His head is about to explode.
Literally.
Or at least that's how it felt like to him. He clutches it, bringing it down between his knees, his eyes tightly shut, hoping it would somehow allievate the pain. He finds this fruitless, his eyes tearing up as the pain only increases tenfold, the beats coming from the DJ only intensifying his agony.
He wants to leave.
Now.
As he rises, he realizes it was stupid of him to move. He hardly could prop himself up much less walk.
He wonders, where are his goddamn bodyguards? His entourage? His crew? His fucking girlfriend?! He needed his people now. It was time for them to return to him what they owe him by means of connection -- payment for the use of his name, the ability to drop it so they could have anything they want. But his rage and disappoint is quelled with the fear that his situation is getting worse. He notices that his surrounding is gettng brighter, his breathing more rapid and ragged. He has to get out of there and fast.
He puts one foot in front of the other, slowly. Speed is not concept his body could work with at the moment. He has to master the art of dodging the bodies and furniture in this hell-hole while maintaining his balance, and that he cannot do as quickly as he would hope lest he trip on his feet. What he did not anticipate was some Joe leaving one of the neighboring tables and accidentally bumping him. This immediately sends him to the floor, and he could not do anything stop it. He closes his eyes and braces himself for impact.
But it does not happen.
Someone catches him.
"You okay, J?"
He looks up and sees one of the hottest women he has ever laid his eyes on. His brows knit in confusion however when he finds that she has multiplied herself into three. He wills himself to focus, hoping to at least be able to remember this woman later -- for being there when they weren't. Well at least that was his intent until she started manhandle him.
"S-st..Stop." He manages to slur out, his limbs flailing dumbly in protest at being dragged out of the club. Briefly it crosses his mind how this was all taking place, how someone her size, built and shape could move him so easily. And as if she's a mind reader as well she answers his question.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" A teasing lilt to her tone as they are both out of the establishment. "Oh, goody! No one's here." She muses to herself, only the sound of her heels and his body being dragged over the ground echoing in the dead of the night.
He does not argue lest he draws attention to the two of them. He would hate for this night to leak to everyone around the globe.
Image to keep up and all.
"God, even when you're doped out you're still a self-conceited asshole."
Shock, or at least what feels like it, passes through him again. How the hell does she keep doing that?
"It's a neat trick I picked up before you were even born, kiddo. Fun ain't it?"
"Here we are!" She says after a while, dropping him unceremoniously next to his car -- his baby, pride and joy, the mechanic love of his life, sex on wheels, red Ferrari.
Great. He should probably add dead to his list tonight if she plans to let him drive himself in this state.
"Don't worry I'm coming along for the ride." She quips as she picks him up and sits him on the passenger seat. She ignores his look of question and fends off his clumsy attempts at protesting his being strapped to the seat with the seatbelt. "No can do buddy boy. You have to arrive there in one piece." She says, petting his head in apology before closing the door.
Once in the driver's seat she faces him, a smile alights in her features. She leans over to his side, hovering too close for his comfort, her face mere centimeters away from his. His eyes widden at this, cursing the fact he has lost his capacity to speak. True he is mad at her for not being the one with him at the moment, but she is still his girlfriend. Cheating is, and never will be, his thing. His apprehensions are quelled when she only extracts his aviator shades from inside his coat and putting it on, before sliding back to her side of the car.
As she starts the engine, he mentally writess 'death' in his list of things to-do after 'kidnapping' and 'being beaten up.'
He swears to haunt everyone who has abandoned him once he turns into a ghost, or whatever it is that happens to you when you have kicked the bucket.
He thinks of his mom, and how devastated she will be when she gets the news. His entire family will mourn and vow to find whoever it is that did this to him.
And she will most likely blame herself for his death which he thinks she deserves for bailig out on him. She probably presumes him to be at some broad's house, not the least bit concerned for his well being.
He leans his head against the seat. At least the headache's gone but now he feels that his entire body's gone limp and begins to feel drowsy. Whatever shit they slipped in his drink must have been strong. He struggles to keep himself awake but he knows he is losing the battle.
The unidentified vixen driving his car turns to him again, another smile blossoming on her lips. "It's taking effect now. I was wondering what was taking it too long." She says mostly to herself before reaching to turn on the sound system which immediately has his unreleased new single blaring at them. "Sounds good. It could be another hit."
Too bad I'll never be able to release it. Alive at least.
"Awww.... Don't be so gloomy. Be positive."
Would you stop reading my thoughts?! And get out of my brain!!!
"Now you're just being cranky. Relax. Don't fight it and just go to sleep."
So you can kill me easily?!
She laughs.
She actually laughs at him.
If he wasn't drugged out and losing consciousness he would have showed her not to do that. But somehow the idea of sleep was just too good a suggestion to pass up. His eye lids were growing heavy and his entire body was coaxing him to succumb to rest. He could only hope he would not wake up seeing himself bleeding to death or having an arm chopped off. Yet strangely enough even his fears are being swept aside by the desire to nod off.
