Trevor made up a makeshift bed for me on the couch. I guess you could call it a bed; there was a pillow and a sheet and that was about it. Though his couch looked to be on its last leg, it wasn't entirely uncomfortable to sleep on.
I thought about running in the middle of the night. I probably would have if I had known anything about the area. It was pretty barren, and I would have had no idea where to go to ask for help. Surely he would have found me and killed me by the time I got my bearings out there.
"Hello, lady." I heard an unfamiliar voice wake me from my sleep. I cracked my eyes open to find a man sitting at the end of the couch, staring at me. He wore baggy clothes, piercings and dreadlocks. He looked... rough.
"Hi...?" I fished around on the floor next to me, feeling for my glasses. I pushed them onto my face, and looked at him. He was smiling at me as if we were old friends. "Can I help you?" I asked.
"I'm Wade," he told me. "Trevor told me to stay here and watch you while he's gone. What's your name?" He spoke to me in a childlike manner, almost as if he were a bit... slow on the uptake.
"I'm Tara."
He smiled at me again. "I brought over some leftover pizza if you want some," he offered. I shook my head, forcing a weak smile back at him.
"Wade... Is Trevor going to kill me?" My voice shook as I ended my sentence, and he looked at me with confidence.
"I don't think so. He just wants what he was promised. Trevor don't take kindly to people going back on their promises. Do you owe him money?"
"My boyfriend does." I pushed myself up onto my elbows and took the sheet with me as I sat upright.
"Oh. I don't think Trevor'll kill you. He don't like disrespectin' women." He paused, staring off into space, completely unphased by the conversation. I gathered from his tone that this was normal behavior for Trevor. "He might kill your boyfriend, though."
My heart sped up suddenly. I had been so afraid of getting killed that I had barely thought of the danger that Patrick might be in. I had no idea what Trevor's capabilities were like. He could have had other men working for him in the city; ones who would be on the lookout for my boyfriend.
"Wade, get the fuck out!" Trevor came barreling into his trailer, startling both Wade and I. He turned his attention to me, looking at me calmly. "Get dressed. We're going out."
"Where are we going?" I called out to him through the bathroom door as I wriggled out of the oversized t-shirt he had lent me. There was a long silence as I pulled my shirt over my head.
"Jesus pogo-sticking Christ, what is with you and all the questions?" He shouted.
I pulled the bathroom door open and looked at him from across the room. He stood at the kitchen counter, scooping peanut butter directly from the jar into his mouth. He slapped his spoon down onto the counter and dropped the jar next to it, not bothering to put the lid back on.
"Come on, let's go." He waved me on, and I followed him out to his truck. He blared the radio on our way to his undisclosed destination, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. I studied the building that we pulled up to a few minutes later. It looked like an old, abandoned liquor store. Though, to be fair, most buildings in the surrounding area looked abandoned.
He pulled me into the building by the wrist; firmly, but not tight enough to hurt. The place was even more of a wreck than his trailer. Everything looked broken; covered in dirt. It smelled strongly of some sort of chemical. Almost like ammonia.
Trevor led me upstairs into a large, mostly empty room, and sat me down at a little table in the middle. It was so filthy inside that I didn't want to touch anything.
I grew up in a nice, normal family. My mother kept an impeccably clean house, and that carried over to me. I had never seen squalor like this in my life. The room was dark and dingy and the air was thick with something that felt an awful lot like loneliness... Depression? A bit of both, I guess. This place hadn't seen happiness in a long time; that much was clear.
I looked at him with big eyes; filled with both fear and curiosity. He ignored my stare as he flipped through a pile of papers on the table. God, what was that smell?
"Chef, how's it goin', my friend?" Trevor called out seemingly to no one.
"Good, Trevor," the voice answered, "This new batch is comin' along real good if you wanna try it!"
Drugs. They were making drugs. This was a meth lab. God, twenty four hours ago, I was in my nice, clean apartment. Now I was sat at a broken down table in a meth lab. Great. Trevor disappeared into another room, leaving me alone. I sat there for what felt like a century. I could hear chattering in the next room over. Judging by what I could make out, I assumed they were getting high.
"Thank you, Chef!" Trevor re-emerged from the other room, his focus landing on me. "Alright. You. Let's go."
"Can you please tell me what's going on?" I spoke quietly, but feared I may have angered him as I stared up at him from my seat. "Please?" I squeaked. "I want to go home."
He rolled his eyes and let out an over-dramatic sigh. "Let me lay this out for you nice and clear, princess." He gesiculated wildly as he spoke. I could tell from his body language that he was annoyed with me. "That suit-wearing, pencil pushing yuppy boyfriend of yours owes me a lot of money. I'm sorry you didn't know about his little problem. Seriously; I am sorry. But as long as it takes him to pay me off, you're mine. I need leverage here, darlin'."
