Carol Johnson and The Number 5

Word Count: 555

After one too many Martinis I blacked out, or at least I thought I had. My eyes struggled to open, all that surrounded them was deep darkness. Damn, I told Jeff not to let me have that fifth shot of tequila. Five was an unlucky number for me.

My fifth boyfriend had broken up with me so that he could date the fifth in line to be King of England. My fifth fiancée stole five million dollars from me. In fifth grade I was told that I would never amount to anything. Well that teacher could suck a lemon because now I was one of the richest women in the world and I was a heartbeat away from being President.
Maybe if I yelled out for help, one of my servants would come and put me in a cold shower. It was something that they were used to doing that for me. Finally I realized that there was something stuffed in my mouth that was preventing me from calling for help.

Had I gone back to the S&M club last night after the club? It did seem like something I would do after the bad week I had. Not only had I read about my parents miserable marriage, then the terrible memory of my mother slapping me for the first time surfaced. Not to mention finding out that my friend Jeff was poor, although not as poor as my performance in the first presidential debate the previous night. I was having the week from hell.

The one flaw in my S&M club theory was that I was almost never the submissive one. There was something wonderfully erotic and powerful about spanking a man's behind and making him do whatever you wanted. The thought sent tingles throughout my body.

No this wasn't a night of me letting someone tell me what to do. The gag would have been taken out of my mouth, so that something else could be placed in there. What was happening didn't make any sense. There had to be a logical explanation. Daddy always told me that the simplest answer was usually the right one, which meant that this was nothing but a nightmare. Just like the one I had about the clown trying to kill me and my parents both calling me a failure.

As if God himself was trying to prove how wrong I was, My body was thrown a few feet into the air. When I landed I could tell that it was metal underneath of me. All at once, like a lightbulb being turned on in a dark room, it became clear to me what was happening: I was being kidnapped! But who would want me?

It had to be someone who wanted to collect ransom from me. Yes that made sense and was the simplest answer. Now I had to figure out a way to escape from these people, if I was in a van like I suspected, it was just a matter of getting myself untied and jumping out of the back door. Somehow I knew that solution wasn’t going to work, and needed to find a better way to save myself.

In a weird way, I think the kidnappers knew what I was thinking. They untied the blindfold and pointed a gun at my head.