"I'll never get used to this." Sam cast me a weird look as we both sat in his car. I couldn't agree with him more, because it was disconcerting that we exited the school together and got into the same vehicle. It seemed that we weren't the only ones grossed out by the idea of it, because we managed to gain several quizzical or shocked glances from bystanders.
"Me either." I nodded, shoving aside the peculiar nature of me agreeing with Sam on something. His car hummed to life as he turned the ignition, and I was easily able to find myself relaxing. Just because it was Sam's domain didn't mean that I couldn't bother him with my lack of care. I leaned back against the headrest and debated putting my feet on the white seats just to piss him off.
"Did you end up talking to Millie?" Sam asked, looking at me before finally taking the car out of park.
I squinted my eyes at him. "Why do you care?"
He quickly averted his gaze back to the steering wheel, shifting in his seat briefly as he began to pull out of the parking spot. "Dunno, I was just curious."
Watching his profile for a moment, I cleared my throat and shrugged. "I talked to her."
"Was she angry?"
"She wasn't happy." I answered.
"You didn't tell her everything, right?" He pressed.
"No, Sam. I told you I didn't want her involved."
"Good. Enough people have been dragged into this as it is." By the way he mumbled it, I wasn't entirely sure if the words were intended for me to hear. It caused us both to fall into a pool of silence, filled only by the rushing waves of our individual thoughts. I briefly wondered what plagued his mind.
Mine was easy to describe, because it was primarily a cesspool of anxiety ever since I received that message earlier that morning. To know that I wasn't even safe within the comfort of my bedroom was truly sickening. Sure, I knew that technically I wouldn't be safe anywhere, but it didn't quite hit me as real until then.
My life was never all that interesting before. Millie and I spent most nights watching movies, going for late drives, or eating at Jack of Clubs. What the hell within that could possibly be riveting enough for someone to want to devote so much of their time to watching me? It was both depressing, as well as deeply terrifying, that a person like that existed. It was amplified by the fact that it was an entire group of people, not just one.
I watched through the window as houses blurred past, and I tried to push down those nagging thoughts. But it was incredibly difficult when I had no idea what to do with them. Carefully, I glanced at Sam, who seemed to be too focused to notice me. His eyebrows were gently furrowed, as though he was trapped in some sort of inner hell that I couldn't understand as an outsider. The bruises on his skin were mostly purple, clinging onto him like a parasite.
It was during that long moment that I suddenly realized something.
"Sam." I said quietly.
As though sensing the urgency in my tone, he shot his gaze to me and frowned. "What is it?"
"My bedroom is on the second floor."
He didn't say anything at first, the words vaguely grazing his lips as he tried to understand them. Then suddenly, his eyes went wide and he looked at me again. "You're kidding, right?"
Normally I would have gotten angry with him for questioning me in a moment of vulnerability, but I was too caught up in the possibilities to even care. "I wish I was."
"Jesus." Sam breathed, focusing on the road once more as he turned onto a different street. It was that one I saw when I was driving to his place. Filled with empty mansions and vacant driveways. There were For Sale signs up in most yards, a few appearing unfinished.
After a couple seconds, Sam suddenly pulled over.
I looked around. "What are you doing?"
He titled his head back and closed his eyes, worrying his lip the whole while. He must have been too stressed to drive right then, so I didn't say anything else. Whatever was weighing on him, he clearly needed a moment to collect himself so that he could bear it once more.
A twinge of guilt crept up my spine as I realized how much harder I was probably making everything on him when I was constantly being an asshole. But then I did my best to brush that feeling away, because he was an asshole too.
Finally, he released a long breath and said, "I don't know if that means they found a way up to your window, or into your house, or god knows what else. But I'm sorry. This is all my damn fault."
It threw me off to hear him own up to his mistakes so solemnly. The Sam that I knew never apologized, and he especially didn't apologize to me. "You said it yourself, they held you at gunpoint. What the hell were you supposed to do under that level of pressure?"
