Chapter 7

• "That's it." Dylan brandished his gun and aimed it at Roselle. "I'm through with being patient," he announced.
• Roselle furrowed her brows. "Wait, you were being patient?" she questioned, genuinely baffled. If Dylan's behavior was considered patient, then what about all the kind-hearted individuals who assisted those in distress or fed stray dogs? Weren't they patient? Had the meaning of 'patient' evolved and she was the last to know?
• Dylan attempted to pounce on her, but she swiftly sidestepped and bolted towards the kitchen. She needed a weapon, and she needed it immediately. Dylan was right on her tail, and she knew it was only a matter of time before he would catch her. She was surprised he hadn't already.
• With adrenaline fueling her actions, she dashed into the kitchen and frantically scanned for a knife. But there were none to be found. Where had all the knives disappeared to? They were always there. She searched in desperation but came up empty-handed.
• Disheartened, she opted for the next best thing - a frying pan. She quietly removed her shoes and retreated to a corner, ready to ambush Dylan when he entered. As soon as he did, she planned to knock him out with the frying pan.
• Luckily, she didn't have to wait long. After a few minutes, she heard Dylan's voice. "Firefly, stop playing hide and seek. I promise I won't harm you, just come out," he tried to persuade her.
• She chose not to respond, instead remaining in her spot, waiting for him to enter the kitchen so she could knock him out.
• Dylan grumbled. "God, this girl is trouble!"
• As soon as he stepped into the kitchen, Roselle sprang from her hiding spot and smacked Dylan's face with the frying pan with all her strength. In that moment, she felt akin to Rapunzel from Tangled, when she hit Flynn Ryder with a frying pan.
• Dylan collapsed to the ground without uttering a sound. She placed the frying pan on the counter and bent down to check if he was dead or merely unconscious. She didn't wish for his death, she just wanted to hand him over to the authorities. If they decided to execute him, that was their decision. She just wanted Merline back.
• She pressed her fingers against his neck, checking for a pulse. She exhaled in relief when she felt a steady rhythm. Taking a deep breath, she stood up. She needed to get Dylan out of her apartment.
• Roselle maneuvered herself behind Dylan and, with some effort, hoisted his unconscious body into a sitting position. Before Dylan could slump back, she slid her arms under his and clasped her hands together on his chest. Then she began the arduous task of dragging Dylan's body out of her apartment, a task that felt akin to dragging a truck rather than a human.
• After five minutes, she managed to drag Dylan out of the kitchen, which was a mere five steps away. Panting heavily, she persevered, but Dylan was like an immovable weight; no, more like an unconscious burden.
• Twenty more minutes of huffing and dragging later, she managed to haul Dylan's body to the front door. Propping him against the wall, she placed her hand on the doorknob and took a moment to gather herself. This man was clearly fit, and it was a stark reminder that she needed to exercise and eat healthier. Once Merline was back safe and sound, she would hit the gym.
• Opening the front door, she resumed her original position and began dragging Dylan outside. Every fiber of her being was screaming to put him down; all her muscles were throbbing from the bruises she had sustained earlier, and right now, Dylan was not helping.
• Another quarter of an hour passed before she reached the elevator. Once again, she propped Dylan against the wall and repeatedly jabbed the call button until the elevator doors slid open. She stepped inside and pressed a button to hold the elevator in place. When she stepped out, she shot Dylan a glare.
• You just had to be so heavy and muscular. Always making things difficult for me, and you call yourself a doctor.
• She adjusted her grip under his arms and dragged his body into the elevator with great difficulty. She desperately wanted to stop and take a breather, but she knew Dylan could wake up at any moment. She needed to get rid of him before then. So, with her limbs protesting and lungs screaming, she moved Dylan inside the elevator.
• Once Dylan was inside, she pressed the button labeled 'G' and stepped out of the elevator. The doors immediately began to close, and she knew that she had finally rid herself of Dylan Ford for good. Just as the doors slid shut, she bid the eccentric doctor farewell.
• "Goodbye, Dylan."
• With a loud slam, Roselle closed the door and dragged herself to the living room, panting like a dog that had just run a marathon. After the ordeal she had just been through, she felt she deserved a meal loaded with calories. She was relieved that Dylan was now out of her life for good. Once someone took him to the hospital, he'd probably forget about her as soon as he woke up. She had hit him quite hard, after all. It was bound to have some effect on him.
• Now that one problem was out of the way, she could live her life in peace and focus on finding Merline and rescuing her. But first, she needed a long, relaxing shower or maybe a bubble bath since she was all bruised up. Then, she would have a nice heavy meal, and see if sleep would come to her. In the morning, she would start searching for her sister.
• She jogged into her room and headed straight for her cupboard, which housed all her clothes. She threw the doors open, only to clench her eyes in frustration as she stared at her empty cupboard. She knew she should've done her laundry ages ago, but no, she had to be the queen of Lazyville. Oh well, she'd just grab something from her laundry basket and wash it before wearing it. She couldn't believe that Dylan, the ungrateful jerk, didn't bother doing her laundry. She had let him stay here for a few hours, and this was how he repaid her.
• She shut the cupboard doors and hastily went to where her laundry basket was - in the corner, behind her bedroom door - only to find her Goldilocks And The Three Bears laundry basket empty.
• What in the world! Where did all her clothes go? They were all right here last night. It took her ages to roll up all of her dirty clothes one by one and toss them in the basket while sitting on her bed, and now they were all gone. Wait! Maybe Dylan did wash them. Oh, bless his scary, criminal soul.
• With a grin on her face, she marched over to the small balcony of her apartment, where she and Merline hung their clothes to dry, only to find the wires free from any clothing items. There were just a few clothespins hanging on the wires, but no clothes.
• Oh no. No, no, no. Dylan wouldn't have done what she thought he had. He couldn't possibly have thrown her clothes away! She was in disbelief, he really had stolen all her clothes.
• Trying to believe with all her heart that Dylan couldn't have thrown away her clothes, she dashed about her apartment, searching every nook and cranny for her lost clothes. From looking inside the oven to bending low to look under the bed, she failed at finding her clothes.