And so finally, he lets his eyes close, quickly drifted off.
"That's a good boy." She coos at him though she knows he's already gone.
She focuses on the long road ahead, speeding up, wanting to get to her destination faster. She gets excited at the thought of what they had in store for him this coming week. An entire mansion of red hot delights... She smirks to herself, gunning the car. "Oh yes... We'll have fun indeed."
In gentler tone Secunda hopes
'There will be nonsense in it!'
The first thing you notice when you come to is that you're not in your bed.
"Oh goodie, you're awake."
The second thing that comes to you is that you have a massive hangover.
"I was worried that you died or something..."
The third, and perhaps most important, whoever is with you at the moment is not Robin, your girlfriend of a few months.
"What the fuck?!?!?!"
The fourth, you're tied to the bed. And the bonds aren't exactly loose. Struggle as you might, and as strong as you pride yourself to be, there's no way out of your current predicament.
"Easy there big fella."
Finally, you focus on the other person. You're not surprised she's female, beyond grateful she's not a man, the number of unpleasant things she could do to you decreasing at this fact. You hesitate to look down on yourself to check your body. You hope to God, (if He does exist -- and you hope that He does), that this bitch doesn't have fetishes, and that she hasn't marred the body you have invested a lot of time and effort in maintaining. Or worse, she had persuaded you to bed her. Horror registers on your features when you are met with the possibility she could be pregnant with your kid now or that you've now contracted some incurable disease. You are more wary of looking down, uncertain of what you may find.
You glance down then sigh in relief. You're still wearing the clothes you had on last night, and it looks as though you've slept in them.
Now if only you could free yourself...
Nope. The binds are firmly in place. They are not budging. No matter how hard you try.
Ever.
You rest back on the bed as best you could, your head bowing down in frustration.
The fucker can tie a knot.
"You are one stubborn ass boy." She muses, commenting from where she's seated, smirking at you from behind a tea cup, pinky extended and all, green eyes alight with mischief.
By this, you are reminded of a friend you once consider to be as close as a brother. You decide that her look can rival that of his. Immediately, you know you're done for. You have been at the receiving end of enough of those to know that something will happen, and, unfortunately for you, it's something that you will not like.
You flip her off, or at least as best you could given your current state.
Psychotic, kidnapping, horny cunt.
"Likewise buddy. Likewise." Is all she says, tucking a stray raven lock behind an ear before continuing on with her tea and proceeds to ignore you completely.
It's only when you're sure she's no longer watching you that you allow yourself to take in your surroundings.
Everything is white in this room -- from the draperies, to the four-poster metal frame of the bed, to the books in the white bookcase, to the cat seated on her lap. Absolutely everything, except for those black bunny ears she's wearing.
Briefly, you wonder if she's some sort of vindictive ex-Playmate, and this, her statement to Hef. This is her blaming him for having her turn out this way. But as quickly as this idea crosses your mind, it leaves you. She could not be one given that her body is close to waif-like proportions, far from the voluptuous, plastic-sculpted beauties you are accustomed to seeing at the Mansion. Her skin looks as though it was made out of ivory, lacking the trademark tan those pin-up girls are known to have.
Your mind moves from this to her bizarre taste in fashion, completely befuddled by her get-up. She's in some child's dress, all frilly and puffy -- something you'd imagine on your niece. There's an endless amount of lace on that thing, and you wonder how she was able to make room for the ribbons and ruffles. Wearing stockings, and ballet-slipper-like shoes with massive platform heels, you wonder how she manages to walk, much less keep her balance.
Were it not for her height or matured features, you'd mistake her for a child as her appearance is only being complimented by her demeanor and behavior. Her legs are bouncing against the chair as she reads what you assume is the paper. It is accompanying the ticking of the clock, the only sound that's heard in the room apart from the occasional rustling of paper. She pouts at the broadsheets as though it has deprived her of sweets she desire most.
You roll your eyes at her attempt to look out of the windows. You cannot see what's outside as your view is obscured by layers of sheer curtains. However, it's enough for you to know that it's day.
You imagine that they're looking for you now. You could see your mother as she receives the news that her only son is missing. She breaks out with the waterworks as this happens. Trace is probably screaming off people's heads trying as best as he can to get you out of wherever you are. And Robin... She's probably devastated, guilt eating away at her because she knows it's her fault this happened to you...
Cunt.
"Uhm, excuse me." The other one is facing you now, resting the paper on the table, giving you a condescending look. Obviously you have done something to displease her.
"What?"
"Would you mind shutting up for a while? I'm trying to read here."
"Woman, are you nuts?! I haven't said a word since I woke up." You spit out angrily, your patience being tested by her delusional ideas.
"I can hear you thinking from where I'm seated." She replies as she settles back into her original position, bunny ears flopping about as she moves.
