LAYLAH
I begrudgingly looked at the keyboard, counting the numbers of buttons and keys on it for the fortieth time now. Sixty one keys, forty white buttons, two red buttons, a knob-

All of a sudden, Mikhail...yes, Mikhail fucking Ivanov entered the room, freshly showered and no doubt thinking of new ways to scramble my soundness. His wet hair clung to his face and neck like glittering black vines. The smell of his cologne floated into the room;white musk. There was a lot of things I had expected the crimson painter to smell like_sweat, blood and death_white musk and soap were definitely not on the list.

He had dressed himself in a black turtle neck and black pants despite it being past midnight. Perhaps psychopaths did not bother changing into pyjamas for the night. He walked over to me and sat next to me at a distance, like we were roommates now, about to unwind be telling each other how the day went.

"Hungry yet? You didn't have dinner," he spoke picking at something under his fingernails. I shook my head. My breath hitched in my throat as he suddenly leaned towards me, his cologne pleasantly overwhelming all my senses. "Relax, I'm just taking off your tape," he whispered as he slid it off my mouth, retreating back to his position.

"Why are you here? Can't you just let me sit here like a corpse?" I snarled after several minutes of tense silence. "This is my house, I can be wherever I like," he shrugged. I sighed and looked the other way. I wanted to look at anything but him.
Every inch of him was deceptive and manipulative...and beautiful. He had the face and mannerisms of an angel_infact, had I not seen him kill some one with my own two eyes, I would've never believed him to be the crimson painter. After all, the devil wasn't a red man with a pair of horns and a tail, he was a fallen angel_and an angel who was God's favourite no less.

For some unknowns reason, I couldn't help but recall what he had said a few hours ago...
"The human lives you grieve over aren't worthy of being called human"
What did he mean by that? Was it possible...that these weren't simply pointless murders? That the people he killed, had done something to deserve a death like that?
No...it couldn't be.
All of his victims were elderly people_old,frail and helpless. What exactly could they have done to deserve such morbid deaths? He was as much a liar as he was a murderer. And he was astute at both. I couldn't believe that I was already seeking a possibility of his innocence within my conscience.

I turned to look at him and he was staring right at me. Creep.
"Luna," he said drawing in an audible breath, filling himself with enough to oxygen to facilitate the bullshit that was going to leave his mouth, "is everything alright...between you and your parents?"
Where the hell did that come from all of a sudden?
"Why do you care?" I barked.
"No one's called on your phone to check on you. It is a little... concerning," he said cocking an eye brow at me. I would be signing my life away if I let him know that no one was looking for me. Sabrina thought I was with my parents and my parents thought I was at Sabrina's. And here I was, in a serial killer's playroom. I shot him a dirty look and turned my face away.

When it became evident that he wasn't going to get a reply, he finally got up and left. He returned with a with a futon under his arm and rolled it out in the middle of the room. He set a pillow on it, fluffing it up.
"Sleep here, you'll break your spine sleeping against the wall," he said patting the futon. When I responded by completely ignoring his presence in the room, he stood up to retreat.

"Good Night Luna," he glanced at me from behind his shoulder, locking me in the room for the night.
It had only been a day and a half, but I felt like I would die in this room before he could even lay a hand on me. The stretching solitude and pin drop silence was unbearable. Not to mention how I remained tied up at awkward angles for hours_how my body ached to carry out mundane activities like walking and waving my arms.

I crawled onto the futon and laid down, curling in to a ball. It smelt like detergent and lavender, just like the blanket had.
I looked up at the pristine, white ceiling, wondering if I was living through my last days. If I was, I wanted to spend them thinking about my parents, Emily, Peter and Sabrina. Maybe even Brandon. Thinking about all the people who had made me smile at some point in my life; my fifth grade arts teacher who told me I could draw apples better than she ever could, the man who sneaked me five frozen yoghurt samples at the mall when I was ten, the little girl at an art exhibition who told me I looked like Moana...and so many others. I wanted to thank them for being a part of my life, even if it was for a split second, but perhaps, I would never get the chance to do so.

An involuntary tear trickled down my cheek as I laid on my side, not realising when my tears melded into darkness and I drifted into a troubled sleep.
                                                                                    ***
I opened my mouth to scream as someone pushed me into a vast expanse of water. My screams left my mouth as gurgles, salty water filling my throat and lungs to the brim. I reached out towards the surface with my arms but something hidden in the depths was reeling me down towards the darkness underneath.

My hair wrapped themselves around my neck, treacherously choking whatever air was left in my sodden lungs. I tasted copper on my tongue. Perhaps I had bit my own cheek whilst battling the havoc I had been tossed into. I looked around to see streaks of red weaving through the water. They were approaching from the unknowns darkness beneath me. At first glance, their movements appeared sentient, like they belonged to some fearsome creature.

Upon closer inspection, I realised it was blood. Blood that had now transformed the clear blue of the water to a deadly crimson. I thrashed my arms and legs wildly, until finally, whatever was holding me down released me. I floated to the surface, coughing out the rancid fluids I had ingested.

