Saving Scott

17. The window lifted.

Friday night turned into Sunday night and I was pissed about the fact that I had no way to tell anyone where I was. My mother had left my cell phone in the kitchen and my laptop was at Lakyn's.

My parents didn't open the door, and I couldn't open it either. I wasn't sure if they had reinforced the locks or if I just didn't have it in me to break it, but it didn't matter. I had a mini fridge that was stocked with food and my own bathroom so I was physically fine, but not mentally.

Pastor Smith would talk to me through the door about social isolation and how separating me from my peers was the hardest part of the work. He said when I was ready to re-intrograte he had a perfect spot for me to volunteer at his church, which is where I would be when I wasn't in school. Apparently, my parents were working on my transfer to Bridgewood's christian school.

When the anger faded I was left with boredom, which made my mind wander to unhealthy places.

Every night Pastor Smith asked for a report of my carnal desires. I had half the mind to talk my way through the naughtiest gay porn I could think of, but somehow Mr. James' voice in my mind told me that it wouldn't do me any good, and I shoved the desire down. I stayed silent instead.

Monday happened.

Then Tuesday.

By Wednesday night, I was losing my fucking mind. I was already on edge by the time I heard Pastor Smith's voice. He was praying, commanding Satan to leave me alone, and he did it hour after hour. I made it through two before I started ripping my room apart.

There was a full bottle of vodka in my closet, hidden inside of a suitcase that I hadn't used since middle school. My family didn't like each other to take family trips more than once a decade.

I unscrewed the cap and drank until I couldn't hear Pastor Smith any more.

***

The window lifted.

It had taken ages to scrape the paint off of it, using a Batman pocket knife I had more for decoration than actual use. The blade was annoyingly dull, but it worked.

My drunk ass nearly laughed, before I shushed myself because I remembered it was the middle of the night and I'd been kidnapped. All the screen needed was a little push before it fell out. That's why Mom had painted them shut. She'd always said they weren't secure enough.

Getting outside wasn't hard. It was a big, square window, and it closed easily behind me. The fence was a different obstacle though. White picket bullshit.

I climbed up using the support beams but it was a long way down on the other side. My freaking pajama pants got cut on a spike and the whole world drunkenly rotated as my ass smacked against wood, my shoulder slammed into the ground, and my head hit dirt.

"Fuck," I muttered, in a way that would have made Lakyn proud. My body felt warm, and it groaned in protest as I struggled my way to my feet.

My Jeep was still parked out front, and I grinned as I made my way to it. It was unlocked, because safe neighborhoods were a godsend. The keys weren't in the ignition but I kept a spare in the glovebox and I managed to find it after a few minutes of struggling.

Matt's house was closer, but it was Lakyn that I wanted. That I needed. I needed to make sure that he was real. That I hadn't made him up in some kind of sick fantasy world. That he existed. And that Mr. James existed. And that there was more than this.

I parked like a dumbass, but it didn't matter, because even though it was three in the morning the lights at the James house were on. I got out of the jeep and didn't bother to shut the door as I started up the drive.