Power

Chapter 5

I would be lying if I say I don't feel nervous getting into Eli's car this morning. He evades a silent ride by talking about some of the popular attractions in a nearby college town I supposedly have to visit because it is "like, totally sick." I nod at the appropriate places, doing my best to appear attentive, but all I can think about is the dream. There has to be a deeper meaning to it, why else would Charger be the one saving me? That thought troubles me the whole drive, and when we pull up, I thank Eli before abandoning him in the parking lot.

It's cold outside, and I pull my jacket close as I take the steps up to the double doors two at a time. There is an inexplicable buzz running through me, one that is both exciting and worrying as I make my way through the halls.

When I arrive at my locker, the girl who had been putting books into the one next to mine literally jumps back, leaving hers wide open as she stands a few feet away. I stare, dumbfounded.

"You can keep putting your stuff away you know. It's not like I'm going to do anything," I say. She just shakes her head, standing there and watching me with a slightly terrified expression. I take out my books as quickly as possible before heading to class, not wanting to be anymore of a disturbance to her.

Back in Connecticut, I was never one to be feared, not even in the slightest. I have a very unassuming figure, one of the many reasons I tend to stay away from all fighting in general, and gave up on the notion of contact sports at a young age. The thought of purposely causing another human pain has never appealed to me, so the idea of anyone fearing me is ridiculous.

Yet, as I walk down the crowded hall, I am surrounded by what seemed to be an impenetrable invisible bubble. People shy away from me, moving to the side as I pass, whispering to their friends while I keep my eyes trained on the ground, embarrassed by the sudden attention.

Which is why I am close to the wall, trying to be as out of the way as possible, when the door ahead of me suddenly flies open. A hand claps over my mouth, muffling my scream as another wraps around my waist and starts pulling me in. I throw an elbow back in a desperate attempt to fend off the person, but only hit air. As hard as I fight, I am easily subdued, practically getting lifted inside. The door slams shut, the entire episode having taken place in only a matter seconds.

I quickly scan my surrounds, expecting the secret hideout of a crazed serial killers with crossed out faces of victims on the wall, but am instead greeted with the sights of a regular janitor's closet. I stop struggling, realizing my efforts are futile. There is no way I can overpower the muscular arms entrapping me.

The only source of light is a flicking bare lightbulb casting a dim shadow of white light across the room. The strong smell of cleaning chemicals mixes with the musky aftershave of my kidnapper, who is holding me uncomfortably close. Aside from the slight mumblings and occasional laughter emanating through the wall, the only audible sounds are my hushed breathing against the hand and the buzz of the dying light above.

The arms, whom I assume are a guy's since they are so burly, hold me tightly, one around my abdomen and the other still covering my mouth. His chest is pushed up against my back, and I can feel his every inhale and exhale, quick and hushed. We stand still for a few seconds, each moment feeling like an eternity. I focus on my breathing, trying to calm myself down as my mind whirls in panic. In horror movies, it is always those who make rash decisions that get killed, and I am determined not to end up like one of them.

Even through my hysteria, my mind somehow drifts to its seemingly favorite subject. The strong grip reminds me of when Charger found me after I had tried (and failed at) running away from him Friday night. He had kept a hand over my face to keep me from screaming...