~If You Help Me Escape~

When Trey reached to pick Rosie up again, she tried to get away. Didn't she know she was losing this battle? Picking her up with one arm, he laughed as he swung her around onto his back again. She was a fighter, he had to give her that much. Rosie definitely wasn't one to give up easily, even though Trey was a head taller than her and a lot stronger.

He heard Rosie sigh and mutter, "Down the block, to the right." Trey knew he had her now; she had given up. The way she rested her head on his back in defeat made him smile. You know, even though she was feisty as hell, Rosie was darn cute sometimes.

Trey followed her directions, walking down the block like she'd said, his feet setting a steady swish, thud, swish, thud rhythm as his single shoe hit the pavement. This strange metronome was the only sound either of them made for a few minutes; Rosie had fallen silent, probably realizing by now that her efforts to protest had been futile. It was the nice kind of silence; the sort that you didn't mind hanging in the air.

Rosie's breaths became more shallow and quiet, and her arms and legs seemed to go slack, making Trey feel like he was carrying an oversized rag doll. What was she trying to pull now? But then, he realized... the steady rhythm of his feet had put her to sleep. The thought made him smile; again, it was cute. He held onto her legs tighter and hunched over a little so she wouldn't slip off, and he tried to make his steps less bouncy. She's been through a lot today, he reflected.

When Trey reached the house that he thought she had been talking about, he shifted Rose to one side so he could knock with his other hand. The man who opened the door was her father, he assumed.

And he did not look happy.

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Everything happened so fast.

So fast, in fact, that it was difficult for Trey's brain to comprehend what was happening. Roselyn swung off his back, there were some warnings and some shouting, and the next thing he knew a meaty hand shoved him so hard that he flew off the porch, landing flat on his back in the asphalt, a look of confusion glued to his face. A searing pain ran through his head as it hit the concrete, and Trey coughed, gasping to regain the air that had been knocked out of him. He groaned in pain. Oh, that man was going to pay for that. If there was one thing Trey hated, it was being pushed around. Punching was totally fine in his opinion, or a good clean fight. But pushing? It was almost as if they thought he just wasn't worth their time, like they were just shoving him out of their sight.

It sounded like someone had been slapped, and the sound of Rosie's scream before she hit the ground was enough to give Trey goose bumps. The man had already committed one of Trey’s pet peeves, but now he had to go and hit a girl too? He was a little too close to pushing Trey over the edge. Who in their right mind slapped their daughter so hard that she screamed? Obviously, this man had a screw loose. Try knew he had to help her; if he just stood by and let this happen, he would hate himself for it later. Despite the mind-numbing pain it caused, he forced himself to stand up and march back up to the porch. His ears ringing from the aching in his back and head, Trey stormed after the man that had pushed him down, only to have the door slammed in his face and locked.

He growled in frustration. ”LET ME IN!” he bellowed, pounding his fist on the door. When he heard Rosie scream again, that blood-curdling shriek of pain, a new wave of fury washed over him. ”LET ME IN OR I SWEAR I’LL BREAK DOWN THIS DOOR!” he thundered at the top of his lungs. He didn’t stop to think about who else might hear him; right now all he cared about was the girl being abused on the other side of the door. Roselyn of all people didn’t deserve that. That man was going to be sorry.

Aiming his shoe-covered foot at the door, he gave it a good kick- but it didn’t give. It was too heavy. As he tried to think of another way in, his heart thudded loudly in his ears. But it was hard to think about options when his conscience was screaming, ”THIS IS YOUR FAULT, STUPID! SHE WARNED YOU NOT TO COME!”

A glint of light caught his eye, and Trey remembered: windows are breakable. Rose’s father was not going to like him breaking a window, but what other choice did he have? He had to get her out of there. Choosing a nice big rock from the road in front of the house, he threw it straight at the biggest window, and his ears were met by a satisfying crack. He used his foot to kick away the glass that remained sticking out of the window pane before hoisting himself and climbing through the window. What he saw when he entered the room was far worse than what he’d imagined.

