HFTOH - The Perfect Gentleman

He had been so perfect.

How could I find fault with someone who opened doors for me? Or pulled my chair out without thinking?

It was damn near impossible.

Even his flaws seemed to add to his endearment and to say it was frustrating would be a pure lie, his faulty perfection made him more charming.

Our first date had gone without a hitch, it was a unanimous decision that we’d meet up again.

Our second date was even better, had he been so inclined I’d have gone for a kiss but instead we settled for a friendly hug and a peck on the cheek.

The messages back and forth had always been sweet, flirtatious but not pushing any limits and sometimes they would last late into the night.

It was just perfect, one thought of him would leave me giddy and anticipating our next meeting.

The third date had ended so differently.

It had been a simple night of food and drinks, nothing too spectacular, but it worked for me. I preferred quiet and subdued areas and he seemed more inclined towards them as well, the quiet type who would rather stay out of the crowd.

We had laughed, shared more life stories.

I found myself strangely transfixed every time he pushed those black rimmed glasses up his nose, letting out an awkward chuckle whilst looking to the side.

An odd quirk I’d noticed and come to love.

He paid for everything as he typically insisted to and then asked if I wished to accompany him home.

It didn’t take a seconds thought to agree.

We decided to walk, being just over half an hour away, our conversation carrying on easily as we made our way.

The evening was pleasant and day shifted to night in the blink of an eye, eventually bringing a horrible crisp breeze with it.

It had all been so wonderful.

So how did I end up here?

Tied firmly to a chair, surrounded by minimal decorations of a hollow room that barely felt lived in.

Tears stung my eyes and wet my cheeks, my sobs being muffled by the tie he had tied too tightly around the back of my head, catching and tugging on some strands of my hair.

“I’m sorry to do this to you,” he’d spoken all too calmly. “But I do hate the screaming.”

I could only watch as he went about gathering bits and pieces from around the house, he moved swiftly and would occasionally steal glances my way as he sauntered from room to room.

At some point I had lost all strength and determination, the ropes binding my wrists, ankles and torso were only digging into my skin as I moved.

My breath hitches as he enters the room again and makes his way over to me, the light briefly catching the end of a pair of pliers.

He leans over so his tall figure is hunched and we’re face to face, he offers me a smile that seems devoid of any emotion but is still somehow so boyish and charming.

He’d removed his glasses by this point, giving me the perfect view of his unfeeling eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he soothes, running a hand over my hair before setting the pliers against the tip of the ring finger of my left hand. “I’ll make this quick, just for you.”