I hear the window wind down. I’m about ready to tell them to fuck off, but then I hear Connor say, “Get in!”
I sit up, grab my bag, and get to my feet. “Fuck off!”
“Ava!”
I walk away, my bag gripped tight to my chest. He drives away. Thank fuck. But then I hear his tires spinning as he turns around, yelling at me from the other side of the road. “Get in the fucking car, Ava!”
I almost laugh at the absurdity, but I’m too angry, too tired, and so I hasten my steps. I don’t know where the hell I’m going; I just need to be gone. His truck turns into the parking lot of a restaurant a few feet ahead of me, and so I turn on my heels, start walking back from where I came. He can drive around as much as he wants, but he’s not getting me in there. Arms reach around me, yanking my backpack from me, and I scream, “Help!”
“Shut up!” he yells back.
I turn to see him running to his car with my backpack. He opens the passenger door and throws it in there, then closes it. He stands, rain falling all around him. He’s in basketball shorts and a loose tank, and all of it clings to his flesh, exposing the muscles I love running my hands across. Loved running my hands across. But so does Wendy. Probably.
Fuck him. He can take my bag. I start running, and it doesn’t take long before I hear his footsteps behind me. His arms circle my waist, lifting me off my feet. I kick my legs out, scream, “Help!” again. He covers my mouth with his palm while spinning me around, walking us back to the truck. Cars drive by, and no one seems to care that there’s an actual kidnapping happening right in front of them. We get to his truck, and without pause, Connor opens the passenger’s side door and throws me inside. I flip to my back, kick at his chest. He grasps my ankles, pushing me farther across the bench seat. “Knock it off, you fucking brat!” He flicks the child lock on the door, preventing me from opening it, and slams it shut. Then runs to the driver’s side just in time to stop me from escaping through there. He sits behind the wheel, his jaw ticking, and starts the car. I try to open the door, but nothing happens, and so I sit, my teeth clenched, arms crossed. The restaurant’s closed so there are no cars in the lot, and the rain is too heavy that no one would hear me screaming. Connor seems to take a breath, or ten, trying to calm himself down, and I don’t know why he’s pissed when I’m the one being held against my will. He steps on the pedal, the tires spinning before we move. He drives, his rage controlling our speed as he goes around the back of the restaurant. “Connor,” I scream, grasping his arm when the chain link fence comes into view. He stops a foot in front of it, barely noticeable through the sheets of water falling around us.
“Fuck!” he spits, punching the steering wheel.
Great. Hulk Connor. I’ve only seen this side of him once before, and it was when he concluded that Peter had hurt me. He was wrong then. He’s wrong now. I try to look for an escape, see the button for the window and press down on it. The window lowers, and hope fills my bloodline. I start to climb out when Connor curses again, his grip on my hips digging into my flesh when he pulls me back.
“What the fuck is wrong with you!” he yells.
He holds me to him while he winds the window up again from the controllers on his door. Then he locks them, too.
I kick his dashboard.
Because fuck him.
“Calm the fuck down, Ava!”
He releases me, his hand instantly going to his face, rubbing at his eyes. “Why are you making this so fucking impossible!?” he shouts. His chest rises and falls with every breath as thunder cracks above us.
I look around, but I can barely see a foot in front of me, barely hear my own thoughts. But I hear his breaths, each one harsh, until slowly, slowly, they begin to settle. With my back to the door, I watch his throat bob with his swallow, watch his eyes move from his lap to my legs, then up at