School Shootout

Chapter Six

**Sorry for the long delay, this chapter was harder to write then I thought and I got sidetracked on other projects.**

***P.S. I hope I'm not using (--) and (...) too much; if it bothers you and makes it hard to read let me know.***

WARNING: This chapter does contain 'coarse' language because I couldn't write Trent without it. I hope Trent's in character. (not that there's much to base his character on)

"Trent?"

Oh my God, I was trapped in a broom closet with Trent. Oh no, no, no—this was so NOT happening.

"Yeah, who else would look this good, loser."

"Well…considering its pitch black in here –I'm pretty sure anyone else would look better."

He growled suddenly and I wisely backed off.

"You're a fucking loser, Witlicky—the only reason you have that thing you call a pathetic smidge of a life is because of your car…and things have been known to happen to cars."

"What!—Is that a threat? Your threatening me?"

"Yeeeah, you IDIOT."

"Trent, we're being held hostage by a bunch of maniacs—MANIACS—with …with guns and knives and they can KILL us at any moment without any freaking warning—and all you're doing is sitting in here and threatening me and my car. Which is by the way—its reeeallly stupid to try to hurt my car, believe, me…"

"Shut up," I stared at the direction where his voice was coming from. It was hard to make out anything in the darkness of the closet but my eyes were slowly starting to adjust, "In case, you haven't noticed we're both kinda tied up at the moment."

Even though I couldn't see him I just knew he was sneering at me.

"Yeah…well…it didn't stop me before—and its definitely not stopping me now."

Trent just snorted. "If it didn't stop you before then why are you in here?"

"Because…Because…" Damn it, there was no way in hell he would believe the truth…somedays I swear he didn't even believe some of us were human beings. "Because—I got free but then I got caught before I could escape. Which is why I'm stuck with you."

"Oh joy."

"Yeah, well—how'd you get in here? Surrender and start screaming at the sight of a gun." I knew I should have stopped arguing with him and continued trying to get free but I just couldn't stop myself—it was Trent.

"Wow, is that what you did?"

"You know, Trent, you are an unbelievable JERK."

"Am I, Witlicky, well at least I managed to put a dent in Steve's face before I got caught."

Arggh, if I could see his smug little face I'd be putting a dent in it—even if I had to headbut him to do it.

"Okay, you know what, this—this, right here—isn't helping—we could be KILLED at any moment, we need to stop bickering and get the HELL out of here."

"How many times do I have to remind you, idiot-- we're tied up."

"Okay, fine—is there any scissors or like sharp tools in here?"

"Oh, why didn't I think of that?" His voice practically dripped with sarcasm. "---It's a broom closet—as in brooms, mops, rags. But maybe you could dress up as Cinderella and wish for a fairy godmother to come rescue us." Forget Rilson and the others killing us; we might just end up killing each other.

"Be a jackass like usual—I'm getting out of here."

I squinted in the darkness, I could make out vague shapes now and there was a thin strip of light coming from around the door I moved cautiously over to what looked like some shelves. It was full of plastic jugs and containers. I moved slowly along the shelves looking for anything that could help me.

"Hey watch it." I flinched from the closeness of Trent's voice. The closet was a lot smaller then I had thought…though in the darkness it still seemed big.

"Sooorry, it's—you know—a little dark in here…are you tied a shelf?"

I leaned in slightly closer and saw that my suspicion was correct. Trent had his arms in front of him around a pole and then his wrists tied with what looked like those accursed plastic ties. It hit me suddenly—he couldn't move…he couldn't attack me. It lifted my spirits a tiny smidge.

He stayed silent for once and I gave him a wide berth as I continued my search. I had only made it three steps before my already bruised foot slammed into something and I nearly went sprawling face-forward.

"Owww, owwww,owww…"

I started hopping on one foot trying to make the other one feel better. I froze when I hear Trent laughing behind me. But rather then being angry at him I was surprised. It wasn't a mean fake laugh—it was a real laugh, I'd never heard him laugh for real since elementary school.

"Glad I could amuse you." I grumbled as I gingerly put my foot down and then bent down to see what I had hit.

"You always amuse me, dork…" It was a cardboard box, it looked like somebody had already cut through he packaging tape because the flaps were poking up slightly, "…like the way you think you're good enough for Mikaela, even if she is going through a 'get a loser to worship me' phase." ...And Trent was back to his normal self in less then sixty seconds.

