You may have stolen me
- Locked due to inactivity on Nov 26, '22 3:54am
Thread Topic: You may have stolen me
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Something shifted inside Nickola. He stood up straight and stared her down. All he was focused on was getting Dahlia inside the car, harmed or not. Right at that moment, the door burst open at the same time Marco got over to them with the chemical-coated rag. Nickola snatched it from him right as the firing started from the dead Ivan's men. He quickly grabbed Dahlia and held the rag over her mouth, squeezing her arm tight enough that her brain would automatically respond with a deep breath.
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Dahlia gasped sharply, her arm throbbing from pain after he had squeezed it. That was a big mistake. She fought against Nickola, her movements growing steadily more lethargic until she went limp and unconscious. The last thing she registered before she blacked out was Nickola's face, and the fact that she hated him. More than any ex boyfriend she'd ever had, more than any stupid boss, heck, she hated him more than Ivan, the man who had threatened to slowly and painfully kill her. Nothing could be worse than nearly having freedom, only to have it snatched away by this psychopath. To be made helpless. Every time he touched her, it made her skin crawl. Every time he looked at her, she suppressed a shudder. He was repulsive to her.
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Nickola got into the backseat of the car with Dahlia, and Marco got into the front seat. "Drive," he commanded, getting the car out of the rain of bullets.
While they zoomed away, Nickola fastened Dahlia in the car with the seat belt. He let out a soft sigh as he looked at her. "Oh Dahlia, my sweet Dahlia," he whispered to himself. "It won't be long. Soon, you'll hopefully understand."
Nickola was on his phone for the rest of the drive, commanding his men about, making plans. They'd be out of the country by sunset.
Once they were back at Nickola's mansion, Dahlia was still knocked out. He was given a syringe with a stronger sedative so that she'd stay unconscious the entire time.
Nickola took a private get with him, Dahlia, Marco, and a few other trusted employees.
They landed in Italy, at a mansion even grander, but far more secure than the one in America. Nickola carried Dahlia to a bedroom and locked the windows before leaving, locking the door behind him. -
Dahlia felt herself being cradled in someone's arms before the soft embrace of a bed wrapped around her. Where am I? Did I die? Did a stray bullet hit me? She tried to remember why a bullet would have been anywhere near her, but her brain felt sluggish and even thinking brought on a headache. Her whole body felt numb and stiff, paralyzed by this odd fatigue into the position she'd been placed in. Her mouth was uncomfortably dry and her stomach ached, whining to be fed. Her first question returned to her with greater clarity. Where am I?
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Nickola ordered for a hot meal to be delivered to Dahlia's room once she woke up. He sat in his office, contemplating what to do. She was very unresponsive to everything he had told him, aversive, actually. He needed to figure out how to handle her and persuade her that he was the good guy.
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Dahlia finally managed to regain some feeling in her limbs, stretching them out and massaging them to make them less stiff. She rubbed her hands together to warm them up, pulling the covers around her to ward off the chill. If she was going to be imprisoned in a bedroom, she might as well take advantage. Now, to think of escape plans. She glanced around the room, looking for something she could use.
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The room had been changed while Nickola had been on the phone earlier. There were now iron bars set into the wall on the outside of the windows, even the one in the bathroom connected to the bedroom. There was an electric lock on her door. as well. Everything was practically impenetrable.
The bed Dahlia laid on was queen-sized with a head board with engravings of leaves and flowers and such, accentuated with brushes of gold leaf here and there.
The mattress was soft, but not too much so that you sank into the bed unable to get out, it was the perfect balance between soft and firm, and the bedclothes were of unimaginable quality to the average person.
The carpet on the floor was a pale gray and incredibly soft. There was a brown wooden dresser with brass handles on the right side of the room, and a desk on the other side made of the same material. There was a large closet who with the dresser held clothes exactly Dahlia's size.
As far as the decor went, it was rather sparse. There were a few newly-picked bouquets of flowers in cheap-looking (at least compared to the rest of the room) tin vases. Glass or clay vases would have been shatterable and dangerous. There were a few classic paintings on the walls. Other than that, there was nothing else to speak of.
It was a grand and luxurious room. Nickola had arranged it this way just for his sweet Dahlia, just for her. -
Dahlia eyed the tin vases covetously, wondering if she could twist and hammer it into a weapon of some sorts. The room was beautiful, yes, but the iron bars and the locked door was a reminder that no matter how enchanting, it was still a prison. You could make a bird cage with the most exquisite design and lavishly cover it with gold and diamonds, but it would make no difference to the bird trapped inside. She slipped out of the bed, lifting up the bedclothes. They were soft and of incredible quality. She dropped it on the floor in disgust. She would take no gift from Nickola's cold, steely hand. Her own clothes were poorer and worn from use, but they were hers. Wholly and entirely hers.
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(Bedclothes are the sheets and blankets and stuff lol.)
There was a faint beep from the door. Nickola walked in. He had changed his clothes into his normal professional attire, besides his lack of a suit.
"I hope everything is to your comfort?" he said calmly. -
O h))
Dahlia's skin prickled when she heard his voice, her hands balling into fists. She grabbed the tin vase and hurled it at him viciously. "You kidnapped me!" she snapped, her voice raised. It felt good to yell, to take out her anger on this- this twisted evil man. "You are going to take me back home. Right now." -
Nickola caught the vase by the neck before it hit his face, but not before the flowers and water spilled out. He raised a single dark eyebrow at her. "I understand you're upset," he said. He bent down and started gathering the fallen flowers. "But, as much as I love you, I can't let you go, and you're not escaping." He put the flowers back inside the now water-free vase. He looked at her. "If you behave, I might consider to give you less...confining quarters."
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Dahlia let out a sharp laugh, one lacking even a trace of happiness or mirth. Her eyes flashed with anger and her smile seemed closer to a pained grimace. "Are you actually saying that you love me? Kidnapping someone isn't love. Imprisoning someone against their will isn't love! You're delusional." She slammed her fist against the wall, pain shooting through her hand. It hurt, but it helped her focus and relieved a little bit of the pent up rage bubbling in her chest. "If you really cared about me at all, you'd let me leave. You just care about yourself."
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"I've been trying to tell you that this is all for your own good, to keep you safe," Nickola said. "If you behave, I'll give you a more freeing room. If you don't..." He let the sentence hang in the air, choosing his wording, while also wondering what thoughts were running through Dahlia's mind at his silence. "I may have to resort to other means."
Nickola stepped towards the door. "I'll have someone come to bring you a meal and to clean the water on the floor." He opened the door and left, locking it behind him. -
"Don't bother!" Dahlia shouted after him, before the door clicked shut with an unmistakeable finality. She grabbed one of her pillows, throwing it at the door with all of her might. Despite her efforts to hold them in, tears slipped down her cheeks. She crawled under the covers so no one could see her, trembling like an autumn leaf clinging to its branch. Clinging so tightly, so desperately, before being blown away and swirled about in an icy wind. No sense of up or down, no solidarity, just an endless whirlwind of terror in which her cries for help were drowned.
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About half an hour later, there was a soft knock on the door. "Miss?" a kind female voice sounded.
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