Rescue | Tronnor

Chapter Three

TROYE

I walk inside the house. At first glance, it looks like a simple rich man's mansion. But then I glance down the hallways on either side of the living room, and all I see are walls lined with bedrooms. It's easy enough to guess what goes on in those.

Cobra spreads his hands. "Make yourself at home."

I wander around the living room for a bit. Then I remember that I'm still sopping wet.

"Umm, could I get a change of clothes?" I ask timidly.

"Sure!" Cobra sounds way too cheery, given the circumstances.

He leads me upstairs, where the "private bedrooms" are.

He opens a door and I step inside.

I look around. A bed covered with a red comforter and feather pillows. A bed. A dresser. A closet. A private bathroom. A desk. Simple.

I look back, and Cobra is gone.

I sigh inwardly and open the dresser. I change into sweatpants and a jumper. Lost in a daze, I wander around the room for an hour? Two hours? I don't even notice when--

"Hey."

I whip around. A girl is leaning against the doorframe. Her blonde hair is streaked with black. Her eyes are lined heavily with eyeliner, and her nose has a ring piercing.

"Hi..." I stutter.

She reaches out a hand. "I'm Kristie, but call me Kris."

"I'm Troye with an 'e'."

She smirks. "Okay, 'Troye with an 'e''. Want a smoke?"

"Thanks, but I, uh, I don't smoke."

Kris raises an eyebrow. "Trust me, you will after this line of work. Come on."

Reluctantly, I follow her. She stops at a door marked "Lounge". "No one ever comes in here," she says, opening the door.

The "Lounge" is a small room lined with couches and centered with a coffee table. A large window lies directly across from the door. The windowsill is lined with throw pillows.

"Nice," I say. "I might come here more often."

Kris chuckles and plops herself down on the windowsill, propping it open slightly. I sit on the sofa nearest to the window.

"Here," she tosses me a cigarette as she lights one of her own.

She hands me the lighter. I flick it open and hold the flame over the end of my cigarette until the paper transforms into a glowing ember. I hand the lighter back to Kris and hold the cigarette to my lips uncertainly.

Kris takes a drag and watches me.

I inhale. The overwhelming taste and smell of burning tobacco fill my lungs. I can't breathe.

I cough, bending over. Once the coughing fit stops, I look up. Kris is watching me still, her expression unchanged. "You'll get used to it," she says.

She looks out the window, blowing a steady stream of smoke into the air. "So, what's your story?"

"My story?" I try another drag. It burns my throat a bit, but it's not as bad.

"How'd you get so desperate that you trusted Cobra?"

"Well, I came out to my parents a few days ago, and they kicked me out. Cobra found me, and now I'm here." I look at her eyes, which, I note, are different shades of blue. The left one is green-blue, the other is purple-blue. "What's your story?" I say.

"Umm, I--"

Kris is cut off by Cobra bursting in. "Troye, you have a customer."