Head Down

Chapter 12

KATIE'S POV

Nate pulls up to my house with an extremely pained look on his face. I knew I shouldn't have told him about the specific mood John was in today, but I don't think I could've handled protesting his insistence any longer. Nate is stubborn when it comes to getting answers, and as afore mentioned I'm emotionally and physically tired. Though I know the night as just begun.

My terror level amps up a notch when I see that John's Volvo is not the only car here. Along side it is an old RainDrover, and a Jeep pulled off to the side in the green grass of our lawn. All three of the vehicles are empty, meaning that there is the distinct possibility of 7 or more people inside (four in the RainDrover, at least two in the pickup if the bed wasn't used for transportation, and John). My guess is that they're related somehow to the Art deal John had mentioned Sunday -which feels like a lifetime ago- in some shape or form. Criminals, but if I'm lucky they're the kind that are more in the particular field for money more than lifestyle. Or they could have some of the small town curtesy that seems to be abundant in the few adults I've met here.

More likely than not, though, they're going to be just like the ones that are usually with John on week nights. Which means grungy with low morals, and under the influence of alcohol and/or drugs. I've had some very, very bad experiences with this sort over the years, to no one's surprise, and thus am on the edge of a mild panic attack.

"Can you do me a favor?" asks Nate quietly, his hands white from gripping the steering wheel. He looks to be MUCH worse off than me right now, with his panic filled eyes that look like saucers and sad mouth. I feel bad that he has gotten himself worked up over me, but the tiny narcissist in my brain says it's karma.

"It depends."

"On what?" I give him a raised eyebrow, and he shoots an incredulous, though still very worried look. "When you go inside, will you try and make it to your room as fast as you can? Then lock the door behind you and go straight to the window, to make sure I see you're okay before I leave."

The words seem to cause him emotional turmoil as well as conflict, especially on the word 'leave'. Once again, a stab of guilt goes through me. He shouldn't be feelings this way.....though I shouldn't have felt bad in Antonio's. His pain seems to be equal to mine as it was then, though, or even surpasses it. His left leg is twitching as if he's waiting for something impatiently, or he really needs to go to the restroom. Perhaps I'm not the only wacko here.

The thought almost makes me smile.

"Done," I say surely, trying to give him comfort. It doesn't work at all, based on the panicked look he gives me.

There is no ceremonious hand shake or word of endearment before I get out of the truck, only the mutual look of worry and pain shared between us. I am grateful for that. If our parting had gone otherwise I would've felt more like I was heading to the executioners than entering my own house.

After a few tense moments I nod at Nate, then turn away to pull the handle on my right and pop the door open. "See you on the other side," I say as I climb out of the car. Subconsciously I wipe all emotion from my appearance, and the forefront of my mind. This was going to be very bad, and the fact became clearer with every crunch of the gravel underfoot.

Reaching the door I can feel the presence of fear deep in the pit of my stomach, but the actual formulated thoughts of it were on the forced vacation I made for them seconds ago. This was more for Nate's sake than mine. I didn't want him seeing any of my true feelings if I ever made it to the window.

I'm not sure what he would do if I didn't, and mentally I scold myself for not asking. I put my hand on the rusted doorknob, and resist the urge to turn around and question him this. It would show my weakness to him -something that has been done many times, but hardly in any situation as dangerous as this- and maybe even break my hold on emotions.