Kidnapped
1563 Words
The bar was louder than she expected.
Or maybe it just felt that way because everything inside her had gone quiet.
Adeline pushed the door open with more force than necessary, the heavy wood slamming faintly against the stopper as warm air, thick with alcohol and laughter, swallowed her whole. Music pulsed through the walls—low, rhythmic, almost like a heartbeat she couldn’t quite match.
She hesitated at the entrance for half a second.
Just half.
Then she walked in like she belonged there.
Because if she didn’t pretend, she might fall apart.
The interview replayed in her head in cruel, looping flashes.
“We’ll get back to you.”
“You’re talented, but…”
“Unfortunately…”
That word again.
Unfortunately.
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she slid onto a bar stool, dropping her bag at her feet. The polished counter reflected her face faintly—too pale, too tense, too… disappointed.
She didn’t look like someone who had almost made it.
She looked like someone who never would.
“What can I get you?”
The bartender’s voice cut through her thoughts—calm, steady, practiced. He looked to be in his early thirties, sleeves rolled up, eyes observant in a way that made her feel like he noticed more than he said.
“Something strong,” Adeline muttered.
He didn’t ask questions. Just nodded.
“First time here?”
She gave a small shrug. “Is it that obvious?”
“A little.”
He placed a glass in front of her, amber liquid catching the dim light. “People who come here often don’t look like they’re trying to forget something immediately.”
Adeline let out a soft, humorless laugh.
“Then I guess I fit perfectly tonight.”
She picked up the glass and downed half of it before she could think twice. The burn hit her throat instantly, sharp and punishing—and she welcomed it.
It was better than the ache sitting in her chest.
“Bad day?” he asked.
She stared at the glass, swirling what remained.
“I didn’t get the job.”
“That happens.”
“It wasn’t just a job,” she said, a little more sharply than she intended. Then softer, “It was the job.”
He leaned against the counter slightly. “The one that was supposed to change everything?”
She nodded.
Silence settled between them for a moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… heavy.
“I thought,” she began, her voice unsteady now, “I thought if I got it, things would finally start making sense. Like all the struggling, all the waiting… it would finally be worth something.”
The bartender didn’t interrupt.
So she kept going.
“But they looked at me like I wasn’t enough. Like I almost was—but not quite. And that ‘not quite’… it keeps happening.” She swallowed, gripping the edge of the counter. “I’m tired of being almost.”
He sighed quietly.
“Almost means you’re close.”
“It also means I failed.”
“It means you haven’t succeeded yet,” he corrected.
Adeline shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “You must say that to a lot of people.”
“Only the ones who need to hear it.”
She let out a breath and finished her drink. He refilled it without asking this time.
“Careful,” he said lightly. “You’re drinking like someone who wants to forget everything.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Everything?”
She paused.
Lucas flashed through her mind—his smile, the way he hugged her at the picnic, the way he tried to stay strong even when life kept knocking him down too.
Her grip softened slightly.
“…Not everything.”
The bartender nodded as if that answer mattered.
“Then don’t drink like you do.”
But she already was.
The second glass went down slower, but it hit harder. Warmth spread through her veins, blurring the edges of her thoughts, softening the sharpness of her disappointment.
By the third, the world felt distant.
By the fourth, she didn’t care.
“I’m not a failure, you know,” she said suddenly, her words slurring just slightly.
“I didn’t say you were.”
“I just… haven’t figured things out yet.”
“That sounds more accurate.”
She leaned forward, resting her head lightly against her hand.
“You ever feel like someone’s watching you?” she asked.
The bartender’s expression changed—just a flicker, quick enough that she almost missed it.
“Watching you how?”
“Like…” she frowned, trying to put it into words, “like you’re being followed. Not physically. Just… eyes. Somewhere. Always there.”
He studied her for a moment longer than before.
“Paranoia can come from stress,” he said carefully.
“Or from being right,” she murmured.
A strange silence fell between them.
