𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 ━ transformers

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

"Acceptable," Ron says.

"On a scale of one-to-death-is-certain, how likely is it that I'm going to make it out of this truck alive?" I find myself asking after a moment's silence. The panic from earlier--momentarily washed away by Ron, of course--has returned full force.

Ron sends me an indecipherable look. "I've explained this before, kid, the truck is the safest place you can be."

And I'm not one to question moody soldiers but-- "Are you sure, though?"

Ron sends me an insufferable look. I muster a sheepish smile. He pinches the bridge of his nose with a long sigh, and I should feel bad but my safety is on the line. And sure, I trust whoever is driving--most likely Ron because the truck seems to be his child or something--but that doesn't mean other people are too great at it. There's a fifty/fifty percent chance that we'll run into some lunatic car that probably turns into a giant, flesh-eating robot. And then we're all screwed.

"Get in the truck, punk." Ron grunts. He goes over to the backseat and opens the door, gesturing for me to get in.

I hesitate. "Okay, but shouldn't we wait for Dad and Will?"

As if on cue, the two of them walk out of their respected houses at the same exact time. Both of them look like they ate rays of sunshine for breakfast, and I grimace, try not to let my legs wobble too much as Ron sends me a pointed look.

"They're here," he says. "Get in."

"So demanding," I mutter, but I take a step towards him anyway.

When I get to the entrance, I gulp nervously and it feels like there's a baseball lodged in my theist. A big, fat baseball that just seems to continue growing the more I stand in the chill. I contemplate trying to run, to escape so I don't have to do this but Ron would catch me before I could lift one foot in another direction. Plus, if he didn't, Dad and Will are flanked on both sides so I'd have to run downhill, and I'd probably lose momentum and fall and then my head would bust open, and I'd bleed out on the gravel. . . .

A hand falls on my head. "It's going to be fine, Eleanor," Ron says, voice oddly soft as he ruffles my hair.

I stare at him for a moment, silently asking a question. He searches my gaze then sends me a small smile, supportive and gentle. It makes him look younger, more handsome. I shake that thought away.

Ron offers me his hand. With a nod, I sigh out to prepare myself and then I hoist myself into the back of the truck with Ron's help.

Inside the truck is rather contradictory to the outside. Now that I'm getting a better look--one without panic and fear--it's cozy looking and big. It smells of leather and musk and there's so much leg room in front of me, it's incredible. I'm sat behind the driver's seat and the black leather of it shines gently in the dim lighting. I take a deep breath.

You're fine, I tell myself. Nothing's going to happen. You're safe in the truck. No one's going to hurt you.

I repeat it over and over in my head, eyes closed as I try to even my breaths. Ron closes my door at some point and the other doors open and close but I pay them no mind. Attempting to keep levelheaded is strenuous enough.

But then the truck lurches backwards, and I gasp involuntarily, stomach flipping and eyes snapping open.

Dad's got a hand on my shoulder before I can even think. "It's okay, Ellie. We're just leaving."