"I just want to go home," I pleaded, my eyes welling up with tears. He stared down at me with a blank expression, completely void of any emotion.
"Yeah, and I want for my best friend to not be a lazy, fat fuck living in his undeserved mansion in Rockford Hills. I want a hot piece of ass in my bed every night, ready to suck me off. But," he clapped his hands together, "We all want things we can't have, don't we?"
How could he talk to me like that? How could anyone be so cold? I swallowed my anger and pressed my lips together in a hard line, trying to hold back my tears.
"Let's go," Trevor spoke up. He led me back downstairs and out to his truck, where he slammed the passenger side door shut behind me as I buckled my seat belt.
"I know you said no questions," I began, watching the scenery, or lack thereof, pass by, "but where are we going?"
"Jesus," he growled. "You're really tryin' to piss me off, aren't ya?" I picked at a hang nail anxiously, waiting for him to speak up. "I was gonna go take you to get some clothes for while you're out here, but if you're gonna keep pushing my buttons, you can just wear that outfit every day. What's your decision?"
I was floored. Here he was, keeping me hostage, and yet he wanted to buy me clothes? I had expected to be sleeping in a locked room with no bathroom and no food.
"Th-that would be great," I stammered, "Thank you."
He brought me to a little thrift store in the next town over. Most of the clothes looked pretty rough; they had definitely seen better days. He looked at me impatiently when I asked him if I could try a few things on. I didn't mind much that they were well worn. I just wanted to make sure they fit.
"Goddamn, what do you think this is? They'll be fine. Let's go." He dropped a pile of cash onto the counter and walked me out by the arm.
Back at his trailer, he let me take a shower while he made himself busy with... Whatever it is that Trevor did. I stood in the shower, rubbing shampoo into my hair and reveling in the warm water. I felt grungy and the soap and water felt nice.
How was I going to get out of here? Clearly there was no way I could run and actually make it out alive. I was stuck here. Would Patrick ever come up with the money? Maybe his parents would help. All I knew was that I wanted to go home.
I slipped into a pair of worn out sweatpants and an old Love Fist shirt with what looked like a nacho cheese stain on the chest. Nice.
"Goddamn it, Wade!" Trevor barked as I opened the bathroom door. "How could you fuck this up? Let's go!" He turned his attention to me. I stood in the bathroom doorway, my hair still wrapped up in a towel.
"You!" He pointed a finger at me, clearly trying to think of what to say. "Don't fucking leave this trailer or you'll be in a world of hurt!"
I thought about leaving while he was gone. It would've been so easy to just walk out the door. Up until this point, he hadn't hurt me. Maybe he wouldn't even kill me if he caught me. I wasn't willing to take the risk.
It was uncomfortably quiet in the trailer. I searched through Trevor's cabinets and closets before finally finding a few spare sheets of paper and a pen. I sat at the rickety old table in the corner, sketching out whatever popped into my mind. Art was always my safe place. Gradually, I began to relax, forgetting about the mess around me. That is, until Trevor showed back up, letting the door slam behind him.
"What the hell is this?" He stomped over to me, staring down at the picture I had just sketched out. He stood behind me, furrowing his eyebrows, and squinted at the sheet of paper in front of me. "Is... Is that the lab?"
I stared up at him with big eyes. I nodded slowly. "It's just what came to me."
"You only saw it once. How did you draw it so well?" He actually sounded... Impressed. This was the first time I had heard him speak in a relaxed tone of voice. For once, he didn't seem angry.
I shrugged. "It's what I do. I'm an art major."
"Ah." He turned away from me, going to poke through the fridge. I watched him down the rest of a two liter of Sprunk before throwing the empty bottle back in the refrigerator. He had all of the worst habits I had ever seen.
I swallowed hard before breaking the silence. "Do you like it?"
"What?"
"The drawing. Do you like it?"
He yawned and rubbed his eyes. "Oh. Yeah, yeah. It's good."
I smiled to myself. Maybe he wasn't always angry. I could live with this Trevor. I mean, I'd obviously rather be back at home with Patrick, but at least I didn't fear for my life at the moment.
"I'm going to bed. You can watch TV or whatever if you want. Shout for Ron if you want something to eat. Otherwise, there's leftover Chinese in the fridge." He waved lazily at me as he left the room, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him. I don't think he knew how to close a door without slamming it.
I laid on the couch, wrapped up in my sheets, and flipped through the TV channels. There wasn't much on. It was still pretty early, but I decided to just try and sleep. Who knew what the next day would bring, anyways. It seemed everything was a surprise with Trevor.