Treyson Cooper, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?

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The sight of Roselyn’s blood made his stomach churn violently; even though he had seen blood before, it had never been in any situation like this. She had been cut by something in her hip, and she sat there helplessly on the floor. Forcing himself to look away, Trey grabbed the closest thing he could find. - an old cast iron frying pan, unwashed and still greasy. It wasn’t going to be all that helpful against a man with a drawer full of knives, but then again, he was a lot younger and probably a lot stronger.

Rose’s father had heard him break in- obviously, it couldn’t have been an easy thing to miss – and he was holding up a knife, raising it up in the air, only to be knocked away by Roselyn with surprising force. “You can hurt me, or kill me, or whatever, but you will not hurt him. He did nothing wrong. I did. I asked him to carry me home. I snuck away and skipped work. I did everything. I did everything!” she yelled, as Trey stood there in awe. Why was she trying to protect him, when she was the one he was trying to hurt?

”You should have thought of that before you sucked him into this, sweetheart, I don't think either of you are getting out of here. At least not today.”

He stepped forward, so that he was between Rosie and her dad- he had decided; if he was going to hurt Rosie, he was going to have to go through Trey first –literally. If the man kept going at this rate, he would kill her, and there was no way he was going to watch another friend die. Watching Drew die had been fast, but it had kept on replaying in his mind for weeks afterwards. He couldn’t do that again; he wouldn’t be able to live with himself, even if he had only known Rosie for a day.

No, he wouldn’t stand for this. Not at all.

His blood pulsing through his veins so quickly that it felt unnatural, Trey aimed a hard kick at the drawer of knives the man was holding before he could turn around. It clattered to the floor, the blades glinting softly in the dim light, looking decidedly more unthreatening now that they were out of his hands. Trey gritted his teeth, and letting his rage take over, he grabbed the shorter man by the front of his shirt collar and slammed him against a wall, looking a lot more menacing than he ever had before. The man looked distinctly less scary when he was unarmed, and that just gave Trey courage to continue. Making sure to get up in his face so the slimeball could hear, he snarled,

“Now you listen here, sir. If I ever see or hear of you hurting this girl again I will not hesitate to kill you. You will not lay a finger on her, do you understand?” He spat out the last words, his face becoming red with anger.

And for good measure- and also because he just felt like kicking things today –Trey kicked him twice so hard in the crotch that his ancestors would feel it. There was no way he was going to be able to make any more babies to abuse, that was for sure. I hope that gives you cancer, you son of a bitch. As Rosie’s father buckled over in pain, crumpling to the ground, Trey rushed over to her and grabbed her hand in case she needed help standing up. And don’t you even think about getting up. I can use this frying pan.

”Rose, we’re running. Now,” he said urgently. They were getting out of here, even if he had to carry her and run.



OOC: I hope this is alright, I always pictured her dad as a mean and abusive brown-haired Haymitch.

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Trey had never ran so hard in his life.

Once he had scooped Rosie up in his arms and ran outside, the only thing he thought about was getting her somewhere safe. The way he gasped for air after running one block made him wish he was in better shape; the boy was muscular, but as far as stamina went, he wasn't as fit as he'd have liked to be. Despite the way his arms and legs began to feel like jelly, Trey kept on going until they reached a thicket where he could set Rosie down without any of the neighbors wondering where all the blood had come from.

"Trey. Trey," she croaked, taking his distraught face in her shaky hands. "Trey, thank you, but I can't ask any more of you..." The sad, desperate tone of her light whisper brought a lump to his throat, and he knew she was dying. Even when she was barely alive, Jumpy was still stubborn.

He had been stupid, he had taken too long, he should have just hit the man and left- but no, he just had to talk to him too, he had to waste precious time.

