Chapter 6


"Hey, Courtney." The blonde patted the girl's elbow where it rested on the carved-up tabletop. Courtney looked up from her tea disinterestedly.

"Hmm?"

"What about...that one?"

Following Bridgette's extended finger with her eyes, Courtney quickly scanned the stocky figure dressed in military pants and a camouflage shirt who was presently chatting up one of the café's baristas. She snorted before turning back to the blonde. A look of amused disbelief covered her face. "You can't be serious."

Bridgette pouted. "Aw, really? I thought for sure..." She trailed off and rested her chin between her hands, mumbling to herself. But her disappointment was short-lived. Approximately four seconds later, she perked up again, exclaiming a bit too loudly for Courtney's liking, "Oh! That one! Look at that guy! You can't not like him." This time she indicated a very tall, tan, handsome young man over by the shop entrance. He was leaning against the window in such a way that one could practically see the abdominal muscles protruding under his tight shirt, and the sunlight gleamed against his skin. Courtney guessed he was some kind of model. When he noticed the girls staring, he shot them both a wink.

The brunette did her best to hide her blush. She cleared her throat. "Well, he is certainly very attractive..." Beaming, Bridgette motioned for her to go on. "...But, he's not my type. He seems like a total narcissist." The surfer released an agitated groan. She reached her hands out across the table as if to shake her stubborn friend.

"How do you know? You haven't even met him yet!"

Courtney shrugged. "I can just sense these things." Her tone was quite matter of fact.

As Bridgette mimed pulling out her hair in exasperation, the other girl giggled in spite of herself. It was an obvious exaggeration, and the former soon dropped her hands, slumping on the table in defeat. "You know what? I give up. You're a lost cause. There is not one guy who could satisfy you." Smirking, Courtney opened her mouth to agree, but the blonde beat her to the punch. "That's why you need more than one."

Courtney gaped. While Bridgette laughed uncontrollably in her seat, the other girl slapped her none too lightly on the shoulder. She was appalled by the inappropriate suggestion. "Bridgette! That is so vile!"

Bridgette apparently begged to differ. It took another two minutes for her loud guffaws to subside, attracting strange looks from more than a few patrons. Finally, holding her stomach and wiping the tears from her eyes, she straightened up to smile widely at Courtney.

"Sorry, Court." Her attempt at an innocent shrug was ruined by the Cheshire cat-like grin on her face. "I couldn't help myself."

Though she rolled her eyes, Courtney couldn't fight off a smile of her own. It was nice to make someone laugh every once in a while, even if it was at her own expense. She let her gaze drift over the walls of the shop, stopping when she caught sight of the clock. Her brows shot up. "Oh, crap! It's almost two." She heaved a sigh. "Well, Bridge, I better get going." She gestured at the clock as if to justify her statement before slowly moving to stand from the low wooden chair. The twinges that immediately shot up her back told her she had been sitting for far too long.

Bridgette did not seem to share her ailment. She sprung up from her seat, nearly falling over in her haste, and stared at the clock with astonishment. "Oh wow." With one hand she pushed back the earbuds protruding from her hoodie's pocket. "I didn't realize we'd been talking that long." She looked at Courtney with her best puppy-dog expression, which was admittedly rather good. "Are you sure you can't stay longer?"

The brunette grinned and shook her head. As much as she loved Bridgette's company, she had to go back home eventually.

Although, Courtney thought bitterly, her mother would be perfectly happy if she never returned.

Following a brief hug and a promise to meet up again soon, the two friends parted, Courtney exiting the shop with a small wave over her shoulder. Strangely enough, the air seemed just as cold as it had been at eight o' clock that morning, if not more so. She crossed her arms to keep in what little heat her cardigan provided. She turned right, then left at the end of the street.

As Courtney trekked father and farther from the café, an explicable sense of dread manifested inside her. She assumed it was in anticipation of confronting her mother in light of the previous day's argument and that morning's silence. Resolving not to be the first one to break, the girl attempted to quash the uneasy twisting of her abdomen.

It only grew stronger.

In fact, by the time Courtney reached the park for the second time that day, the sensation was so intense that it nearly rendered her immobile. Every step was a stab in her gut, telling her to turn around and go back. At first, she wondered if it was loneliness, reluctance to part with the only real friend she had. The notion was quickly shot down, however. Courtney was familiar with isolation, had been since she was a child.

This was paranoia. Paranoia of the same kind that had plagued her for days, ever since the break in. Ever since she'd read that note.

The difference was that this time, it was not without reason.


Stepping down from the pavement, Courtney anxiously noted the absence of vehicles and people wandering the normally busy streets. It was a Sunday, she reasoned; everyone was probably at home enjoying their day off. Still, she held her breath with each passing alley, waiting for someone to leap out and grab her. A simple rustling of leaves was enough to scare her out of her skin.

Nothing bad had even happened, yet she was terrified. Perhaps it was because she didn't know what (or, more accurately, who) she was dealing with. She didn't know what to expect from them, what they wanted from her. She had no way to prepare for the storm that was inevitably coming.