Sam opened his eyes, tilting his head toward me. He was quiet at first, studying me with an expression I couldn't really grasp. It was a look I saw on him a few times before, but it never made any sense to me. He continued to chew on his lip. "I've replayed that night over and over in my head, and I feel like there were so many things that I could have done differently. All of my friends, my family, and now even you have been dragged into something that can kill us. And it's all my fault."
"Don't get me wrong, I like being an asshole to you, but I'm going to be honest. Those guys are druggies. They're psycho but they're also adults. No one is at fault but them for forcing a minor into this twisted shit." With the bizarre nature of Sam confiding in me, that pesky feeling of guilt only grew more demanding.
During the last few days I was starting to see a side of Sam that confused me. He seemed to be far more caring than I previously thought him to be. Sure, I was always able to pick up on the protective energy he had when it came to those he held close, but it never occurred to me before that he could extend a similar hand in my direction.
"Sawyer, this whole thing is especially weird." He pointed out.
I quirked a brow. "Which part?"
He rolled his eyes. "The way they're tormenting you. It makes no sense. They didn't do this with Dennis, Brian, or Cade. So why do you? What do they plan on accomplishing? What about you is so intriguing to them?"
That only bothered me more, because it offered up the idea that they liked to mess with me more than everyone else. I was such an absurdly boring person that it made no sense at all. There wasn't anything to be gained from stalking me. It wasn't like I was someone Sam cared about.
"I don't know." I replied helplessly, because it was true.
Sam then looked down at his lap, brows drawn together as he tried to find the missing piece of the puzzle. The whole while, he continued to bite and pull at his lower lip. It was flushed and raw from the constant prodding, and I couldn't help but watch.
Finally, Sam's eyes widened slightly, as if he was realizing something. But at the same time, he sunk his canine tooth into his lip deeper than he must have intended, because a thin stream of blood began to drip down his chin.
"Sam, your lip." I tried to let him know.
It didn't seem like he quite understood what I was talking about, his eyes full of hidden words that would likely never be known by me. He must have been so used to the habit that he didn't even realize how far he managed to take it. I couldn't help but want to know how he developed it, and why it became such a prominent part of his life.
"There's blood." I gestured to where it was.
He startled, as if registering what I was saying for the first time and touching his fingertips to his lip. Thus the line of blood on his chin remained untouched.
Our eyes met, and something peculiar crossed my mind. I lifted my hand, using my thumb to gently wipe the remaining blood from his face. His skin was soft and warm, and my hand buzzed at the contact. He didn't pull away, and he didn't say anything either. My heart was in my throat, but it didn't make any sense. Sam often made me feel that way, but it was usually out of anger or frustration.
What was causing it right then?
I opened my mouth with the intention of breaking the silence, but no sound seemed to come out. So I closed it once more. Who knew why the hell it seemed to play out in such a weird way. But there I was, sat in Sam's car, just silently returning his fervent gaze. His hazel eyes were more complex than I ever really noticed before. They were blue and green and brown, all blended together by the haphazard nature of an impressionist brushstroke. He wasn't biting his lip any longer, but I could tell it was requiring a certain level of restraint not to.
It was during this that I just so happened to notice movement out of the corner of my eye.
I allowed myself to tear my gaze away long enough to see what it could have been. My blood ran cold the second that I looked into the rearview mirror. "Oh, shit."
As soon as he saw the panic on my face, Sam looked to see what it was as well. He was much quicker in reacting than I ever could have been, going to take the car out of park with speed I could hardly keep up with. Because in the mirror we could see a black van behind us.
Before he could get the car moving, the van was already making itself a home diagonally in front of us, blocking Sam from going forward. He switched the gears into reverse, ready to start backing up instead.
The van's window opened, revealing that same tall, bulky, and absolutely terrifying man from before. "Come on out, rich boy. We've got shit to discuss!" He yelled loud enough for us to hear with our windows rolled up.
