Peterick//More Than You Bargained For

eighteen: alleyway

Sitting there in Travis' grip, I feel pathetic.

The fact that I'm not even fighting back shows how weak I am. But at the same time, I know that if I fight back, the bruises will be bigger and more blood will be spilled. I know I'll lose in the end, so why try?

Still, I feel as if I've lost all dignity.

Like he owns me.

I open my eyes, curious as to why the man's first hasn't connected with my face.

He's looking back behind him silently.

I strain my ears to hear the click click of my mother's heels on the tile floor of the kitchen.

I breathe a silent prayer. How convenient.

My mom being home, and the fact that she's likely sober, means she'll come to see what's happening if she hears something going on upstairs. And he can't risk being found out.

Travis' grip tightens on my shirt, and he brings my face closer to his. "You're damn lucky that bitch came home in time. You'd better watch your back, kid. And don't even try sneaking in again," he snarls in my face.

I gulp and nod.

The man releases me and exits the room, shutting my door behind him.

I take a deep breath and sit back in my bed, trying my hardest not to cry.

Something has to be done about this.

When Tuesday rolls around, I can't help but worry about Pete.  He didn't seem like himself when I texted him, but he didn't seem like he was mad at me either...

I shake my head as I walk to my locker. I toss my backpack, which I retrieved from outside this morning, in my locker and switch it out for my lunch.

Taking a seat beside Pete in the lunchroom, I notice that his hood is up and his head is down.

He doesn't look good. Ryan gives me a blank stare. Brendon glares at me.

Oh shit.

I'd bet he thinks I never talked to Pete last night.

Brendon stands, walks to the other side of the table, and grabs my arm with a death grip.

He basically drags me to the wall of the cafeteria.

Before he can speak, I say, "Calm down! I talked to him last night. We're hanging out after school today. What's up with him?"

Brendon takes a deep breath, suddenly disarmed after hearing that his mood swing isn't my fault. "He's been like this all day. Not talking to anyone, not doing any work. I'm worried."

I nod. "I'll find out what's going on after school."

"Let me know what happens. I care about him, okay?"

"Sure thing," I promise.

We return to the table as if nothing happened. I rub Pete's back and lean towards him to whisper, "Whatever's going on, you're going to have to talk about it sometime."

No response.

I add an "I hope you're okay" to soften my previous sentence.

Still no response.

I sigh. I don't like seeing Pete like this, at all. When we were friends before, he would sometimes get in bad moods, but never for days in a row. Something really bad must've happened.