Then he straightened, forcing a lighter tone. “You should head home.”
Adeline blinked at him. “Already?”
“You’ve had enough.”
She glanced at her glass, then back at him.
“…Yeah. Maybe.”
He slid her a glass of water. “Drink this first.”
She obeyed, though reluctantly. The coolness helped a little, grounding her just enough to stand without swaying too much.
“Thank you,” she said, grabbing her bag.
“For the drink?”
“For listening.”
He gave a small nod. “Get home safe.”
She smiled faintly. “I will.”
But something in the way he watched her leave made that promise feel… uncertain.
—
The night air was colder than she expected.
It wrapped around her like a warning she didn’t quite understand.
Adeline stepped onto the pavement, pulling her jacket tighter around herself as she started down the street. The city was quieter here—less crowded, less forgiving.
Her heels clicked softly against the ground, uneven in rhythm.
One step.
Two.
Three.
Something felt off.
She slowed slightly, glancing over her shoulder.
Nothing.
Just the empty street, dim lights, distant sounds.
She exhaled.
“See?” she muttered to herself. “You’re just overthinking.”
But the feeling didn’t go away.
If anything, it grew stronger.
Her steps quickened.
The sound of an engine broke the silence.
Low.
Smooth.
Too close.
She turned just as a black car rolled up beside her.
Tinted windows.
Too tinted.
Her heart skipped.
Another car pulled up behind her.
Then another.
Her breath caught.
“Okay… no,” she whispered, stepping back.
The first car door opened.
Everything happened too fast.
A hand grabbed her arm—firm, unyielding.
“Hey—!” she struggled, panic surging instantly, “let go of me!”
Another hand covered her mouth.
“Stay quiet.”
Her heart slammed against her chest as she kicked, twisted, fought—but they were stronger. Too many.
The street swallowed her fear whole.
No one came.
No one saw.
A sharp scent filled her senses.
Sweet.
Wrong.
Her movements slowed.
“No… no—” her voice faded, her body betraying her as darkness crept in from the edges of her vision.
The last thing she saw—
Was the reflection of herself in the tinted window.
Small.
Powerless.
Gone.
—
Silence.
Heavy.
Unfamiliar.
Adeline’s eyes fluttered open slowly.
Her head throbbed.
Her body felt… strange. Weak. Like it didn’t fully belong to her yet.
She blinked, trying to focus.
Gold.
That was the first thing she noticed.
Gold walls.
Gold details.
Gold everywhere.
The ceiling above her was intricately designed, shimmering faintly under soft lighting. Curtains—thick, expensive—hung beside towering windows. The furniture looked like something out of a palace, not a house.
Her breath hitched.
“Where…?”
She pushed herself up, wincing slightly as dizziness hit her.
Memories came rushing back.
The bar.
The street.
The cars.
Her pulse spiked.
“No… no, no…”
She swung her legs off the bed, stumbling slightly as she stood. The floor beneath her feet was cold, polished marble.
“This isn’t real,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “This isn’t real…”
But it was.
Every detail screamed reality.
Every second confirmed it.
She turned slowly, taking in the room.
Too big.
Too perfect.
Too controlled.
“Hello?” she called out.
No answer.
Her voice sounded small here.
Insignificant.
She took a step forward.
Then another.
Her heart pounded louder with each movement.
“Who’s there?!”
Silence.
Then—
A sound.
Soft.
Deliberate.
From the far end of the room.
Her body froze.
The lights didn’t reach that corner fully. Shadows clung to it, thick and unmoving.
At first, she thought it was nothing.
Just darkness.
Just her imagination.
Then it moved.
A figure.
Tall.
Still.
Watching.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Every instinct screamed at her to run—but her feet wouldn’t move.
The figure stepped forward slightly, just enough for the faint light to catch the outline of broad shoulders, a straight posture… control in every inch of his presence.
But his face—
Still hidden.
Still shadowed.
“W–who are you?” she managed to say, her voice barely steady.
- Writer
