His Sweet Victim

I eagerly bounce up and down in front of my parents, both seated at our large, marble island counter, having breakfast before work. My father barely blinks at me, as he continues to read the newspaper, his dark brown hair, slightly greying around the edges, combed back neatly.

“Yes, Ava?” My mother finally asks, setting her utensils down and smiling gently at me.

“There is a comic convention in San Francisco this weekend, I was wondering if I could please borrow one of the cars to go,” I whip out the flyer and push it at her, begging her with my eyes.

“Ava, you haven’t even turned 18 years old yet and can barely drive to school. I hardly think you can handle driving alone to San Francisco,” my father mutters, still not taking his eyes away from the paper.

“I won’t be alone, Sebastian will be coming with me,” I say, but continue to plead with my mother. She frowns and goes to open her mouth.

“We’ll think about it. For now, get ready for school, and make sure you have everything ready for the opening of your mother’s new line tonight at the charity event.”

With that said, my hopes are crushed. I know he isn’t going to think about it, all he cares about is the party. My mother owns a rather successful line of jewelry and is releasing a brand-new line of male and female wedding rings, along with a Fall set of necklaces and bracelets. Half of the proceeds will be going to help various disaster victims around the world.

It is a noble cause, but my father only cares about looking good in public and keeping up the family name. If it was up to me, I would be attending the small community college in San Francisco, to study Art. Instead, I am attending a private University, to study Law and Business, so I can one day take over the family business.

Tossing the flyer in the trash, I trudge upstairs to prepare for morning class. I have a mock trial this morning, and I can barely remember which character I am playing. I can already tell it is going to be a long day. Just one more year, and I will be free of school, and maybe have a bit more freedom than I’m letting myself believe when I take over the family business.

Either way, I know in my heart, it isn’t what I want to do. But at the same time, I love my parents, and everything they have done for me. I would never want to let them down, either.

I text Sebastian and tell him not to get his hopes up. He messages back with a sad face. I wonder how much a train, or maybe even a bus ride would be. I don’t have money, or a job, since my tuition is paid for by my parents, and they put money on my student card every semester to get food and stuff. Other than that, I don’t have my own spending money a whole lot, unless it’s for my birthday. But by that point, everything would be over, and there would be no point in the effort anymore. For once, I want my parents to take an interest in mine, not what they want mine to be.

I will never be their perfect daughter, someone they can shape and mould into a socialite icon, heiress to their vast fortune – blah, blah blah. I hate it all. They say money can’t buy you happiness, they were right. There are several things money cannot buy you; happiness is just one of the hard ones.

My parents have more than enough money to keep my family thriving for generations, even I wouldn’t have to work with the money they already supply for me. It isn’t enough to purchase a decent car or keep up with the insurance payments, on top of a phone and other personal splurging. But it is enough that without that, I could do whatever I want; go on shopping sprees, have a girl’s night out downtown. But I never wanted any of those things, I was a pretty simple teenager growing up. I never wanted fancy things or had expensive taste in clothes or personal items.

Yet my parents never gave me the things I wanted, like the convention. It was the one big thing I had asked of them in quite some time since I was 15, and I had asked to stay out late to attend a local concert by my favourite band in the park. I had only asked to stay out until midnight, but I knew at my age, and the area we lived in, that was pushing it.

My father had of course said no, making claims that I was a high risk for kidnapping since I was worth a lot of money in ransom. It is no secret how wealthy my family is, everyone in town knows about it, and people had often tried to kidnap my mother when she was a little older than I was, to ransom for a large sum of money, since they knew my family could afford it.

But I am almost 18 and have gone out with friends on our many times but have never come close to it. My father had once even said that the few times my mother had been kidnapped when she was younger, the police were quick to put an end to it and find her before any money was exchanged. I had a feeling the crooks understood, our family is too wealthy to be bribed even.

I slowly make my way to school, mulling over all the stupid things my parents have me do; the constant dinner and cocktail parties they make me attend, the dreadful charity events where no one focuses on the worthy cause, just the money it is making, and who receives the left-over funds once half of the donations are split. I have discovered quite a few despicable things, being a quiet, watchful child in the corner of the room, about what goes on behind the scenes of big-name events and businesses.

I message Sebastian and tell him to meet me in the park after classes, I don’t want to go home right away. He always knows how to cheer me up, without even trying. Just being around him, his presence alone is enough to make anyone brighten from their gloomy mood. He is an overly friendly guy, but not enough to make a person feel uncomfortable unless they are extremely shy. I had bad social anxiety when I was younger, and I still kind of do, but Sebastian helped me move past it a little when we met.

