momma please don't cry, i will be alright | trevor philips

Chapter VIII

You Don't Own Me - Lesley Gore

Could things possibly get more awkward?

     Michael directed us towards his dining room, where lots of plates were and lots of delicious-looking food. Spaghetti, pizza, lasagna, ravioli noodles, and some tiramisu. There was wine in the fanciest looking bottles ever. It glistened in the light.

     "This is all for you guys to eat! Dig in," Michael smiled, sitting down at one of the chairs. Charli came up behind me and patted my shoulder, gesturing for me to sit down. Again, extremely odd. But I sat myself down gracefully, Trevor followed.

     "This looks amazing," I told everyone. "Oh, it is," Charli agreed. She sat down between me and Michael.

     "Jason, could you pour us all some wine?" Michael asked. In came a man dressed in all black. His suit looked more expensive than anything I've ever seen. He popped open the wine and poured it into everyone's glass. I eyed Trevor before taking a sip. It was just normal red wine. Nothing weird. Hopefully.

     The gun against my stomach felt annoying and I so badly wanted to move it in a different spot but I couldn't risk anyone noticing.

     "So, Bella. When did you meet Trevor?" Charli asked with a mouth full of spaghetti. Her dark eyeshadow made her so much more suspicious and mysterious.

     "Uh"—Trevor and I made eye contact—"we ran into each other at a hotel." It was kind of a weird answer. "A hotel?" Charli peaked at Michael, then back to me. "That's different."

     I nodded slowly, taking a bite out of the lasagna.

     "And Trevor, what did you find so interesting about Miss Bella?" I saw her eyes find the ring around my finger. I gulped, feeling a bit of anger. What was with all of these odd questions?

     "I-I don't know, she just... caught my eye," he spoke. Charli nodded, smiling. Michael watched all of us eat. The pizza on his plate had not been eaten.

     "Aren't you going to eat, Mikey?" Charli put her hand on his, he almost hesitated when she did it. I thought Michael was married... and not to this girl. And I thought he had kids. Where are his kids?

     "The wine is filling," he shrugged. She frowned a fake-looking frown. "Alright," she mumbled.

     "Where's Amanda?" Trevor asked. Michael's face went white. He tried playing it off, though. "She's running late," he obviously lied.

     "Jimmy? Tracey?" Trevor again asked Michael. Those must've been his kids. Amanda must be his wife. Michael's expressions were so strange. It's like he didn't want to tell us the truth, he's lying.

     "They're out. Having fun, I guess. That's what they're supposed to do, right?" His lips curled up and I knew just what happened to Amanda, Jimmy, and Tracey.

     "You've got a bathroom?" I changed the subject. "Yeah, it's upstairs. The room next to Jimmy's room," Michael informed. I smiled and thanked him. I stood up from the table and found the stairs to the second floor.

     I found two bedrooms, one almost like mine. It looked like a teen's bedroom, a bit girly but also mature. I poked my head in and it was empty. Must be Tracey's bedroom. I knew it wasn't a good idea, but I stepped in and explored. There was a red, lacy dress on her bed.

     Everything seemed fairly normal except the... the smell. Oh, God. It was horrible. It smelled almost rotten. There wasn't any food laying around. I checked under the bed, nothing. I checked under the sheets, nothing. I turned to the closet and slowly and quietly opened one of the doors.