"No, Rosie," he said stubbornly, hot tears threatening at his eyes as he pulled his T-shirt over his head and ripped it in half. "No, you're not going to die." He gingerly lifted her shirt a bit to expose the wound on her hip, and lifting her waist a bit, he wrapped the makeshift bandage around her, tying it tightly to help stop the blood. On any other day, he would've worried about invading her personal space, but he figured they were past that now.

Biting his lip to keep it from trembling, he lifted her up again. Trey took off running as fast as he possibly could, knowing he didn't have much time before she went completely unconscious.

Soon they were on his doorstep, and he shifted her weight so he could open his front door. Rushing inside, Trey yelled for his mother, and soon a middle-aged woman with gentle eyes and grey-brown hair was standing in front of them, gaping at the sight of all the blood.

"Oh my lord, Trey, what did you do?"

"Mom, I'll explain later, can you help her? Please!" Trey's voice was crackling like a fireplace; his teenage vocal chords couldn't take all this stress. His mother ran her fingers through her hair fretfully- Trey had inherited that habit from her -before swallowing, nodding, and motioning for him to bring the girl into the living room. He obeyed, lowering her slowly onto the couch as his mother ran into the bathroom to get the first aid kit that hadn't been used in years.

Trey watched silently as his mother cleaned and dressed the wound surprisingly quickly for an arthritic woman of her age. Roselyn was unconscious now, but whatever his mom used had slowed the bleeding and closed up the wound a little. Or maybe it was just his imagination; it might have just been that Rose was almost out of blood to lose.

"Is she going to be okay?" he asked solemnly, his voice low and oozing with pain. Trey had pulled up one of the chairs from the kitchen table so he could keep an eye on Rose.

"I don't know," his mother said seriously, after a pause. "But you did the right thing, bringing her to me. You should be proud of yourself," she told him, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. It didn't make him feel better; instead, it had the opposite effect. His stomach churned again, and he had to swallow another lump in his throat.

Hours passed, and even after his mother had gone to bed, Trey remained. He took one of Rosie's hands and held it in his own- it seemed so small and fragile compared to his, which were large and rough, and full of life. If she was going to die tonight, he would be holding her hand while it happened; she deserved that much. Despite the way her father had treated her probably her entire life, she had turned out nice, and she had been a good friend, for a day at least. That favor would be returned to her. Trey promised himself he'd remember her the way she was when they'd met; happy and sassy and fun, not broken and sad like this. He'd remember her in the tree, her watchful eyes gazing upon his hands as he carved, not unconscious on an old bloodstained couch.

"It's okay, Rosie, you'll be alright," he whispered, a tear running down his cheek as he brushed the hair away from her face. "You can wake up now." Even though he knew she couldn't hear him, he still said it. He stroked her cheek with the back of his forefinger, wishing it was true.

It was hard to have gone through so much with someone, only to have them snatched away before your eyes. What had only been a day together seemed like a month to Trey. And now it was gone. The last grains of sand were falling through his fingers, and he knew there was no way to stop them.

Trey watched her, full of crazy, almost childish hope, until he drifted off to sleep in the hard wooden chair, her hand in his.

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A pain in his neck jolted Trey back into reality, and as his mind resurfaced into consciousness, he rubbed his eyes. He must have fallen asleep in the chair in a weird position, because his neck and shoulders ached like crazy. When he rolled his neck around in an attempt to loosen up the tight muscles, his eyes fell upon the hand he was holding, and the previous night came rushing back to him, the horrifying images flashing through his mind.

That lump in his throat- which he was becoming much more familiar with now – threatened to return again, and he squeezed Rosie’s hand tightly… but something about the gesture make him calm down. The hand wasn’t dead, cold, broken, and lifeless like it had been when he’d gone to sleep; instead it was warmer, and slightly less frail. It wasn’t much of a change, but the more Trey thought about it, the more he wanted to smile, and when he saw the gentle rise and fall of Rosie’s chest, that’s exactly what he did.

