Tronnor : Hostage

Chapter 18.

13th October 2016

8:00am

Troye's POV

Flashback.

We had been together for over a month.

Although people were oblivious to our relationship, I felt that the passion between us grew every day, my heart now pounding a little more when I saw his face, or touched his smooth olive skin. He on the other hand seemed confident from day one, his lust for my scrawny little body baffling me, as he pulled me onto his desk, kissing me most mornings.

The bell had just rung for the end of the day, and I was situated in the middle of a crowd, a wave of younger people excited for the bus journey home, or the period of the day we could call free time. My hand was loosely hanging onto my locker, as I fought past the freshmen, and I had begun to take out my English books, boldly holding a large textbook up to my chest.

It was a secret way I could see him, the only way that would go unnoticed.

As I walked the wrong way, up through the school corridors, I would often get spotted, stopped, by Mr Brown, my science teacher, and questioned about my whereabouts.

He would most commonly ask me why I was aimlessly roaming the hallway, when it was much too sunny outside, and school was clearly over.

To put an end to his constant moaning, I used the book as my defence mechanism, a story I could quite easily tell if I was confronted. If I had a reason to drop it off in a classroom, they wouldn't question me, and my plan would be successful, leading me to the place I really wanted to go to.
I was going to surprise him today.

I had told him at lunchtime about my activities tonight, and as much as he didn't seem disheartened, he seemed annoyed that he was not involved. So I had cancelled my singing lesson, and I was now stood outside of his door.

I was of course in the English block, a very quiet and refined place, only one hall down from the library. I loved the blue painted walls, and the three classrooms all lined next to each other in a tight row. His was the third door, and I could feel my heart pounding, just as it always was when I laid my fingers on the handle.

I was about to let myself in, when my hearing became sensitive to a muffled shouting noise and the slam of something hard on the wooden desk.

I stepped forward slightly, and pressed my ear to the door frame, desperately trying to catch the conversation.

From what I could decipher, there were two voices. One was of course him, and the other sounded like a student, their voice still weak and cracking like a pre pubescent teen.

"I've told you once and I will tell you again. You are going to sell these tonight, and bring me the money like a good little boy!" I could hear what was happening, and of course I was confused.

What were they selling?

"Maybe I don't want to deal for you anymore, maybe I want out! You're a fucking psycho!" I heard the boy scream, and my heart suddenly dropped.

What was he dealing for my boyfriend, and why was he calling him crazy?

"Do you want me to teach you a lesson? Do you want me to tell you what really happened to Sam? Your stupid little accomplice?" I could hear him shouting at this kid, and I could feel my hands shaking. I had never heard this side of him before, and I was suddenly terrified of my English teacher, the man I was slowly falling in love with.

"YOU KILLED HIM DIDN'T YOU, IT WAS YOU WASN'T IT?" My hand flew to my mouth and I stumbled backwards, falling into the wall.

"Maybe he wasn't the one holding you back, maybe I should have killed you instead you ungrateful little-"

I could hear whines and yelps, and I stood there helpless, now desperately trying to cover my ears as this dangerous hitting fest took over the English corridor. This wasn't like my man, this wasn't like the person I saw every day, the one who would buy me pretty things.

This was a monster!

"You have one more chance, and then it's game over, got it?" I heard one final bellow, and I let out a shaky sigh of relief, as I could no longer hear the punching of someone's flesh, or feel this poor boy's agony as he called for mercy.

I gulped down the panic in my throat, and slid quickly behind the back wall, just peeking from the corner, to see who would emerge from the classroom.

I saw the door open slightly, and I stayed dead silent, my book cradled tightly to my chest in an act of protection.

There walking in front of me, not noticing my frail and scrawny figure, was the one person I didn't think I would ever see. The one person, who stayed at the top end of the high school food chain, was battered and bruised, his red and blotchy face now showing tear streaks as he stumbled away.

It was my one and only bully in this school.

Kian Lawley.