Full Moon Dreaming: Silver Flash #9: Yes He's My Ex: My Kidnapper Has a First Name

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Silver Flash #9: Yes He's My Ex: My Kidnapper Has a First Name

Wednesday again, time for another Silver Flash! For this week's prompt we were given three items again and told to use them in our story: hourglass, coffee mug and highlighter. The story of Sonny and Tim continues. I hope you enjoy it!

My Kidnapper Has a First Name

How can I resist? I pull Sonny to me and kiss him. He tastes like orange, not surprisingly. God, he tastes good to me. It’s been so long, I’ve really missed this. I think I’ve upset Dale,though—he’s attempting to reach around me, but he can’t quite manage it, ‘cause I got him cockblocked. For good measure, I raise my foot, aim backwards and kick him somewhere—on his leg, I think—and then he desists.

“Sonny,” I sigh against his lips, “what am I going to do with you?”

“Take me home?” he suggests hopefully.

If only I could, Sonny, if only I could. Maybe if we could just climb into my car and drive away from here, I’d be willing to forget the past six months and start over again, give you another chance. Maybe I will do just that. But we gotta get out of here first. That’s a bigger hurdle then just making up. Is that what we’re doing then? Becoming a couple again?

Hell if I know.

“Sonny!” Dale wails like a siren, which draws our captors back into the room. One’s holding a pad of paper and a pen. No, not a pen, a highlighter. You know, the kind you use in college to underline main points in your textbook. Not first choice for a writing implement by itself.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” #1 gives Dale a withering look. He quickly shuts up, curling up into a fetal position.

“Look,” I interject, “your beef is with this guy, right? He owes you money. Not me, and not Sonny. So why don’t we just get out of your hair and let you get on with your business, okay? Call it even and fugeddaboutit?”

Alright, maybe I seriously didn’t think that would work, but I had to try. It’s reasonable, after all—the debt’s with Dale, not Sonny or me. Sonny has no money, and I’m not exactly wealthy myself. I get by, sure, but I suspect that what little I could possibly spare, even if I were so inclined to offer it, would not be enough to satiate this crowd.

#1 turns to #2 and begins to laugh. Then they’re laughing together. I fail to see the joke.

“Give him the paper,” #1 says to his cohort.

“Okay, Carlo,” He shoves the notebook at me. For a moment, I glare at him, then I accept it, although I don’t know why I should. Then I realize he just put a name to the face. #1 is Carlo. Did I just learn something I shouldn’t know? Should I be worried now?

“What am I supposed to do with this?” I carefully avoid using his name, just in case he hasn’t caught on yet.

“Write down your bank account information,” Carlo instructs me.

Okay, that’s seriously not happening.

“Or what?” I stupidly ask.

Well, ask a stupid question, get punched in the gut. I double over in pain. Sonny spreads himself over me, protectively.

“Don’t hurt him, stop it!” he’s yelling. He helps me to sit up, and I catch my breath.

“Tim-tim, you all right?” Sonny’s voice is laced with concern. He wraps his arm about me, and I lean into him.

“Answer your question?” Carlo smirks.

“Yeah, thanks,” I mumble. “Can I get a little water, please?”

Carlo nods to #2. He grunts and goes out to the kitchen, returning quickly with a cracked coffee mug half filled with water. I take a sip—it’s tepid. Couldn’t let the cold water run, stupid? Still, beggars can’t be choosers.

“Look,” I point out, “you haven’t even given me a figure. What exactly do you want? How much is stupid over here in for?” I jerk my thumb at Dale, so that there’s no mistake who I am referring to.

Carlo takes the notebook from me, uses the highlighter to write something on the first page, then hands it back. I look at him, dumbfounded. I refrain from asking him if he’s nuts or what; I have a feeling that won’t sit well with him.

Before I can make any sort of intelligent reply, Sonny speaks up.

“I have to pee!” he announces. Well, that draws everyone’s attentions. Our heads all swivel toward him. Well, to be fair, mine angles up, as my head is on Sonny’s shoulder.

Well, what did they expect after giving him an Orange Julius? It’s human nature. Input equals output. They can’t be inhuman and expect everyone to hold it, can they?

Carlo scratches his head a moment. “Okay,” he agrees at last, “go on. Down the hall, first door on the left. But don’t try anything. If you’re not back in two minutes, I hurt your little boyfriend here. Good.”

“Don’t hurt Tim-tim!” He kisses my cheek, as he maneuvers out from under me, then he kisses my lips, and whispers, “Be right back,” before he skedaddles out of sight.

I settle back against the couch, ignoring Dale, and the instinct which says to throttle him for causing this mess to begin with. However, he’s stupid, and takes that as a sign that I want to talk.

“I love Sonny. Very much.”

I tell myself to count to ten, recite the Gettysburg address or even Hamlet’s soliloquy. Just don’t listen to the moron.

“I want to marry him.”

What? My fist clenches. I’m thinking that with a fat lip he can’t talk so much, when I hear a bloodcurdling scream, and then my name. Without hesitation, I race to the bathroom. Carlo and #2 make no move to stop me. I guess they’re startled too.

“Tim-tim, I’m gonna die!” Sonny moans. “A black widow bit me!”

“A what?” I’m trying to get into the bathroom now but the door’s locked. “Sonny, what’s going on?”

“It’s a black widow. We saw a picture in biology class, remember? It has an hourglass on its back. Or stomach. I forget.”

Holy shit on a shingle, what’s going on? Let me in, Sonny!

Join the other intrepid Silver Flashers in their own Wednesday journeys! Who are they, you wonder? Glad you asked!

Sui Lynn m/m

RJ Scott m/m

Ryssa Edwards m/m

Heather Lin m/f

Pia Valeno Flash Virgin! m/m

Diane Adams m/m

Lily Sawyer m/m