Captive

Bonnie Mills has what every other sixteen year old girl has at some point: a crush. But she soon realizes that this boy isn't exactly the clean cut gentleman everyone dreams of. He may even be putting her in danger.

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1. A Boy and a Bottle

I was sixteen when the trouble started. I was sixteen when we met. I was sixteen when I first saw Trevor Dawson. I would love to lie to you and tell you sparks flew. I would love to explain how "my gaze met his chocolate eyes and something just clicked inside me". That would be a lie. I knew I shouldn't have wasted time with that boy the moment I saw him.

Obviously I did it anyway.

Was it because of my "burning love" for him? A "glimmer of potential in his mysterious eyes"? No. He had nice hair, so I gave him my number. It's easy for me to think in retrospect of the day we met and point out all the things I should have- could have- done. But I simply didn't know any better.

***

I realized I was in trouble about a month after Trevor and I met.

It was Wednesday afternoon, and homework was the first thing on my agenda. Precal. There was a small treehouse in our backyard that I typically did my studying in, but it was raining, and the weather had forced me inside for the day.

A few minutes into my studying, my phone rang. Trevor. I wasn't finished, but I was grateful for the distraction. I did something stupid; I answered it.

"Hey."

"Hi," he responded. "Where are you?" I began to reply, but hesitated. His words were slow, slurred. And as much as I wanted to, I wasn't about to brush that observation aside.

"Are you drunk?" I didn't need to ask, but I preferred he admit it to me himself.

"And a little high." I sighed and found myself pursing my lips. The honesty was good; the intoxication was not. "Where are you?" he repeated.

"Home," I admitted. I would have left it at that, but something told me to press him for more. "Why?"

"I'm coming to get you."

"No!" I shouted it a little bit louder than necessary. "You're drunk. I don't want you driving."

"I'm driving right now, Bon," he slurred, his voice dragging out my name. "I'm just asking whether or not you want me to drop by." There was a pause.

"Trevor? What are you doing?"

"Parking. In your driveway. Open the door." My heartbeat suddenly found its way into my throat. Trevor. In my house. Drunk. And on drugs. Countless worst-case-scenarios played inside my head. And yet, I found my feet moving towards the door to let him in. "Finally," he murmured, pushing his way past me into the house. He didn't sway while walking, as I much expected him to, but I could tell he wasn't sober. I shut and locked the door quickly. I didn't know if anyone was with him, but I sure as hell wasn't going to leave the door open and find out. I turned and found Trevor standing dangerously close to me, examining me with bloodshot eyes. "Happy to see me?" he breathed, stepping closer. I could smell the alcohol and smoke quite well already, but the smell was growing stronger as he closed the space between us. My heart was pounding loudly, of course. I couldn't tell if it was being so close to Trevor that excited me or the risk of the whole situation, but I strangely found myself enjoying it.

"I'm always happy to see you," I admitted. "But I don't like the fact that your drunk. And high. In my house."

"Why?" he snorted. He leaned in closer until his alcohol-laced breath was tickling my nose. "I'm more fun when I'm high." He moved forward until his body was pressing me back against the door and held me in place with his hands. There was really nothing to feel. He wasn't hard, and there definitely was no glorious six-pack hiding beneath his t-shirt. All I could feel was body heat, a slow heartbeat, and his black, shoulder-length hair falling into my face. His hips began to grind and a warmth began to spread from my center.

"Stop it," I ordered. I pushed his body away and began walking past him into the house, but he caught me by the arm. He yanked me back and held my face in place as a rushed, hard kiss was placed on my lips. I was excited, but it wasn't at all what I wanted. Not that way. I pulled away.

"What's wrong with you?" he yelled. He pushed me away from him, knocking me into the wall behind me.

"What's wrong with me is that you're in my house high. What if my parents come home?"

"If you're really worried about that, then why the hell did you open the door?" he shot back. I kept silent. He had a point, but I wasn't about to admit it. "You're always talking at school about how we need to hang out more, so what gives?"

"I just have homework to do," I lied weakly. He scoffed.

"Whatever." His eyes were studying me from top to bottom. "I'll see you at school, I guess." He turned and walked back to the door.

"It's just because it was so sudden," I said as he opened the door. "If I had time to come up with some excuse for my parents, I'd hang out with you. Just not here." Pause. "And I'd drive," I added quickly. Trevor stood frozen in the open door, thinking, apparently.

"Come to my house Friday after school," he said, walking out. I shut and locked the door behind him, sighing. I stood frozen in front of the door for a while, replaying the scene over and over again in my head. I let him inside. I actually let him inside. And agreed to go Lord-knows-where with him Friday. I walked back to my former spot on the living room couch and stared blankly at the homework in front of me. The sound of falling rain outside had gone from soothing to annoying. I closed the book and shut my eyes for a few moments of less-than-sweet dreaming.

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