Show him what he’s missing out on since my call didn’t work.
I still haven’t been able to place his size so I tried for two extremes. Extremely average and then extremely on the opposite side of the spectrum while not being a monster. You know?
Ungrateful prick.
A disappearing video to get him a taste but not something he could have. If he wanted more, he’d have to come to the real thing. No replays.
I’d be happy with either since I’m sure a man with BDE like him would know what he’s doing with it.
Knowing he’d seen my little presentation, I was in good spirits.
I left this morning after spending so much time getting my hair to do that little wave thing, you know, old Hollywood style, just so that my streak in the front stands out perfectly against the top, only for it to start fucking raining.
I was so thankful to get out of Atlanta. Louisiana was not much better, but I mean, the rain here is fucking insane. The humidity absolutely killed all my volume. So now what am I doing? Absolutely nothing. All that time for no fucking reason.
Thankfully, the humidity does wonders for my skin and makeup, and so I know that still looks great. Although, being in the trunk, I couldn't check because there's no fucking light here.
The tape is a bummer.
Fuck.
But I will not be in this trunk for long.
It only takes me a few moments to figure out exactly how I'm going to get out of this fucking trunk. The tape is annoying but it’s not my first time getting out of a sticky situation.
It’s awkward and, fuck, I’ve got a few nicks, but my razor blade was already in my cheek to the tape off my mouth and then everywhere else.
He might have prevented me from getting out through the actual lid, but I'm going through the seats.
So as soon as he starts driving away with, I know, a self-satisfied smirk, I'm getting out of here.
I'm going out through the back door, or the front, or goddamn it, I'm crashing this fucking car because I refuse to be put in this position. To be forced to answer whatever thoughts or questions he thinks he has about what he’s seen from my minor slip up earlier.
The bandaid. Why did I take my watch off? I really didn’t want to lose it in the rain if we ended up chasing this guy.
We lost him anyway.
How dare he think that he's going to gentle parent me, or whatever the fuck this is, into talking to him about something that is none of his business, quite frankly.
And you know what else?
Fuck Vertiz Marten.
Who does he think he is?
After all, I mean, they snicker about how he's a vampire and all this stuff in Louisiana, and no one actually ever sees him in the daylight.
I wish I had that fucking freedom.
But as I wiggle my way through the narrow opening of the back seat as quietly as I can, because I don't want to alert him to what I'm actually doing, I have to take a long, long sigh.
I would maybe think it's sweet that he cares about me if he did not fucking tackle me in a fucking alleyway and duct tape me in his trunk.
But now I've got to get out of here.
And you know what would really heal me? What would really heal me is a super big strawberry milkshake. Not only a strawberry milkshake, but a strawberry milkshake that has sprinkles and the little bitty chocolate chips inside.
Oh my god, it's gotta have a high, high pile of whipped cream on it now.
And you know what? I'm going to need to drink it through a cookie straw.
That's it. He's forced my fucking hand.
So, as I try for the back door I see that the child safety locks are on, because of course they are. He's a fucking dad. I realize I'm going to have to go through the front seat, which I don't want to do, but here I am.
As quickly as possible, I scramble into the front.
“Hey, what are you—” he says before I elbow him right in the face, my elbow smashing into his nose.
He wasn't even ready for it.
Men.
Can't live with them, can’t live without them.
But for now, I hope that I'm living without this one.
As he tries to hold his nose, that's already gushing blood, I take the opportunity of his stunned reaction to slow the vehicle down, to tuck and roll out of the car.
Anything is better than this. Absolutely anything.
And though I love this outfit to bits, I refuse to be in this car with him any longer.
I hit the ground hard, thankfully the long sleeves of my outfit protecting me from most of the road burn. My exposed side from my crop tee takes the majority of the damage. I take a second to assess whether or not I've injured anything further.
It doesn't feel like I have any broken bones, so I get up, not bothering to dust myself off, since there's already so much mud and dirt on me. Rubbing the open wound will only make it worse.
This part of town has several shopping centers not too far from here, and thankfully I'm more familiar with Atlanta than Louisiana.
I could easily get away from this man.
My bag survived with minimal injury, but it's no longer as fuzzy and pink as I'd like. It's a little more like a wet dog after you've taken it to the dog park and found a puddle, but that's fine. I still have all of my things safely inside.
I grab my phone and get onto my rideshare app, knowing exactly where I'm headed.
Anywhere is better than here.