Mafia Wars: His Sweet Angel

Kidnapped

JASMINE

Goosebumps melt my skin and have me shaking under my duvet. I've been on my bed all day, wrapped up like a ball.

I can't get out; I didn't eat dinner last night, nor breakfast this morning. I haven't done anything aside from lying here and being scared out of my mind.

"Girl, wake up already!" Freda's pissed voice sounds in the room as she steps in.

I pull the duvet down a bit and glance at her. She's holding a plate of cereal and plums on the small cushion chair, and our unattended laundry was spread on the chair.

Our little apartment consists of cracked walls and hard floors. We barely decorated it to look a bit decent. But seeing the building, you'd know it's an old, deadbeat apartment that can only be afforded by two struggling young female adults.

I've never complained, though. We might be poor, but I'm good living here with her. All I asked for was not to get into any trouble here in New York. But I just did. After experiencing that killing last night, it's only a matter of time before some kind of nemesis catches up with me.

"It's morning already. See?" Freda goes to the window and shoves the tattered curtains open, allowing sunlight to breeze in.

I turn in the other direction to avoid the sun's rays from hitting my face directly.

"Please, Jasmine. Tell me what's going on." She pouts again, dropping back on the couch.

"Don't you have to go to work?" I ask, peering at her through the duvet.

In the daytime, we work at a coffee shop, and at the nightclub at night. Except, after last night, I'm never going back there.

"Go to work and leave you moping around like this? What kinda friend is that gonna make me?”

I sigh, feeling guilty for making her skip work. I'd tell her everything if I could. But I can't seem to say it. I can't even muster the courage to tell her what happened.

"Please, Jasmine. Tell me what's wrong. Did Kelvin do something nasty to you?"

I shake my head.

"Then what?" She asks, moving closer to me and placing a hand on my body.

I look at her long and hard and decide to try telling her. But then I shut my eyes briefly, and the image of that man, sticking his d**k out to me flashes in my head.

It riles up my insides and sends a forceful retch to my lips. I rush out of bed and into the toilet, throwing up my guts into the bowl.

"Please don't tell me you're sick." Freda stays at the door, staring at me.

When I finish, I rinse my mouth and step out, falling back on the bed and shoving the duvet over my head.

Please, dear universe. Let me stop thinking about it. I beg you.

"Tell me something already!!" Freda snaps with a whine. "This suspense is killing me."

"I'm fine, Freda!" I yell back, with my face dipped into the pillow.

"The f**k you are!" She snaps back. "Throwing up like that; looking f*****g pale. Yeah, try a better lie. Just tell me what's wrong. I beg you. It's so not fair to keep me hanging like this."

I stay silent, shutting my eyes and trying to bottle down all those images into the basement of my head.

A knock comes to the door. I don't bother going to see who it is because Freda is already doing that.

Another image springs into my head. The dead girl. The lifeless body in the doorway; the sight of the blood. That would have been me. The thought of that yanks at my composure again.

I burst into tears, rushing back into the toilet for another throw-up session.

Stepping out, I go back to the bed, right before Freda walks in with Derek.

"There she is," Freda says, "I bet she just threw up again, making it the fourth time this morning. I'm so worried and confused."

Derek gives his usual mid-chuckle.

It isn't polite of me to just keep lying on the bed instead of greeting him, but I can't even bear to look at him. My eyes are so puffy, and my hair is a mess. I'm a whole mess.

Then again, Derek isn't some stranger that I should feel embarrassed around. He's been our friend since I moved here. He's a freelance photographer who lives a few blocks from us. No families, just him.

He's ten years older than us, so that makes him play the big brother role to us quite well. He kinda got us jobs at the coffee shop, and Freda says he also helped her get into the nightclub, and then she helped me.

He takes us out most of the time and buys us groceries. He literally takes care of us, and I'm grateful to him for so much. Still, it's so hard looking at him right now.