Would it be bad to wake her? There was a sudden gush of hope bubbling inside Trey like a volcano about to erupt, and he was anxious to be reassured that Rose was okay. Should he let her sleep? He was too eager to find out whether she could even wake up at all- he had to find out. Maybe it was selfish, but he had to know. Squeezing her hand, he said to her a little too loudly, ”Rosie, can you hear me? It’s Trey. Well, um…” he stumbled for words to say to her. He lowered his voice a little, realizing how loud he was talking. ”If you can, I’d really like you to wake up.” Gazing at her hopefully, Trey watched for what seemed like an eternity before her eyes fluttered open.

Her soft, slight smile made the hope volcano erupt in a blaze of joy, and soon he was leaning forward on impulse, wrapping her in a tight hug despite all the dried blood that surrounded her. There were just so many things he wanted to tell her right now, but Trey couldn’t find the right words. He wanted to tell her how much he’d thought she was dead, and how much he didn’t want her to, and everything else that was running wildly through his head, but only three words would come out.

”I’ve missed you,” he whispered in her ear, closing his eyes as if he could hold onto this feeling forever.

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Until Rosie asked, Trey had mostly forgotten about the bloodstained couch, but instead of answering he just smiled at her. It didn’t matter anymore, he realized; it was just a dumb old couch. She was alive, and that was what mattered. One stain was worth a life- heck, he would have let her bleed on eight more couches if it would have meant she would be okay. When she asked where they were, he answered,

”This is my house, I brought you in and my mom fixed you up.”

After a short pause, Rosie grabbed his hand and pulled herself up so she was sitting upright, and Trey almost winced; it didn’t seem to him like she should be moving around this much yet. He was half tempted to tell her to lay back down and get some more rest, now that he knew she was alive and recovering. But something stopped him from doing anything.

It was probably the way she pulled him towards her suddenly, pressing her lips against his.

His eyes widened in surprise at first, but he soon began to kiss her back. This wasn’t so much different from the many kisses he’d had before, except for the fact that it was with Roselyn. She wasn’t as forceful with her kisses as some of the other girl he’d locked lips with- Rosie was more shy and gentle. It was nice, and it felt good to let go after so much drama and stress. The soft, warm feel of his lips against hers was comforting, and it made him feel better than he had in weeks. But then he had to go and screw it up.

Trey was the first one to pull back, and when he did so he found himself unable to look Rosie in the eyes, instead suddenly becoming interested in staring at his hands in his lap. Something about kissing her felt... wrong. Try felt terrible for not kissing her longer, and he hoped he hadn’t hurt her feelings, but he hadn’t been able to find it in himself to continue. He realized now that he barely even knew this girl. Sure, he had met her dad and faced a bear with her, but that was it. What was her favorite color? What did she like to do for fun? What was her favorite book? Who were some of her friends? Just simple things that he didn’t know, but they still bothered him.

Maybe this was all his fault. He had led her on, he had been too flirtatious. Sure, at first she had been just a pretty girl in a tree, but then, later in the day, it became more about saving her than just picking up another girl. It just felt like it was his duty to help her, and all he had wanted to do at that point was to keep her safe.

Perhaps he did love her, but he didn’t think it was in the same way. He wanted her to be happy, he wanted to protect her, he wanted her to recover, but he hadn’t planned on kissing her. What if this turned into more than just a friendship? Even though he didn’t want to admit it, Trey didn’t have a good history with women; he couldn’t hold down a girlfriend for longer than two months without either dumping the girl or being dumped by her. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Roselyn more- and the best way to do that would be to stay away from romance. This couldn’t go any farther, and this kiss wouldn’t – must not – happen again.

”Rose,” he said, avoiding any confrontation she might try to throw at him about the kiss, ”Maybe you should get some more sleep.” Trey smiled half-heartedly.



OOC: Sorry this isn’t that good – it was late.

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