His smile and kind words were enough to win me over, and we have become the best of friends ever since. He is my rock when it comes to dealing with my home life, he knows the right things to say and, the right things to do, to make me forget whatever is upsetting me.

I was halfway down the pebbled path to school, when the sense of someone watching me washes over me, like intense ocean waves. The feeling is strong like the person is standing just a few feet away from me, their presence overpowering me. But when I turn, there is no one there, as suspected. I am paranoid for no reason. What’s wrong with me? I shake off the alarming feeling and continue down the path, my pace a little more rushed.

The feeling washes over me again, but this time, I’m a few feet away from the door. I burst through the small bush-covered path at the end and try not to look like a maniac on speed as I run towards the main building. The feeling disappeared completely once I’m gathered in the thick crowd of students. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and check the time to make sure I have enough of it to put my things away in the school’s locker.

I try my best to focus on my lectures, but I can’t stop thinking about the weird feeling I felt earlier. Was I just being paranoid, or had someone been watching me? My mind is swirling; I barely notice when the professor dismisses the class. I shake my head lightly and gather up my things in a daze.

I am thankful when my lectures are all finally done for the day, but I’m weary about walking home again, looking at the now slightly darkened path, as the sun begins to set, leaving an ominous orange glow to light my way. Autumn is in fast approach, as I feel the weather grow a little colder without the rays of the sun beating down.

Just as I pull out my phone, a text arrives from Sebastian, saying he is on his way to the park to meet me. I remember there is a different path that wraps around the usual way I take. It’s a little longer, but it’s more public than the small path through the forest behind my house that I always take as a short cut to and from school. The park is between, but I am willing to go the extra mile or two to avoid the feeling I endured earlier. My paranoia is too high, probably due to all the crap my father filled my head with.

Why did parents make growing up seem so terrifying? I understand that some parents never want their kids to grow out of the baby phase, except maybe without the crying and constant pooping, but I never saw my parents as that type. They always pushed me to act more mature than I was. It was like they wanted me to grow up too fast, but still wanted to terrify me into staying young.

I pop my headphones in to try and clear my mind as I walk to meet Sebastian. When I reach the street, I am thankful the feeling hasn’t returned, and I feel my body and mind relax a little. I start getting into my music when I turn down another dirt path, leading directly to the park. I could make out the dark silhouette of Sebastian, sitting on one of the park benches.

Just as I reach for my headphones to remove them, my wrists are seized behind me, and someone slaps their hand over my mouth to muffle my shocked cries. They whisper something in my ear, but my surprise and fear are so high, my hearing deafens as they drag me back towards the street. I try to squirm and cry out for Sebastian, make any indication for him to turn around. The glove covered hand is too big for me to make any noise.

I react without thinking and try to bite down hard on their index finger through the leather material. I cheer silently when the attacker cries out and removes their hand.

“Sebastian!” I scream as loud as my lungs are able too, and his head whips around just as the attacker recovers, and grabs hold of me again. Sebastian darts across the grass towards me, but before he can reach the path, I’m shoved in the back of what seems like a van, and a bag is thrown over my head.

“Ava!” I hear him yell, just as a large door slams shut, and the vehicle jerks alive. I feel it veer to the left as if tearing away from the side of the road and rushing into traffic. Faint sounds of angry horns can be heard, and the squeals of tires as we continue to jerk left and right. There are no seats in the back of the vehicle, I try to feel around for anything that can help me before I reach for the bag.

“I don’t think so,” someone whispers softly, though their tone is harsh. I am taken aback by the slight accent I hear, but their voice is too quiet for me to identify it. They sound like a boy no older than me. He grabs my hands and ties them in front of me with thick rope. I know if I tried to wiggle my wrists out, I was going to cause my skin to bleed and burn.

“Damn, that bloody hurt,” another voice grumbles, farther away this time.

“You alright, mate?” How many people were there? Three people it seems in total, all male from what I can hear. The bag made it almost impossible to make anything out clearly, even after my ears had stopped ringing. I recognize their accents, however. They sound British, at least the last two men who had spoken. I still can’t recognize the first one, but it sounds almost familiar. Australian? Scottish?

Why the hell did it matter? They just kidnapped me! After all these years of criticizing my father for trying to scare me, it turns out he was right. I think back to the feeling I had before like someone was watching me. I hadn’t been paranoid; it must have been these men.

“Girl bit my finger, even through these gloves. I think she broke the skin,” the second man continues to mutter in complaint. I smile triumphantly under the bag. Serves him right. I’m glad I had at least called out to Sebastian, he can tell my parents right away what happened, and maybe he even saw what the men look like. The man who attacked me came out from behind me, I never got a look at any of their faces before I was blinded by the bag.

But what if he hadn’t?

What am I going to do once they reach their destination?

Where is their destination?