I ask questions because I need time to think. I need time to think of a way to escape. Whatever's going to happen, I can't stay here. When I'm near the President, my father, I get this ominous feeling that he's plotting against me. How am I supposed to handle that? But the one thing I know is that I'm not going to let him think that I like him one bit.
“Does Mom know what a horror you are? How do you think she feels? You mailed her that 'medal of valor'. Does she know anything?” I spit out.
“I think she guesses most of it. The one thing she does know is that I'm alive. Of course, she doesn't know I'm the President. I think she's too fragile for that, as are you,” he said, searching my eyes.
“I'm not fragile.”
“Then you won't mind coming with me.”
“Why should I come with you?”
I glare at him and he laughs again. His creepy normal laugh. Then I stand. The guards bristle. If I'm going to do this, I have to do it quickly. He says, raising an eyebrow, “So you're coming then?”
“Nope. See you later,” I say with a lot more bravery than I feel. I make a break for the window and I crash through. I close my eyes as I feel the spray of glass shards scraping my skin.