This is Me Trying ⭑ Rafe Cameron

twenty two

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
[21]
song: cherry by lana del rey

Cassie thought it best not to make any further eye contact with the gunmen that sat in the back of the truck with her. But there were also moments where she thought maybe provoking them would be the better choice. Sitting here, helpless, was only delaying the inevitable. If they were to just shoot her here, it'd probably be quicker and less painless than whatever Ward had planned.

The truck moved fast, and with little care to the fact that Cassie was injured. Every bump they hit, she was reminded of the little shards of glass the remained in her back.

When it came to a slow, Cassie was hesitant to look up and see who was approaching the truck. "Alright, let them in." He spoke, as Cassie kept her eyes on the police dog sniffing the perimeters of the car she sat in.

She heard the squeak of a gate opening, and reflexively her eyes lifted to see where it was she was being taken. Ahead of her, down a primly trimmed field, sat a large house, separated from the rest of the public by tall walls, and armed guards.

Cassie looked at one of the gunmen who waved the truck through the gate, hoping he'd realize she was just a teenager. That something was really wrong here, that they'd made a mistake. He was only a few years older than her, yet there was no sign of humanity in his eyes, as the truck took Cassie closer and closer to what was assumedly her demise.

"Come on." Someone ordered, their hand out for Cassie's arm after they opened up the back truck door.

She hadn't even realized they'd stopped and gotten out, too busy looking up and around at the mansion in front of her. Enclosed with more gates, and shrubbery, she had an inkling that not many people knew what went on within these walls. It felt as if there was a man with a big gun and a bullet proof vest every five feet. All standing there, lifeless and stoic, all ready to do their job if someone acted out of pocket.

A man latched onto her arm, and after unhooking her cuff from the truck, he dragged her out until she was on her feet. It's be stupid of her to think that this was her chance to run. Not with the mile long strip of gunmen that patrolled the field they just drove through. She'd do whatever they'd say, or she'd be killed.

She thought maybe her time in the truck was enough to let her collect herself, to gather her thoughts and get all of her worries out of the way. She'd be calm, and ready for whatever was thrown at her. But when the man pulled her up to the front of the house, her preconceived notions on what exactly she was about to face felt less and less likely.

She looked at the man who held her arm as he took her to the front porch, a last attempt at reaching anyone's sense of right and wrong before the door swung open in front of her.

She jumped, not yet at all prepared to face Ward, but she relaxed when it was just a woman, dressed in a black maid's dress with a white apron, her hair pulled back in a tight bun.

Cassie was shoved inside, and she felt the woman's eyes glue to her as she looked around.

Inside smelled of burning incense. Old, creaking wooden floors that were freshly polished to match the perfection of the rest of the house. Antique, extravagant lighting structures, hand-painted wallpapers. Tropical plants sat in every corner, and on every table, were glass-enclosed artifacts that one would typically find at a museum.