Page 60 of Barbi and the Villain

If it wasn’t enough that I told him I would perform a dance routine with my PomPom for him, he had to make me a lewd proposition that shattered all my romantic dreams.

He wanted me to entertain him in a completely different way than I had in mind. And I thought he was a better man because he had been nice to me and my dogs.

“Stupid,” I mutter to myself. “So damn stupid!”

That’s what I get for mistaking the least amount of attention for interest. I deserve that embarrassment and more since it was all my fault for envisioning myself as the main character in a romance novel. Thinking back, a shudder racks my body as I remember all my foolish romantic notions.

And for what? Because he was tall, dark, and handsome? So are a billion other people—though admittedly, not as handsome.

I take a few calming breaths. Once I have a better grasp on myself, I study my surroundings. Wooden panels fill my vision. There is a door a few feet away, and two windows on each side, allowing for light to stream inside.

I frown. The location is unfamiliar.

Where am I?

I swing my legs over the bed.

The room is small. Maybe two hundred square feet at best.

The floor is heated, and my toes curl in satisfaction as I tread barefoot across the room. That’s also when I realize I am not wearing my shoes. Glancing down at myself, I note that I’m wearing a clean pink dress instead of the stinky gown from before. And just for good measure, I sniff my armpits, nodding to myself.

Not bad. I am clean.

But that also begs the question. How am I clean? And who the hell changed my clothes?

A scowl pulls at my face.

That Dark One should better hope he wasn’t the one to undress me or he will feel the full power of my wrath. Hell hath no fury like a Barbi scorned!

I continue to look around. There is a wardrobe to the side and a small table with one chair next to it. Behind me is the bed I was sleeping in and a small nightstand by the side. There are no personal items around or anything to suggest that anyone inhabits this cabin.

In the back, there is a semi-open door that leads to a small bathroom, equipped with a shower, sink, and toilet.

But something is missing.

Where are PomPom and BonBon?

Panic swells in my chest and I run toward the front door, wrenching it open and ready to go searching for my dogs.

“What the…” I squeak as I grab onto the doorframe to keep myself from falling. My feet dangle over a precipice, teetering back and forth as I attempt to haul myself back up.

This damn tiny house was built on a cliff that feeds directly into a ditch.

Good Lord! I can’t even see the bottom.

Mist slithers through every crevice of the valley, obscuring much of the landscape. A few mountain peaks in the distance are entirely covered in snow and ice—not at all comforting since that only occurs at very high altitudes.

“Help,” I whimper. My hands are slowly slipping, gravity pulling me down.

Seconds trickle by. My life flashes before my eyes as I say a small prayer.

This is it.

This is the end.

I squeeze my eyes shut just as my grip on the wood fails me, my nails chafed to the bone and bleeding.

The next moment, I fall.

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