My boyfriend was a pretty vanilla guy. He grew up in a normal home with a normal family, naturally turning him into a fairly normal guy. He worked in HR for a real estate agency down the street from our apartment, where I spent my hours painting and studying art. We were both college students, as well. He led a busy life; mine was a bit slower paced. It was a regular life; one I was satisfied with.
I could picture our future. We would get married someday, have a few kids, and settle down on the outskirts of the city. I would be lying if I said I hadn't occasionally pictured a more exciting life; one full of twists and turns and unexpected adventures. But I couldn't complain. Patrick was a great boyfriend. He worked hard to bring home a good paycheck. He was gentle and kind and supportive.
It was seven at night, and I sat at the kitchen table, eating dinner alone. I was used to spending time on my own. Patrick took evening classes after work, leaving me to my own devices for dinner most nights.
I heard the front door open and slam shut, and I jumped at the sudden noise. "Patrick?" I asked cautiously. He was home early.
Something felt off. There was no answer when I called out his name again, just shuffling noises from the foyer. I swallowed hard and poked my head around the corner.
"Who the fuck are you?!" I screeched. In front of me stood a middle-aged man in dirty old clothes and filthy looking work boots. He looked disheveled, and completely crazed. His eyes screamed 'psychopath' and my heart dropped as I took in the sight before me.
"Well, hellooo, beautiful," he purred. He was completely unbothered by the fact that I had grabbed the vase sitting on the nearest flat surface and held it in the air defensively. I was ready to swing. He didn't care.
"Who are you?!" My voice was shaky and weak, though I tried to force it out from the back of my throat.
He smiled a toothy grin at me. "Name's Trevor, sweetheart. What's yours?"
I held out the glass vase in front of me, warning him not to come any closer. I tried to look as menacing as possible. At 5'1'' and 120 pounds, that wasn't easy. "Get out!" I shrieked.
He chuckled to himself and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "I can't do that," he mused. "See, your boyfriend owes me money. A lot of it, actually."
"W-what? For what?"
"Ohhh," he exhaled slowly. For just having broken into someone's home, this man was way too calm. "You don't know. Your boyfriend's got a little problem with the crystal. I take it you haven't found his meth pipe yet. Sorry to be the one to tell ya."
My heart stopped. There was no way Patrick would have gotten involved with drugs. I couldn't believe it; my mind wouldn't let me. "Bullshit," I retorted, trying to push back my fear of this man.
"Look, gorgeous," he sighed, "I don't have time to argue with ya. I'm gonna need the money he owes me or I'm gonna have to take drastic measures." What the fuck did that mean? Would he kill Patrick? Would he kill me? If he was planning to rob me, he would leave empty-handed. I didn't have so much as a five dollar bill on me.
"I don't have any money," I told him softly, my eyes suddenly welling up with tears. This was it. This would surely be the death of me.
"Well then, let's go." He lurched forward and grabbed my arm tightly. I instinctively tried to pull away from him, but his grip was too tight. Where was he going to take me? What was he going to do to me?
"No! Let go of me!" I dug my heels into the ground and fought against his grip. In one quick motion, he lifted me off the ground and tossed me over his shoulder. The upper half of my body hung limply against him, and I let out a strangled yell as I slammed my fists into his back.
He let out a low growl and swung me back over his shoulder, planting me firmly on the ground in front of him. I stared at the floor by his boots, not wanting to look him in the eye. I was sure this was the moment he would kill me.
"Fucking look at me!" His voice had become serious, and he thundered over me as he spoke again. "You listen to me. You're going to get in my truck and you're going to shut the hell up and do what I say! Unless, of course, you want to see your boyfriend in a shallow grave."
Tears spilled out onto my cheeks, and I stared past him at the photos on the wall. Patrick and I looked so happy in them. And now I was going to die for the mistakes that my boyfriend had made. Why hadn't he told me about this? He had never kept things from me before.
"Hey!" Trevor barked. "Quit spacin' out! Do you understand me?!" I stared back down at my feet and nodded silently. "I said, do you understand me?" He was growing angrier with me by the second.
"Yes," I whimpered. He reached for my arm again, and I allowed him to lead me out the front door and to the parking lot. I stared at my own car in desperation. If only I had my keys on me, I could have fought my way out of his grip and driven off. He pushed me into the passenger seat of a dirty old red truck and slammed the door behind me.
I thought of screaming. Someone would surely hear me. We lived in a big apartment building. But he would kill me. I knew that much. I stayed quiet as he drove off. My heart pounded against my ribcage as the silence between us grew deafening.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked him softly.
"Don't ask questions. All you need to worry about is your boyfriend paying off what he owes me. You can go home after that."
I still had a chance. He was going to let me live. But Patrick and I were always tight on money, and from the sounds of it, he owed Trevor a lot.
I stared out at the changing landscape as he drove. We were heading towards the desert. I had never been so far north of the city. The further he drove, the more and more dilapidated the buildings around us looked. Trevor's truck sputtered to a stop in front of a beat up old trailer. It looked abandoned, but all of the lights were on.
"Where are we?"
He let out a frustrated huff and rolled his eyes at me. "I thought I told you, no fucking questions. Now let's go. Try and run, and I'll blow out your kneecap. Maybe both of 'em. I don't like hurtin' women, but I'll do it if I have to."
I swallowed hard, and forced myself to nod at him. I stood up on shaky legs and followed him into the trailer. It was absolutely filthy. I couldn't believe that someone could live that way. Trash was scattered about the place; mostly beer bottles, pizza boxes and takeout bags. Most of the furniture looked as if it were two seconds away from breaking. Dust and dirt covered nearly every surface.
"Sit down," he ordered. I followed his instructions, taking a seat on the dilapidated couch pushed up against the back wall. I clasped my hands together, picking at my cuticles nervously.
"Ron! Get your sorry ass over here!" He hollered out the front door. I watched as an older looking man stumbled into the trailer, looking almost as scared as I felt. He looked at me through thick rimmed glasses. I looked back at him through mine. Life had clearly beaten the hell out of this guy. He wore two knee braces, and picked at a scab on his face as he glanced between Trevor and I.
"Ronald," Trevor spoke his name. "We've got a guest staying with us for a while. This is-" He stopped dead in the middle of his sentence and looked at me in curiosity. "What the hell is your name?"
"Tara," I answered softly. I thought about lying, but he already knew where I lived; I didn't care if he knew my name.
"Ah. This is Tara. I expect you to make her feel at home while she's here. Don't let me catch you slacking off or I'll cut your fuckin' arm off; got it?"
Ron nodded frantically, before making a beeline back to the front door. "I'll go get her something to eat," he said quickly. Trevor shot him a thumbs up before the door slammed shut.
I had expected to be chained up or locked in somewhere; treated like a prisoner. Instead, Trevor had someone going out to pick up takeout for me. He threw himself down onto the couch next to me and handed me the TV remote. He looked at me expectantly as I slowly turned it over in my hand.
"Well? Put something on."
I nodded and pointed the remote at the little TV in the corner. I stared at the screen, flipping through the TV guide for what felt like hours.
"Jesus Christ," he huffed, "Just pick something out." I shrugged at him nervously, gripping the remote with white knuckles. "That's it, you lost your chance. We're watching Impotent Rage."