And that just does it.
She is crazy.
Mentally deranged enough to kidnap you, tie you to the bed in her all-white room for God knows how long, and does NOTHING but read the paper while you're defenseless and tied to the bed. Logic dictates that if she abducted you because she is some obsessed broad who wants you, she would have force fed you Viagra and a tranquilizer and humped you by now. But she's being all mental on, mind-fucking you instead, imagining conversation where there's none.
The clock chimes, announcing the passing of another hour.
You forget about the crazy bitch and redirect your energy towards something more useful like trying to recall what happened to you. You struggle with this, your memory of what transpired the night before lost to you. All you can remember is that you stormed out of your mansion. After that everything else is fuzzy to you. You don't know if you made it to the club or if this whacko stopped you over on the way there and then knocked you out.
You take to watching her again. Letting her know how much you despise her through your thoughts, hoping that she can sense those vibes. But she doesn't. She's still reading the paper.
You don't back down.
She'll notice.
Eventually.
Ten minutes into the staring game, she suddenly snaps out of the trance of her routine, shrieking as she does so. Startled the cat bolts off of her lap, visibly not pleased -- if the hissing noises are an indication. It retreats to a corner of the room, not minding its owner. Frazzled, she produces a pocket-watch from somewhere in her dress and shrieks again when she sees the time.
"Damnit, I'm late."
And she's all over the place, grabbing things from here and there, putting them some place there and here. She mutters nonsensical things as she does so, looking thoroughly confused with what to do next. She does the most unexpected thing by taking off her dress and you see everything which confirms the notion that she's far from being a kid. Then her eyes fall on you and you are filled with dread.
You have seen that look before, having preformed countless of times since you were the age of twelve, and you were never comfortable with it. That is why you have employed four bodyguards to protect you from that look and from the women giving it to you. You have discovered a long time ago of what they were capable of.
Before you could reason with her, fending her off not an option as you're still tied to the bed, she's on you, trying to remove your pants and your underwear. You squirm, curse, plead, cry out in protest but she pays no mind to you.
She wants something and she's going for it.
Though you hoped it would be, arousing you is not a problem for her. The little you rises immediately to the occasion at her expert touch.
Damn your anatomy for being built this responsive.
"I have fifteen minutes to do this before I have to go." She says off-handedly before she fucks you.
It does not last long, the two of you going at it like rabbits. You only take ten of that period to finish with unexpectedly you coming before her and it's like you're sixteen again. She only takes a few moments to catch her breath before she gets off of you and begins to dress herself up.
You watch her as she does so, amazed at how she's able to pay attention to every detail of it. As you take in her quirks, (you figure you should as it might prove to your advantage in the future, seeing as you will be stuck here for a while), a small part of you finds it ironic you do not even know her name. Though you were wont to having one-night flings, you thought it common courtesy to know this, figuring that you could at least give them that night.
She chuckles and you know she just read your thoughts again. "I'm Daisy, but you can call me Meredith."
The blood drains from your face. You feel your stomach clench, and your heart begins palpitating.
How the fuck could she know about her?
No one knew, not even the guys. It was your dirty little secret as you were sixteen at the time and she was many years your senior. You knew how it would tarnish your reputation and that of the band's. However, she was too good to quit and she made it a point to forward your career. Even up until now she made sure your name would never fade from the spotlight. Although she was a good fuck, that would be the only reason you hired her as your PR when you went solo. Besides, you made it a point to end it when Britney came back in the picture, and she was mature enough to concede to someone younger than her.
Or at least that is how you saw it then.
You begin to wonder if she could be the mastermind to all this. Weren't you once told to fear a woman scorned? Come to think of it, she had enough connections to make this happen and plan it so that it won't go back to her.
Cunt.
If you ever make it out of here alive, you'll make sure to fire her vindictive ass ASAP.
"Aaah!!! I'm fucking screwed!! I'm fucking late!!!"
Your attention snaps back to Daisy-Meredith or whoever she is as she grabs a tiny purse and her parasol before she literally prances out of the room, with cat following its mistress. The door slams behind the two and you relax.
It as though it is all your body wants to do. Somehow your limbs feel heavy and your eyes feel droopy, and you wonder how post-coital exhaustion could lag this long.
Pretty soon you have dozed off again.
You are awakened this time by the sound of china coming into contact with the floor. You sit-up, surprised by this sudden sound, a scream being drawn from you. Your vision is somewhat hazy from sleep but you can make out two figures moving about the room. When it focuses you can see that the two are making a mess out of what you can assume is the formal dining area.
The upside is that you're no longer tied to the bed -- in fact you can freely move or escape if you wish to. It's just that all desire to have gone from you. You groan at this realization, burying your head in your palms.
And you're like fucking Dante, wondering how many more rings of hell you have to sleep through before you reach the very bottom of it.