Some other man jumped out of the back of the van, going to stand behind Sam's car with a sly smile. Unless Sam was willing to run that man over — which I seriously doubted given how self-righteous he seemed to be — we weren't going anywhere.
I was right, because Sam let out a frustrated sound as he turned the car off, clearly restraining himself from hitting the steering wheel.
"What do you plan on doing?" I desperately asked, wishing that he would just run over that man and book it home. What did a little bit of manslaughter hurt, anyway?
"I don't know." He admitted, making sure to not take his eyes off of the men as they got out of the van and went to stand in front of Sam's car. I could tell that they had full faith that Sam would comply.
"You can't seriously be considering going out there." I hoped that I was right, but I knew that I wasn't.
Sam didn't entertain the small amount of hope I had. "What else am I supposed to do? I can't run them over."
"Why not?"
"Sawyer." He sighed.
"They're probably going to beat the shit out of you." I did my best to try to talk some sense into him, even if I knew that he was right.
He pointed to the keys. "If something really bad happens, drive away if you have to. Just don't leave this car, okay?"
"You're fucking crazy." It was the only words I could get out of my throat as I just gaped at his lack of self-preservation. Sam was truly the dumbest person I ever met.
He ignored me. "Just don't leave the car."
With those fleeting words, he opened the door and I watched helplessly as he walked over to where those druggies were waiting menacingly. I just stared at them with wide eyes and suspense filling my chest. I felt like I couldn't blink or breathe, because I had no idea what they could possibly want next. What were they trying to achieve?
A sudden weight settled deeper in my stomach as I realized that Sam must have been keeping something more to himself. Because it seemed like those guys wanted something from him.
As I was trying to place together what it could have been in my mind, the sudden sound of the door clicking beside me caused my whole body to jump. The man who had been standing behind Sam's car was opening my door, and I bit back a scream as I grabbed the handle.
He was every bit as alarming as one would probably assume him to be. With greased back hair and tattoos visible on his face and hands. There was a small one just below his hairline, and I read it as I wrestled for control over the door. Who you looking at? it said. I felt sick.
He was stronger than I was, and it became increasingly apparent as he tugged sharply and overtook the progress I was slowly making. Just like that, I had to make a decision. So I quickly let go of the door and began to climb over to the driver's side. I didn't know what my plan was, but I was not going to let him go through with his plan without at least making it difficult on him.
With my ass in the driver's seat but my legs still trying to join the rest of me, he grabbed my ankles. I started to kick as hard as I could, using as much momentum as I could to kick him in the dick. He let go instantly, groaning as he cupped himself.
I didn't waste another second, trying to get situated in the seat enough to turn the car on. My thought process was that if he wasn't standing behind the car anymore, there was really nothing stopping me from backing out of there. But for the briefest of moments, I hesitated.
My eyes flitted to where I last saw Sam. I can't just leave him here.
All it took was that extra second of tentativeness for that crazed man to regain his composure with infinite more vexation. It quickly went from being something that he was told to do, to something that he wanted to do. He practically leapt into the seat beside me, grabbing my shirt and dragging me towards the open door.
I debated just doing whatever I could to get the sweatshirt off of me, since it was just plain black so I could replace it easily. He could have it if he wanted it that bad. But I didn't get the chance, because he was suddenly a million times stronger than he was before.
He managed to tug me all the way back into the passenger seat, where he wrapped his arms under my own. I reached behind me wildly, trying to pull his hair or scratch him or something. But it didn't take long for him to pull me out of the car and get an even better grip on me. It was about this point that I realized how royally I was screwed.
Some other man came towards to assist in getting me to where they wanted me, effectively restraining my limbs in the process. The next thing I knew, they hauled me over to where more commotion was unfolding. For the first time since the chaos first began, I was able to process what was going on with Sam.
His hair was disheveled, clothing in disarray. Several hands were gripping at his arms, keeping him from charging over to me and kicking the shit out of the men keeping me in place. There was a fresh red spot nestled on the corner of his jaw, making itself a home beside the chaotic purples already there.
