Tell a story that begins with a ransom note.
Five hundred thousand dollars, by midnight. Or else.
I thought about the ransom note again, as I took a sip of bourbon from the glass in my hand. I’d been nursing it for what seemed like hours, my mind undecided on calling the police or giving up the money.
What did she mean to me?
How much of a price would I put on our love?
I chuckle to myself and take another sip. What love?
Seven years together and the girl couldn’t name my favorite color if I asked. I was sure she didn’t know what I was allergic to or what I did for a living that made the kidnapper think I even owned five hundred thousand dollars.
She didn’t love me.
I’d been a fool for too many years, hoping she would change; learn to love me, support me but her “changes” only lasted days and once, a whole month. The girl would never change, but maybe it was the time because I did.
Gone are the days I would be taken for granted. I wouldn’t save her; no, not this time. I earned my money, alone. With her love, support or even attention.
I took another sip.
I wonder what they mean by or else.