My eyes searched frantically for something to keep my afloat against the perilous currents. I saw a piece of wood drifting in front of me. I waded in its direction, ignoring the soreness that gnawed at my limbs.

When I was close enough to touch it, I realised that it wasn't wood. It's was someone's body, that now floated lifelessly, like worn down driftwood. I heaved it around, a shriek escaping my mouth at the macabre sight.

It was my father. My real father_his eyes glassy and his mouth hung open in an exanimate expression.
Something grabbed my arm-

I sat up with a loud gasp, my heart stuck in my throat. I drank in bouts of air, pacifying my ragged breathing while my fingers dug into the futon under me. Someone in the room was sobbing loudly.

I was sobbing loudly. I hated what had become of me. Like an insolent child, my tears would leave my eyes without my permission, leaving me to deal with them like a humiliated mother.
I couldn't even bring my hands up to my face to wipe them away.
I heard the door opening and someone entering the room_ I couldn't tell who it was through my sodden vision. The futon bent under their weight as they seated themselves next to me. A familiar scent floated up to me. Mikhail.

Before I could do anything, I was being forced to look up, my chin nestled between his fingers. "Luna..." he murmured in a voice too soft and worried to belong to him. My vision cleared to give way to the sight of him dabbing my tears dry with the hem of his sleeve. I wish he hadn't. Looking at him only made me wail louder.

He was the reason that I sat here with pent up emotions, with no one to share them with. I hadn't even had the chance to mourn the death of my parents or to learn to cope with the lies Emily and Peter had raised me on. I had denied them an exit, and now they were gushing out, enraged and turbulent in-front of my captor.

"Luna," he whispered again, now resorting to using his thumbs to wipe away my water works after his sleeves could soak no more. It was a vain task, like cleaning up spilled water with a wet wipe. He probably realised that and I felt his fingers drop from my face. No,don't stop, please.

I then felt his fingers weaving through my hair, bringing my face to his chest by my head.
It was a moment of utter weakness, perhaps even physical selfishness that caused me to stay in his arms_relishing in the warmth and safety of being held by another_even if that person was my abductor.

His free hand slid to my back, undoing the zip ties around my wrists. I brought them forward, putting them between us. I didn't want to get any closer than this. I didn't want to know how his chest fell and rose when he breathed, how his heart beat just like mine and how utterly human he was from within.

His arms slid around the small of my back, tugging me into him, rendering all my efforts to stay away from him useless. His shirt absorbed my tears and snot but he didn't seem to mind. His chin rested on the top of my head, securing me in his embrace.

My cheek pressed against his solid chest and I felt his chest move in a steady rhythm but his heart was in a state of disarray, pounding so hard that I feared that he was the one who needed comforting. Whatever was going on with him, his impassive face did a flawless job of masking it.

"I fucking hate you," I spluttered, still not pulling away.
"I know. But if this is your way of showing hate, then hate me all you want," he whispered against my ear in a voice so silky, it shot electricity down my spine and left a searing imprint of his breath on my ear.
I shoved him away immediately, swatting away the butterflies that had irresponsibly taken flight in my stomach. Whatever he was, he was cunning, vicious and manipulative. I expected a victorious, teasing smile to be playing on his lips but he only displayed a solemn expression.

"Don't touch me again," I hissed. "Don't let me next time," he stated nonchalantly. I wanted to argue but I knew he was right. God, I hated myself so much for succumbing to his touch. Maybe even more than I hated him.

"So...you had a nightmare?" He cleared his throat. "Yeah, something like that," I replied hugging myself to replicate some of the warmth that Mikhail's embrace had offered.
"What was it about?"
"Nothing, I just saw your face. It was enough to make me scream."
"Dreaming about me already Luna?"
"You wish."
"Maybe I do," he flashed me a lazy smile. He was so diabolically charming, I was astonished that none of his victims had been young women who had been lured in by his sweet talk.

I rolled my eyes in response.
"Go on and shut your eyes, I'll stay here until you fall asleep," he said laying down next to the futon. "Oh thank you, because sleeping next to a serial killer will make me feel so much safer," I intoned."I'm the nicest serial killer in Athensberg sweetheart. You should give me a five star review on yelp when I let you go."
"Oh and what exactly should I give you five stars for?"
"Well, you could write something like: Just your friendly neighbourhood serial killer, nothing to worry about. Will cook you pancakes for breakfast and chicken teriyaki for dinner. Extremely clean living space and gives great hugs. Also, didn't murder me even though he definitely can."

I snorted to hold back a laugh but it still came out, faster than the tears had.
I was laughing. I was laughing because of him.
He stared at me with an innocent gaze that I didn't think his sharp eyes capable of, like a baby staring up with wonder at the crib toys hanging over his head.

What was happening to me? Why was I being like this? He was a kidnapper and I was a victim. This was no laughing matter.
Whatever was happening between us needed to stop. Now.
I cleared my throat and laid down, turning my back to him.
"Goodnight Luna," he called out to me softly but I didn't return it, feigning slumber. I feared that if I did, we would talk more. And talking to him was a bittersweet trap that I had no intentions of falling into.