As she rounded the corner of an abandoned general store, lost in her own mind, Courtney tripped. She wasn't sure how—the sidewalk had no cracks—but she fell nevertheless, bruising her kneecap and scraping the palms of her hands on the way down. A tiny trickle of blood dripped from the torn flesh.

Cursing silently, Courtney dabbed the fluid from the abrasion with her sleeve. It would surely stain, but she had other things to worry about. She gathered her legs underneath her in preparation to stand back up, but before she could something took ahold of her forearm and forcibly pulled her onto her feet.

All the oxygen left her body. Her heart beat erratically in her chest, four beats per second, ready to explode. The hand didn't leave her arm, and through it she imagined that she could feel the person's own pulse. Slow, steady, soft; a stark contrast from her own. For the sake of sanity, she willed herself not to look up.

Of course, her plea was in vain.

As she slowly raised her head, the first thing Courtney noticed were his eyes. She would have recognized them anywhere. Light blue, almost teal in the light, they burned into her with an intensity unbefitting a man so young. She was so taken aback that she temporarily forgot the grimness of her circumstances: that this was a stranger, that she was alone, that he shackled her arm in an iron grasp. Like a bird in a cage, his gaze had her trapped, and escape was the last thing on her mind.

"Hey there, Princess." He slid his hand down to cradle her own, not once breaking eye contact. Her skin tingled in his wake. "Are you hurt?" His voice was low and coarse. A tremor moved through her body as the blood ran cold in her veins. When she failed to respond, the young man gently brushed his fingertips over the grazes, still stinging from her fall. The edges of his mouth curved up at her sharp inhale.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, there was a little voice (probably her common sense) screaming at Courtney: "Run away! Hit him! Call for help!". But her legs were jelly under his stare, hands powerless in his grasp, tongue leaden in her mouth. For the first time in her memory, she found herself completely and utterly helpless. And there was nothing she could do.

Eventually, after a span of five or more minutes, she gathered up the nerve to say something. The words passed her lips as little more than a breathless murmur. "Who are you?" Courtney could have kicked herself for sounding so weak.

A ghost of a smirk creeping onto his face, the man leaned forward. She caught a whiff of smoke. "What difference does it make?" A glint of metal caught her eye when he moved, and with a ridiculous amount of effort, Courtney finally tore her eyes from his to roam the rest of his face. She noted silver piercings—five in total, in his ears, nose, and eyebrows—and a shock of black hair streaked with faded green. Stubble shaded his jaw, and his clothes, much like the rest of him, were dark and unobtrusive.

To her mortification, Courtney felt heat rising to her cheeks. The observation had flitted through her mind during their first "meeting", but seeing him up close confirmed it: this man was in no way ugly. She was disgusted with herself. How could she be attracted to this creep? Coming to her senses slightly, she met his stare once more.

"I guess none at all." The girl pursed her lips and purposely shifted her gaze to the hand clenched around her own. Feigning nonchalance, she asked, "Can you let me go now?"

This time the man didn't attempt to hide his smirk. "You'd run away if I did that." It sounded like an accusation.

"No, I wouldn't." Well, duh, I would. "I promise I won't." She opened her eyes as wide as they could go, begging him to trust her.

Apparently, she wasn't very convincing. Narrowing his eyes at her innocent expression, he swiveled his head around towards her ear and bit out one word.

"Liar." The venom in it chilled Courtney to her very core. She chewed her lip. Well, honesty was the best policy, right?

"Okay, you're right. I would. But can you really blame me?" The girl gestured to their barren surroundings with a jerk of her head, starting to ramble. "I'm walking home along a practically abandoned sidewalk when some random stranger—I'm referring to you, by the way—comes up and grabs my arm and doesn't let go, asking if I'm okay. No one knows where I am, I have no way to call for help, and I really have no chance of outrunning you even if I did manage to get away. At this point, I think I'll take whatever opportunity I can get."

For the next several seconds, the man just looked at her. Courtney was beginning to wonder if her rant had only made him angrier when he suddenly laughed. It was a deep, husky laugh, more soulful than any she had heard. It almost had her smiling along with him until she remembered enough to keep up the stern facade. But once he regained his composure and his eyes, sparkling with an emotion she couldn't quite discern, met hers one final time, the dam broke.

"God, you really are something else."

The distant roar of a car engine shattered the moment, and the young man let go of her as fast as if he'd been burned. Courtney was so caught up in it all that she nearly told him not to go, but she caught her tongue just in time. Unfortunately for her, the smug grin on his face told her that he knew exactly what she had been about to say. Pulling a piece of paper from his pocket and flicking it towards her, he quickly backed away.

"See you later, Court."

And then he was gone.


A/N: (Edit) 12/19/2020

Wow, reading the old author's note for this chapter made me realize just how long it's been since I started this story. I guess time flies when you're drowning in schoolwork ;).

Thanks for reading and/or reviewing!

-Scraps