My eyes gradually reveal. When woke, I see a small enclosed room, never varying from a pale grey. There is a washbasin too unsanitary to use and a cheap bunk bed Goodwill probably wouldn't accept.
I pulled myself of the floor, taking in the bootleg prison cell. I look around the room, searching for Jean. Jean was lying peacefully next to me, I lightly tapped him.
Jean pounced up, alarmingly, just like a pointer. Once he saw me and everything else, he cussed under his breath. Soon, he looked me into my eyes, and said," I'm sorry."
" You're related to that asshole?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, I'm listening."
Jean huffed and spoke," Okay, look, I was born into the family that wasn't exactly on the right side of the law. My father, Dwayne Peterson, wanted to own the whole world in his hand; he believed in that monarchy bullshit. So, a couple of years ago, he planned to destroy Earth and rebuild it in five/ten years as him, the leader. These past years, he plotted for it to seem geographical so he wouldn't get arrested. Right now is just the affect of his scheme, that's how I knew when to leave."
" How'd it get on the news though?"
" Some accountant, that actually was a spy, slipped the word out so he could get arrested. It didn't make it to the FBI nor did she continue to live, he figured out and drowned her in the lake nearby."
" Let's go!" We turned to Pierre standing impatiently by the door. Jean and I followed Pierre down a long narrow hallway." Thanks for telling our family's life story, Jean."
"Well, I answer questions." False. Jean has denied answering questions since the minute we met.
A Sycamore door came into our view. Pierre peeked his head through the door.
"отец?"(Father?)Russian. Pierre called out.
"Войдите!"(Come in!) A scratchy, raspy voice boomed. We entered a massive room with a desk, taking up at least a third of the room.
A man was sitting at the chair. Streaks of gray showed in his neatly combed hair and beard. He was wearing a sharp sky blue suit, and expensive Calvin Klein shoes. He uncurled from his chair and stood up.
He strode over to Jean and I." Jean, you've finally grown some sense!" He cried. Jean clenched his jaw.
"Yes, father." Jean grumbled between his teeth. I gasped under my breath. This man, now thinking about it, looked somewhat similar to Jean. This man was Dwayne Peterson.
Dwayne smiled. Dwayne clapped his hands together and two maids zipped into his sight.
"Yes sir?" They said in unison.
"Take the girl," Dwayne took a long glance at me, I was shivering in fright. Dwayne hugged Jean, a genuine smile on his face, but not a true smile on Jean's face.
The two maids dragged back down the hallway and into another room. This one was exceedingly better than the last. They sat me down by the mirror; on the drawer below it was a large amount of makeups.
They spent hours working on my hair and my face.
Later on, I laid back first on the luxurious bed. The maids had spent their time cleaning, by then; I knew their names, Matilda and Fuchsia.
Matilda stopped dusting the bookshelf and gazed at her watch. Fuchsia leaned over to see the time also.
Simpers grew across their faces. "Dinner, Halle!" They beamed in unity. I crawled out of bed.
They ran to the closet and snatched out a Global DJ Gold sequin dress, I knew because I wanted it for my birthday. "Put it on!" Matilda and Fuchsia shrieked in harmony.
In half a second, I found myself in the dress, looking as if I had as much money as Katy Perry. My hair was twisted into an elegant yet tight bun.
Matilda rushed me out of the room and Fuchsia slammed the door shut behind us.
Once Jean saw me, his eyes gleamed. He was too wearing something fancy; Jean greeted me with a tight hug.
"Run," He whispered firmly into my ear.
"But-" I questioned. Jean kissed me on my neck.
I pushed away and gave him a skeptical look. "Go." He repeated.
"I'm not scared!" I stammer.
"You're lying to me, I can tell." Jean remarked.
I turned my attention to Dwayne, who was kindly pulling out a chair for me. Jean reluctantly escorted me to the chair.
I sat down and waited for dinner. Jean sat close to me, really close. Just before the pea soup was served, Jean leaned in," Here's a gun."
All of a sudden, I felt his fingers run up my dress. Something cold was in his hands. A gun. He clipped it unto my dress, right at my thighs.
"So Jean," Dwayne began." May I ask you who this girl is?" He sipped his soup. I could tell Jean though quick.
"I met her, five years ago," Jean answered rapidly.
"I see you've got a young one, what, 3 years the difference?" Dwayne inquired.
"Two." Jean corrected. I was uncomfortable already; I wasn't very sure what to call the relationship between Jean and I. Acquaintances with slight benefits? Possibly.
"May I be excused to the restroom?" I asked. Dwayne nodded.
"I'll go with you," Jean added. We rushed to the bathroom. Once we enter the bathroom, Jean pulls me close and runs is fingers up my dress.
"Jean-" I pull.
"I checking for any cameras, calm down."
As his hands search everywhere around my dress, I start conversation.
"You were wrong," I say.
"My age, I'm sixteen."
Jean grips something under my dress and pulls it out. A tiny camera. "Let's go." Jean rushes me out. And instead of going back to the table, Jean pulls me for the escape, in heels.
Obviously, as we were running, my heels made an unexceptionally loud noise. I heard a call out in Russian, and men began to sprint for us. Jean shoves me into the janitor's closet, and shuts the door.
"Got to take those heels off!" He shrieks. He slips them off and tosses them in the dirty bucket he fills with the water he cleans. Jean grips my hand and runs out. Now, I can catch up to speed.
"Where's the exit?" I asked, heaving. I turn around, trying to locate the men chasing us.
We're stopped. I turn to Jean, giving him a look. Suddenly, I see what he's focusing one. A glass window, there was no escape. No-there had to be, how'd we get here.