I have to get to her. I don't know what that sick man might be doing to her, but I know that if I don't get to her, both my life and her will be changed forever. And not for the better.

I'm on my motorcycle, a black and red Kawasaki crotch rocket, pushing it to its limit- about one hundred-fifty miles per hour. Even at this speed, I'm not sure I'll be able to get to her in time. Something like Edgar Allan Poe's "The Telltale Heart" passes through my mind.

I heard all the things in Heaven, and many things in Hell. That's how I feel. Voices are raging through my head, and in my mind's eye, I see the man defiling her, slicing her up, chaining her down while he had his perverted way with her, making her bleed to death by a thousand small cuts.

Can't be too late. I have to get there in time. I can't fail her like that. Not again. Not like junior year in high school. Last time wasn't so bad, but this time will be infinitely worse if I don't get there in time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

I don't know how much time has passed. He kidnapped me at elven o'clock last night when I was walking home. I felt him grab my wrists and then hit me over the head with something and then I passed out. I just woke up and now I'm exploring the room I'm in. It doesnt' have any windows, and I cant' see any outline of a door. I stand up, feeling my way around the perimeter of the room. It's circular... Who the hell has circular rooms in their house? Unless it's a well or sometihng. Oh, man, I'm in the real Silence of the Lambs. How sick is that What is he gonna eat my liver with fava beans? Oh, wait, that was Lecter. no, this guy's gonna come in and tell me to rub the lotion on my skin, right? This so totally sucks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If I don't get to her in time, I will never forgive myself. I can't let her suffer again. Why isn't this bike going fast enough?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-- It is our freshman year in high school, and we have first period together. I am very shy, so I try to stay out of sight. I try not to look at anyone- just mind my own business. But he's staring at me. He's sitting in the row to my right, one desk ahead of mine so he's diagonal to me. It seems like it is uncomfortable to be sitting sideways in the desk like he is, but it doesn't bother him. I pull out a book, hoping that he'll look away. But I can still feel his eyes on me; it feels like someone's touching me.

I finally look up to see if he's still staring this way. He is, with a weird kind of curious expression, like he's seen me before and he's trying to place me. I study him as he studies me. He looks like a demi-god with blond hair worn shaved at the sides, the top braided, long enough to reach his lower back and uncannily blue eyes, almost green, like no other color I've ever seen before. As he stares at me, it almost looks like those ethereal eyes are glowing. His face is perfect- like a strong seraphim on an assignment here in Comfort, Texas. He is wearing a tight Under-Armour shirt, and I can see that his body is rock-solid, full of developing muscles. My gaze flows to his hands- and what beautiful hands they are. Smooth, like he never misses a day without putting lotion on them, and strong, sleek, and tough all at the same time. I glance back up at his eyes, and he's smiling at me. He opens his mouth to say something, but the teacher starts to talk, interrupting this demi-god before he even says a word. I curse silently to myself- I had wanted so much to hear his voice! He and I look away from each other and listen to the teacher as she calls out the attendance.

I listen closely to every name, waiting for him to answer, "Here." My name is called first, Cossette Bloodworth. I answer her, and she moves on through the list of names. When she reads his, it repeats through my echoic memory, and I feel like it's perfect for someone like him. He doesn't say anything, much to my dismay, just raises his hand as the teacher looks up.