ROUGH DRAFT of Loser || WlW

Twenty-Five

I'm curled up in bed, the light hum of my ceiling fan lulling me to sleep when someone knocks at the front door. I glance at my alarm clock. Midnight. Another light knock.

I push myself out of bed, slide a sweatshirt on, and shuffle down the hall toward the front of the house. I'm mid-yawn when I realize the front door is wide open, letting the icy air penetrate the living room. I scan the darkness and rub my eyes. Another step forward sends a chill down my spine. This isn't right. My dad would never leave the door unlocked, let alone wide open. I take a step onto the porch and glance out at the street, behind my dad's car, the neighbor's rose bushes. Something clicks behind me.

I spin on my heel and catch the end of a handgun pointed at my forehead. Trevor cocks his jaw out and motions for me to walk toward the street.

"Trevor?" My voice shakes.

"Make a noise and I'll blow your brains out." His words are slurred. "Move."

Trevor's still aiming the gun at my head, even after we're in his truck and he's driving down the road. The floor is littered with crumpled beer cans.

"Where are you taking me?" I try to keep my words firm but my voice is shaking harder than my hands.

"Shut up!" Trevor pounds his fist into the steering wheel.

My eyes dart between street signs, trying to guess where we're going as we pass each road. His house is in the opposite direction. We pass the police station on the right. Where did he get the gun? I swallow hard. I should have grabbed my phone on my way out.

I don't say another word. Not until he screeches to a stop in an abandoned parking lot and hops out of the truck. If I slip out the driver's side while he's distracted I might be able to make a run for it.

Trevor rips the door open, slams the gun against the frame, and pulls me to the ground.

My ankle cracks as I hit the pavement wrong. "Jesus, Trevor. Chill."

He grabs a handful of my hair and pushes me toward the darkest corner of the lot.

I scan the edge of the road. If I can make it across the street and past the first line of trees, I might be able to get away. No, I'll never make it. I'm already the biggest klutz I know and add my wonky ankle on top of it? He'd shoot me before I got two steps in.

I'm still sorting through my plan when something strikes me in the back of the head.

A throaty cry escapes my lips as my knees buckle under me. Fire explodes in my skull as thick, hot liquid drips down my forehead. I roll over on my back and block my face as Trevor takes a long step toward me.

"I know you killed my girl." He grabs the collar of my shirt and pulls me to my feet.

The ground sways. My vision is fuzzy around the edges.

"Trevor, you're insane." My stomach is turning. "Why would I kill Claire? I had nothing to gain from her death."

His lip quivers.

"Look, man. Let's just talk this out." I can't believe I'm begging Trevor for anything.

He releases the collar of my shirt and for a moment his eyes go soft. My heartbeat slows but he winds back and throws his fist into my jaw.

I stumble back, clutching my face. My cheekbone is hot and puffy. It aches as I hold my trembling fingers above it. He's going to kill me.

Time to fight back. I stand up straight, clench my fists by my side, and open my mouth to say something when he grabs my shirt again.