No, I Don't Think I Will

Ellie LaTraille

"Please, just let me out!"
"No, I don't think I will."

"Please, Chelsea! I have a date at six."

"Well, then. Maybe you'll learn your lesson by missing your date."

She might have seemed merciless, but really, she was only doing the world—and all of womankind—a favour. The box had holes—it wasn't like he couldn't breathe. He couldn't sue her for abuse. Well, technically, he ould, since she was the one who had suct-taped the box closed, but it wasn't her fault his arms were too puny to get himself out! And it was a rather large box, and it was hardly dangerous—last time she checked, there had been no stories about cardboard killing anyone.

He deserved this, anyway. She was planning on letting him out afterward, after midnight, probably. But this was necessary for the time being, the damn pansy.

"Chelsea….pleeeease," he whined.

"Not a chance. Shut up, Evan."

Not that her telling him to shut up had any effect, of course. He continued to whine and complain and mope for the next five minutes, until he realised that nothing he did was going to get her to remove the duct tape that she had put on. It was a long six hours.

"Have you learned your lesson, yet, Evan?" she asked him seven seconds after midnight.

"Don't be a douchebag?" he asked sarcastically.

Ugh. He never learned, did he? "You gonna keep using that tone with me?"

"Well, I have been cooped up here for six hours, and you are the one that put me here."

"All I did was tape you in. You climbed in all by yourself."

"To get my ring."

"And to read your porn in peace."

"Yeah, well, I finished that hours ago, bitch."

Oh no he didn't.

"Oh yes I did."

Chelsea slowly walked out of the room to go to sleep.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"To sleep."

"Will you at least let me out to pee?!"

"You should have thought about that before you called me a bitch."
"Chelsea, let me OUT!"

"No, I don't think I will."