im crthin iys so funny
Slam!
Your eyes wrench open, sweat crusting in the creases of your eyes and drenching your now-shivering body. Attempting to move your arms and legs, you discover that they are tied down, asylum style, with metal straps.
‘What in God’s name-’ you begin to think before you realize you’re not alone in your bedroom. You can’t see, but you can feel someone else’s presence. Not only that, but you can tell that their intentions are not good. You can tell they mean you harm.
Lifting your head as far as you can - it’s difficult for some reason and you can only manage a slight incline - you see a figure wearing a purple v-neck, black acid-washed skinny jeans, and a necklace with way too much jewelry attached for any one person to logically be wearing.
It’s Justin Bieber.
He steps over to you, breathes deeply in your face before slapping you.
“I warned you. I fucking warned you,” he rasps in your face, whiskey and cigarettes coating his breath.
Confused, you murmur, “What? What did you warn me about?”
With this response, he pulls out a belt and slaps your face with it, leaving a burning pain in your right cheek where the metal cut the skin. You feel the blood running, warm and with its metallic scent.
“How dare you? How fucking DARE YOU FORGET?!”
You begin to sob and beg. “What’s going on? Why are you here?” and all he will respond is, “You shouldn’t have forgotten…” while pacing the room, casually moonwalking every so often. “You shouldn’t have forgotten…”
Your sobs begin to get louder and they soon turn to screams. “HELP. SOMEBODY HELP ME.”
“NO!” Bieber cries as he rushes to you and holds a chloroformed cloth over your face. Everything turns black.
When you awaken, you’re strapped down in a chair still in your bedroom.
“I told you.” Bieber repeats, rummaging around in a purple duffel bag.
You can’t even muster the strength to say anything else but, “…what…?” in a voice so feeble that even you barely hear it.
Bieber pulls out an IMI Desert Eagle Magnum and points it directly at your face. Adrenaline instantly pulses through your body and you begin to struggle.
“WHY?! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!” you scream, terror attacking every nerve in your body.
“I told you…I know I did…”
“WHAT DID YOU TELL ME? PLEASE JUST REMIND ME.”
He cocks the pistol and places his finger on the trigger. Looking to the sky, he whispers, just before firing,
“There’s gonna be one less lonely girl. I’m coming for you.”
Your eyes wrench open, sweat crusting in the creases of your eyes and drenching your now-shivering body. Attempting to move your arms and legs, you discover that they are tied down, asylum style, with metal straps.
‘What in God’s name-’ you begin to think before you realize you’re not alone in your bedroom. You can’t see, but you can feel someone else’s presence. Not only that, but you can tell that their intentions are not good. You can tell they mean you harm.
Lifting your head as far as you can - it’s difficult for some reason and you can only manage a slight incline - you see a figure wearing a purple v-neck, black acid-washed skinny jeans, and a necklace with way too much jewelry attached for any one person to logically be wearing.
It’s Justin Bieber.
He steps over to you, breathes deeply in your face before slapping you.
“I warned you. I fucking warned you,” he rasps in your face, whiskey and cigarettes coating his breath.
Confused, you murmur, “What? What did you warn me about?”
With this response, he pulls out a belt and slaps your face with it, leaving a burning pain in your right cheek where the metal cut the skin. You feel the blood running, warm and with its metallic scent.
“How dare you? How fucking DARE YOU FORGET?!”
You begin to sob and beg. “What’s going on? Why are you here?” and all he will respond is, “You shouldn’t have forgotten…” while pacing the room, casually moonwalking every so often. “You shouldn’t have forgotten…”
Your sobs begin to get louder and they soon turn to screams. “HELP. SOMEBODY HELP ME.”
“NO!” Bieber cries as he rushes to you and holds a chloroformed cloth over your face. Everything turns black.
When you awaken, you’re strapped down in a chair still in your bedroom.
“I told you.” Bieber repeats, rummaging around in a purple duffel bag.
You can’t even muster the strength to say anything else but, “…what…?” in a voice so feeble that even you barely hear it.
Bieber pulls out an IMI Desert Eagle Magnum and points it directly at your face. Adrenaline instantly pulses through your body and you begin to struggle.
“WHY?! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!” you scream, terror attacking every nerve in your body.
“I told you…I know I did…”
“WHAT DID YOU TELL ME? PLEASE JUST REMIND ME.”
He cocks the pistol and places his finger on the trigger. Looking to the sky, he whispers, just before firing,
“There’s gonna be one less lonely girl. I’m coming for you.”