"Hey, Jasmine." He calls softly, and I feel him sit on the edge of the bed. "Are...are you okay?"

"Mm...hmm." I nod into the pillow.

"Feeling sick?"

I shake my head.

"Wanna go for a walk with me?"

I take a moment before slowly sitting up. My fingers rake my tangled, disheveled hair just so as not to look too maniacal.

"Please?" He pats my leg with his wholesome smile.

I look at him for a second before nodding. "Sure."

"Yes!!" Freda squeals, going to grab my coat for me. "Thank you, Derek. I knew you'd be able to get her out of this terrible funk."

I put on my coat and leave the bed. Derek holds my hand as we step out of the house.

"Don't miss us too much," Derek says to Freda with a playful wink.

"Oh, not a chance. Keep her as long as you can. I'm tired of watching her curl up in our bed. Have fun, Jasmine!" She appears at the doorway, waving at me.

I can't share in her liveliness, but I wave back a bit.

Derek and I take the sidewalk in silence before he breaks it.

"Are you okay?" He asks casually, glancing at me out of the corner of his eyes.

I nod my head once, refusing to look at him.

"Freda says you came home last night looking pale and frightened. Did something happen?" His tone is gentle and probing.

I bite my lip, unable to say it.

"Want coffee?" He chips in, which is totally out of context. I look at him, almost blinded by the sun's reflection.

Did I forget to mention that he's tall? Almost as tall as the man from two years ago and the man from last night…

"There's a coffee shop a block away. Let's go chill out there." He continues with his warm smile, sticking his hands into his pockets.

I nod, and we head to the coffee shop. It's not the one where Freda and I work.

Sitting at a table feels a bit different. Every other time, I'm behind the counter, taking orders.

Derek brings the coffee cups and places one in front of me.

"A cappuccino for me. And a latte for you." Derek says, with his warm, placating smile.

"Thank you." I take the cup and sip it in silence. He chose the table next to the window, and looking outside the window is a bit therapeutic.

For a second, I feel less heavy and frightened. But I'm reminded of my nightmare by his question.

"Did something happen last night at the nightclub?" His voice is a bit tense. No more warm smiles. He looks pretty serious. And for some weird reason, it makes me feel more jittery.

"If there's something you saw or heard, you can tell me about it. You trust me, don't you?" His hand rests softly on mine, but again, weirdly, I can't explain the chills running down my spine.

But why? He's Derek. Brown hair, graciously sleeked to the back. Bulky physique but in a very low-key way. Handsome. Warm. Kind. Derek.

He's the one person I trust the most in New York City. Aside from Freda.

It shouldn't be hard to tell him that I had been threatened with a gun to suck a man's d**k, and a few seconds later, another man shot him dead.

But what if he doesn't even believe me? There is no news that anyone died in the nightclub last night.

No one's talking about it, it's like it never happened. So how's he gonna believe me?

My heart races as I think about the events of the previous night. The nightclub. The shooting. The man wearing a mask. I can’t tell Derek. I can’t tell anyone, and the silence is eating me up slowly.

Derek sighs as he pulls out his buzzing phone. "I need to take this," he said, standing. "Don’t go anywhere, okay?"

I nod. He leaves, and I just sip my coffee silently, staring at the passersby.

"Excuse me, Miss?" A waitress approaches my table. "You're being called outside." Her voice is polite but firm.

"By who?" I ask.

"A gentleman."

Oh. Must be Derek.

"He's waiting at the parking lot." She adds, as I stand and follow her. Down to the parking lot. Her hasty footsteps slow as we get between the cars.

There are just a few cars here. And definitely no sign of Derek.

"Where's he?" I ask, looking around.

The waitress stops walking, turning to face me with an unreadable expression. Before I can say anything else, I feel a sharp prick on the side of my neck.

I gasp, while my hand flies up to the spot where the needle pierced my skin. The world blurs, and I feel my legs giving out beneath me. The last thing I see before darkness claims me is the waitress smirking down at me.