"He has nothing to fucking do with this!" Sam seemed to lose his temper, screaming at the tall man who seemed to be some sort of leader through it all.
"Do you know what's at stake here?" He replied. He was bald with olive-skin, his face appearing aged and his eyes harsh. My guess was that he simply looked older than he was due to the lifestyle he lived. "Because sometimes it seems like you forget."
"Forget? You've got to be fucking kidding me." He was seething, his breathing ragged and his teeth gritted. I had seen Sam angry before, but nothing came close to that.
"You didn't pay up last week, how am I expected to trust you?" He spoke like a snake, voice drawling and deep and laced with poison. "I want to make it clear. Where's the money you owe?"
"I don't have it right now." Sam told him firmly. What money? Just like that, it was confirmed that Sam definitely didn't tell me everything, because he never mentioned owing them money.
"Oh, really?" The man then turned to me, and I felt my heart nearly stop under his impending gaze.
His strides were quick and sure as he approached me. He took the place of the men who previously kept me still, and I wasn't sure if I should fight against him or not. He was probably triple my size if I was counting muscle mass. If he wanted to, he could probably kill me easily.
My eyes met Sam's during that internal monologue, and I could tell by the worry in his expression that he didn't want me to risk myself. So I didn't protest as he forced me to walk a few feet in front of Sam. The man then grabbed a fistful of my hair, nestling his other forearm beneath my chin.
I winced as he tugged, my scalp certainly not happy with that outcome.
Sam tried to escape the people keeping him at bay, but it was all in vain. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm helping you understand what's at stake." He replied simply.
It was with those words that he made his next move. His arm tightened against my neck, pressing my windpipe closed. His hand pulled harder on my hair. It felt as though he would rip the follicles from my head. I opened my mouth with the intention of gasping in air, but nothing came through.
I tried my best to not panic, because I knew that it would only make me suffocate sooner. But my throat burned, and his grip continuously tightened. Pain erupted from all over, and I was acutely aware of the strands that couldn't bear his pull any longer. The feeling of them ripping from my skull was sharp and sudden.
No longer could I try to swallow down the terror, because specks of color began to dot around my vision like fireworks at my own funeral, and my head felt like it was going to burst. I needed air, because otherwise I was going to die. My hands met his arm, and I tried to dig my nails into his skin, to force him to at least allow the slightest bit of air to pass through my throat.
Vaguely, I could see Sam screaming something. I could tell by the vibrations echoing out from the man killing me that he was likely screaming something back. Sam was fighting harder than I had ever seen to try to get to me. But it didn't work, and I was pretty certain that I was going to die.
Darkness began closing in on my vision, like an old Polaroid with a vignette. I was about to pass out. I could feel the weakness in my limbs as the strength in my hands rapidly depleted.
Then suddenly, I was released.
My body collapsed to the ground as I clutched my throat, choking in air so fast that it almost hurt more. I coughed, and it felt like my throat had been burned. The darkness faded from my vision, but the specks of light didn't for a long time. It was like the asthma attacks I used to get, and I could feel my asthma flaring up for the first time in years as I desperately tried to breathe.
"Do you understand now?" The man's voice was satisfied.
"I understand." Sam's voice was hoarse, and I lifted my eyes to see if he was alright. Blood dripped from a cut near his eye, and his chin was covered in even more of it from his raw lips. "Let me go."
"If you can't pay up next time, I'll do much worse." As he went to leave, he grabbed my hair for just a second. Smirking at Sam, he let go and left for the van. The people holding Sam began to leave as well.
Instantly, he ran to me, kneeling down beside me and placing a careful hand on my shoulder as it continued to shake. Neither of us said anything, just listening as the sound of the van faded away as they drove down the street, and I did my best to catch my breath.
I nearly lost my life, and it was a sense of dread that I never could have understood before.
But I could tell that it passed between the both of us, weighing on our limbs like chains. Our lives were becoming merged, both by our time spent together, as well as the trauma we faced.
What was going to come next?
Would one of us actually die?
•O•O•