The Mess I Made

"What the hell were you thinking, Cheyenne?" Elliot questioned, leaning forward so that our eyes had no other choice but than to meet.

"I don't know, Elliot, I wasn't thinking!"

"Exactly. You weren't thinking! Do you know what could have happened to her?"

"Oh, please. Stop talking to me like I committed a damn crime!"

His licked his lips, straightened his tie out, and sat beside me. "Lower your voice, Cheyenne. You've never yelled at me or shown any disrespect. Why now?"

"Because you're going all cop on me. I didn't do anything, El."

He sighed softly, placing a hand on my shoulder, squeezing softly. "I know, Cheyenne. I'm just a lot more aware of the danger out there than the average joe."

I snorted. "So I've noticed."

He gave me a sideways glance, raising an eyebrow. "Hey, I'm still your father, kid."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help the smile that overcame my lips. "I know."

Elliot had been partners with my mother since before I was born, and considering my biological father ran out on her, Elliot's been the closest thing for a good fifteen years. He nudged me with his knee, and I brought my gaze to his.

"Will you give her a chance?"

I bit my lip, contemplating this. "For me?"

"Yes sir. I'll give it my all."

"Good...and no more leaving her at school, got it?"

"Got it," I said, saluting him and walking out of my bedroom to find Samantha, Thomas, and James talking on the couch whilst my mother was in the kitchen. My expression turned gloomy instantly, and I glared at Thomas.

"Get out."

He stood, smirk on his face. "Baby, I have a right to be here."

"Oh, yeah? Says who?"

"Samantha."

I brought my gaze to Samantha's, but she said nothing to either confirm or deny it. James, I had no problem with. He was sweet, though I never really found myself talking to him often on the account he was a Senior and I a Sophmore. Thomas..I absolutely despised.

He had a reputation, and there was a reason most girls didn't go for him. Though I wasn't too sure what that reason was, I still knew the kid was bad news. "Whatever. If you're staying, I'm leaving."

"Cheyenne," Came Mom's voice, harsher than before.

I slipped my coat on, looking at her. "I have my phone on me. Call me when you want me home."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"God dammit," I cursed, glancing around me to find my surroundings unfamiliar.

It was barely starting to get late, but I knew I'd have to be home soon. If Elliot or Mom found out I'd gotten lost, I'd be grounded until..forever, probably. I kept walking, though, getting the sense that someone was following me, and came to a dead end street. Fucking perfect.

I got my cell out, clicking on Elliot's name, knowing that Mom would murder me before he did. Before I had the chance to hit talk, though, a figure emerged from the shadows.

"What's a beautiful girl like you doing out here alone?"

My blood didn't run cold, I didn't scream; I wasn't scared when I should have been. I figured I could easily out run the guy if needed, and I wasn't stupid. I knew how to fight.

"Staying away from sick fucks like you."

He stepped into the streetlight, grinning like a madman, and something shiny caught my eye: a knife. A lump formed in my throat, and I began walking the way I had come. Sure, I may be able to outrun the man, but that meant nothing if he had a weapon.

His hand seized my arm, and I jerked away, feeling the cool blade rub against my side. My eyes widened at this, and my heart started to race. My thoughts ran together, and I couldn't form actual words; just plea after plea, lie after lie.

"I-I'll give you money, please!"

"Baby, you know I don't want money," He growled, pushing the knife against me harder.

I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to kick the man and run. Why the hell did I get myself in this situation? "P-Please! Let me go, I wont tell anyone."

"I worked so hard to find you, Cheyenne. So fucking hard, and do you think I'm going to let you out of my grasp that easily?"

My blood ran cold; the man knew me! "W-Who are you?"

"Your father," The man chuckled, running the tip of his blade down my thigh. I felt disgust pulse through me, but even more than that, fear.

He fell to the ground suddenly, gasping in pain, and I looked around, but saw no one. A hand snaked around my wrist, and threw the gun elsewhere, tugging me away from the injured man. I faced the person that had saved me, and I gasped in shock.

Coach Chelsea Monceaux.