Forever Saved By You

Chapter Four: Trent

        AS OF AUGUST 18, 2014, THIS STORY IS UNDER HEAVY CONSTRUCTION AND WILL BE UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 

          READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. THIS STORY IS UNDER HEAVY CONSTRUCTION AS OF AUGUST 18, 2014. 

        For more details, make you sure you read the description of this story if you haven't already. (: 

        -PLEASE MAKE SURE TO READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE (A/N) AT THE END. IT WILL TELL YOU WHETHER THE CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITED AT ALL OR NOT. 

        Enjoy! :* (: 

/////////////////////////////////////////

(Alicia's P.O.V.)

        I don’t have to say anything. By the look on Caden's face, he knows; he, too, recognizes our neighbor’s belongings. He gives me a sympathetic look, knowing how my best friend is when I get hurt, as I trudge up the stairs. I take my time climbing, taking in my big house.

       There are four bedrooms and three and a half bathrooms in total. There’s the master bedroom, which is downstairs occuppied by my mother (and my dad whenever he's home, which is never), and then Caden’s room -- his "Man Hole," as he refers to it -- my room, and a guest bedroom are upstairs. 

        As for the bathrooms, downstairs, attached to the master bedroom, is, onviously, the master bathroom; the half bathroom is also downstairs, containing only a toilet. Upstairs, there's a bathroom attached to one of the bedrooms -- mine, thank God -- and another that's attached to the hallway. That's pretty much Caden's, since he's the only one who uses it, but sometimes if we have overnight guests, they use it as well rather than go all the way downstairs in the middle of the night just to pee.

        I continue to stall, wondering off in my own little world as I look at all the pictures lining the stairs and upstairs hallway, because I really don't want to face my best friend since forever, not like this: bloody, bruised, and limping. As I stop at a particular photo of my best friend and I before homcoming our sophomore year, I'm only reminded of what I'm about to face: My best friend, Trent Carrington, who can make men three times as large and twice and strong cry and beg for mercy.

        At the time of the photo, he was only six-feet, one-inch tall; now, he's six-foot-five. Thinking back to what happened that night, and the damage that Trent caused to my date while he was that size, I grimace at what he could do now that he was four inches taller, twice as large, and three times as strong. For one, he would flip -- I know that for sure. If I said he will be angry, that’d be an understatement.

        In truth, he will be nine miles past furious.

     If you can imagine how pissed a dad gets when he finds out his teenage daughter has been getting abused and sexually assaulted by her boyfriend for the last few years, and multiply that anger by one hundred, then you have a tenth of the anger my best friend feels when I get hurt.  He is just as protective of me as Caden, if not more; and with that thought, my mind wanders to a time before freshman year when that was proven.. 

        (Flashback -- August 2011) 

        "So what is it you have to tell me?" Ian, my boyfriend of seven month, asks softly, brushing some hair out of my face -- like it was the most natural thing in the world -- that the wind had blown out of the bobby pin that my too-long bangs were pulled back with. 

        "Well, um...your friends, Luke and Darren. They, uh...kinda...grabbed me," I tell him, starting to shaking a little at the memory.