I decided I might as well look inside the box while I was there. Mikaela—No, no, no—I wasn't going to start thinking about her, I couldn't start thinking about her—it hurt to much. I need to focus---box, open, contents.

I couldn't lift the flaps with my hands so I settled for pushing them open with my forehead.

"That's right, I bet she makes you carry her purse like a nice, little whipped puppy dog."

Ignore him, ignore him. I almost didn't hear the small metal clank. I realized something had been on top of the box. It was too dark to make out what it was so I turned around felt with my fingers until I found it.

"…and, God, she can be stupid."

"Hey, SHUT UP, Mikaela is great and utterly amazing girl and just because you didn't treat her right and she dumped your sorry ass doesn't mean you can talk bad about her—...It's a box cutter knife."

"What?"

It was a box cutter knife I could feel the button for the retractable blade. I hit it and heard the blade slid out—it was a sweet sound to my ears. I quickly moved my grip up on the handle so that I could cut through the restraints. Hah hah, stupid Trent, look who was laughing now.

…Shit, I couldn't get the blade all the way up to the restraint.

"What knife…Witwicky?"

I swallowed and took a deep breath before I answering, "I found a box cutter knife but I can't get it in the right position to cut my restraints."

"Give it to me, I can probably get mine off."

'Give it to him?' He wanted me to give him, my-arch-nemesis-make-my-life-a-living-hell-all-through-school...a box cutter knife with me defenseless. I could hear Ironhide's voice repeating inside my head—'Never trust your enemy to be anything but your enemy.' But what other option was there?

"And how do I know you're not just going to run away and leave me here to die?"

"Come on, Witwicky, give me the knife." I had a sudden revelation—he was scared. I hadn't heard it before when he were bickering but now that I was paying attention I could just barely make out the desperation and terror he was hiding.

I racked my brain for any other solution but there just wasn't any…I had to trust Trent. With a curse, I slowly started moving back towards him. I couldn't see where my hands were behind me so I had to back slowly toward where I thought Trent's hands were. I flinched when I felt his hands touch mine, they were rough and ice cold. I reluctantly loosened my grip on the knife and let him have it before moving away a few good steps. Trent may have been as scared and desperate as I was but he was still dangerous.

"Fuck, Damn it!"

I groaned at Trent's violent outburst. "Don't tell me—you can't get them off either…did you try twisting your hands to get…you know…better leverage."

"Yeah, tried that and all I got was a nice fucking cut on my hand."

That unnerving feeling that I was going to die came back to me. It was like before in the hallway but not quite as strong. I needed to get the restraint off…oh no…no...I couldn't…I wouldn't…it was unthinkable.

"Could you cut off mine?"

"What?" His voice was surprisingly soft though still hard as ice.

"The restraints make it impossible for us to cut off our own, right? So you cut off mine, then I'll cut off yours and we can get the hell out of here."

"How do I know that you won't bail on me as soon as you're free." The mistrust was plainly evident in his voice and with good reason he had made my life a living hell more times then I could count.

"…You have my word and besides only a Decepticon would leave someone behind to die."

"Decepticon? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Oh, umm—it's a long story…Look Trent, I trusted you when I gave you the knife…trust me now…"

It was dead silent for what seemed like ages. I idly wondered if Trent had ever trusted anyone in his entire life.

"Fine, whatever Witwicky—get your ass over here."

As I moved towards him yet again, my fear level notched up—what if his hands slipped and my wrist got slashed?

I thought happy thoughts about Mikaela and Bee—painfully happy memories I would have given anything to go back and re-live. I felt his hands grab onto mine. They were warm now, and wet and slippery. It puzzled me for a second until I realized they were covered in his own blood.

I closed my eyes and tried not to babble nonsense. Then suddenly I felt a jerk on my wrist and the pressure went away. It was over so quick it was almost not real—only staring at my freed hands in the limited light assured me it was—I was free again...and this time Rilson and his gang were going down.

"Hey, Witwicky—what about me?" The fear in his voice was unmistakable this time.

I slipped the bloody knife from his hands and felt for the restraint on his wrists.

"You can call me Sam you know."