I debate replying. I might have sent him away last night but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t do with someone to talk to right now. But I don’t get a chance to make a final decision because another message comes through, one from a number that fills the blood in my veins with ice.
Unknown: You can run but you can’t hide…
A picture message follows, I stare down at a picture of me looking at my cell, much like I am now.
My head flies up in the direction he must have been in to take that picture, but there’s no one to be seen.
“Fuck,” I hiss to myself.
I make a snap decision.
Poppy: Are you still in the cafeteria? I’m done now.
Harley replies immediately to say they are, and I throw my bag over my shoulder and head out.
Safety in numbers and all that. Maybe hiding was the stupidest thing to do.
I spend the rest of the day looking over my shoulder, waiting for him to jump out of the shadows. But he never does.
Part of me is relieved. But the other part knows that he’s just waiting for the right time and I wonder if it would be better to just get it over with.
But it seems he’s not in any rush to continue what he started like he warned because the rest of the afternoon and the next day passes with nothing. Even his irritating messages stop.
As the hours pass, I become more and more jumpy, to the point I piss myself off.
When a note arrives for me not long before the end of my last lesson of the day from Miss French to remind me that I should be in a guidance counselor meeting, I don’t think anything of it.
I can’t deny that I’ve been avoiding having to sit down with her, and I’ve missed more than one appointment with my need to put off having to even consider any serious decisions about my future. I was hoping with application season in full swing that she’d have her hands full with the seniors and leave me alone for a little while to shove my head farther in the sand.
Sadly, it seems that’s not the case.
I pack up my stuff and my teacher barely even looks up when I show him the note. With a sigh, I walk out of his classroom. No one else even spares me a second glance, they’re either too busy with what they should be doing or lost in their own conversations with the people surrounding them while our teacher pretends to ignore them. Idiots.
Miss French’s office is only a short walk and everyone else is in class, so I don’t think to look over my shoulder as I make my way down the hallway. That is until a door opens behind me and a very familiar hand clamps over my mouth and an arm wraps around my waist.
I’m too shocked to scream, not that it would do any good. But seconds before I’m dragged backward into the storage closet, I manage to make use of my legs and start kicking in the hope of making contact and forcing him to let go of me before it’s too late.
“Fucking bitch,” he grunts as my heel connects with his shin. But it’s not enough because the walls close in on me before the door closes and I find myself thrown up against the metal shelves that line the walls.
Pain shoots down my spine from where it connects with one of the edges before I fall to the floor.
A loud click sounds out in the silent space and my body begins to tremble.
There’s only a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling that lets out a dim light, but it’s enough to make a shadow fall over me when he stands above me.
“What do you want?” I snap, digging deep and finding some strength to fight him when all I really want to do is curl up in a ball and cry that I allowed him to get to me so easily.
“What do I want? I think we both know the answer to that question, don’t we, Poore.”
“It’s not going to work. Whatever you do to me isn’t going to make Jake give you his team.”
“Maybe not, but I may as well have some fun trying.”
“Fun? You think this is fun?”
“Oh, Poppy. You’re the most fun I’ve had in a long, long time.”
He crouches down before me, his cold eyes drilling into mine.
“Y-you don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself right now.”
He smiles at me. It’s so sinister and terrifying that it makes my stomach drop into the tips of my toes.
He’s going to fucking kill me in here if I give him half a chance.
“What are you going to do to me?” I ask, my voice weaker than I’d like.
“We’re going to play. Do you like to play games, Pops?”
“With you? No.”
“Well,” he says, reaching out and wrapping his hot fingers around my throat, lifting me from the floor as if I weigh nothing more than a feather. My back once again collides with the shelving and my head bounces off one, causing me to shut my eyes for a beat. “That’s a real shame, because I really want to play with you. And do you know what? You’re going to really enjoy it.”
“No,” I spit.
“Ah, but you forget. I remember how wet you were for me last time. How much you wanted me to get you off, how you craved my touch.”
“Never,” I hiss.
My arm flies up to hit him, but he’s quicker, and I find myself trapped in his hold.
“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. It’s really your choice.”
“I’m not playing your fucking games.”
“Hard way it is then.” My front is slammed against the wall, my cheekbone smarting from where it connects as he binds my hands with tape behind my back.
“Better. I’m not really into scratchers. I prefer to be the one dishing out the pain.”
I tug at the restraints testing how tight they are but without a hell of a lot more force, I’m not getting out of them anytime soon. “You can’t hurt me, Preston. You’re nothing to me.”
“You sure about that?” Before he’s even finished the words, the back of his hand forces my head to snap to the side. My eyes fill with tears as my already painful cheek burns with his slap.
“Fuck you. Do what you want to me. I’ll make sure you never get your way. Jake will never let you have his team.”
I’m spun around, my back once again against the wall as his hand squeezes my throat so hard it becomes harder and harder to suck in air to breathe, white spots start swimming in my eyes.
“I’m going to ruin you until he has no choice but to give me what I want if he wants you breathing,” he snarls in my face, his teeth bared and spittle flying from his mouth with his anger.
I tilt my chin up in defiance, not willing to show him the fear that is wrecking my insides.
Everyone is in class right now. I could scream but really no one will hear me, it would be pointless to even waste the energy trying.
“Go on then. Break me,” I hiss at him.
His eyes darken with his desire before his fingers reach for the waistband on my pants.
My stomach turns knowing that there’s a very good chance he could succeed this time.
I look around for something to help, for a weapon but with my arms bound behind me, I have no chance of grabbing anything.
The fabric parts and he’s just about to push his fingers inside the fabric when the door rattles and the handle moves.
My heart jumps into my throat as Preston’s eyes meet mine.