My Best Friend is My Kidnapper

The first time I met Yuna, she found me sitting alone in a park. “Are you a runaway?” she said. “Want to come to my place?”           

At the first sight of her house, I felt like a commoner being let into a palace. The bedroom she gave me made mine at home feel like a doghouse. She even had a fountain in her living room. The kitchen, however, looked like it was never used. “How about I cook for you?” I offered. “Now that I’m living with you.”          

The way Yuna blushed, I felt an affinity toward her.            

“This house’s too big,” she said one day. “I miss when we were poor. Then my parents’ company became successful, and we bought this place. They rarely come home nowadays. I just want my parents back.”          

So, like me, Yuna’s alone. “Hey,” I said. “Want to be my friend?”           

She said, “Yes.”           

It felt like I had found a place where I belonged. The two of us spent all our time together. Days passed, and a part of me hoped this would last forever. Until one night when the police burst in.           

The truth was finally revealed.           

“I kidnapped you,” Yuna confessed when I visited her at the detention center. “I wanted to do something bad so my parents would come home.”           

“We both did bad things,” I said. “I ran away from home because I didn’t trust my new stepdad. My mom had married him out of the blue. But he paid my ransom out of his own pocket, so I suppose he does care for me.”           

“Sorry for lying,” Yuna said.

“Just come see me when you’re out,” I said. “You can stay at my place next time.”           


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