My F*cked Up Fairytale

THE ART OF FLEEING - CHAPTER FIVE

Was I excited about learning how to fight yesterday? Well, never mind that now. I'm far too exhausted to even stick my leg out from under the warm covers that are slowly lulling me back to sleep.

Ignoring the sunrise pouring the colors of red, orange, and yellow through my windows, I roll over in an attempt to pull myself back into the wonderful dream I had been having.

The sight of Dorian looming over my bedside with his arms crossed over his chest almost breaks me away from my quest to fall back to sleep. I lay there, eyes drooping shut and slowly opening while I blankly stare at him. Surely, this Dorian is just a figment of my overtired imagination. There is no possible way that the real Dorian, who works like a married man that has a daily 9 to 5, would visit me this early in the morning. Turns out I'm wrong.

"I told you not to be late, yet here you are, still in bed," Dorian ridicules me, though I couldn't care less about his complaints.

"Take a hint and go away," I yawn out and roll over to even further establish my unwillingness to get up.

Immediately, the covers hiding my body are cast aside to the floor by Dorian. Two can play that game, I reach for a nearby pillow that is stuffed to the brim with goose feathers. The damn thing is so hard and heavy that I bet it could knock even a full grown man like Dorian to the ground. No chance is given for me to test that bet though. Right when my fingertips graze the soft fabric of the pillowcase, I'm yanked backward by the ankle, then hoisted into the air before being thrown over a shoulder.

Now that I'm hanging over Dorian like a potato sack, I've come to the realization that I'm way more defenseless than I originally imagined. I mean, it only took him a flat few seconds to haul my reluctant ass out of bed and capture me, but that doesn't mean I lost the battle yet. An evil grin spreads across my face as I begin to flail about, making it a point to hit Dorian in both his muscular back and stomach. I even let my fist hit his ass which is annoyingly bigger than mine.

    "Put me down, you big, bastardly brute!" I demand which only earns me a quiet scoff.

    "Yell and thrash around like a spoiled troll all you want, human." Dorian heads away from my bed and toward my door, unfazed by my attack. "You'll be the one making a spectacle of yourself."

    "I swear, I'll–..."

My screaming threat becomes lost in my throat after Dorian opens the door and passes by his royal guard. All three of them are staring at me as if I'm some bratty child that needs to be put in time-out. Another scoff sounds through the air, likely from Dorian drowning in his victorious 'I told you so' moment.

    "Callon," Dorian calls to him, making the other guards stop in their tracks. A glance passes between their red eyes before they settled their sights on Callon once more, "I only need you to accompany us." He turns his head to look at his other two guards' wary gazes before adding, "This little thing doesn't pose a smidge of a threat to my life."

    Their laughter floods my ears as I angrily hit my fist into Dorian's right shoulder blade. Sure, I may not be much of a threat now, but he definitely won't be saying the same thing when I kill him, not that I know how I'm going to go about doing so. The details don't matter though. All I need is motivation, and those laughing guards are just enough to make me want to strangle Dorian. Rather than doing that, I compromise with something much less tiresome, talking shit.

    "Isn't your all-mighty leader such a cocky little jerk?" I ask Callon, who, of course, does not reply. Only I seem to be brave enough to insult Dorian when he's literally beneath me. "Do you think he acts like such a jerk because he has a small...you know what?" A yelp of surprise leaves me when a sharp slap meets my bottom, despite this warning from Dorian, I continue, "Oh, you think his groin is puny? Really, Callon?"