The Last Person You Would Want to See

Your eyes widen slowly as your mind registers who is sitting in front of you. His victorious, vicious smirk jeers down at you, his dark green eyes glinting malevolently. His ginger hair is just as messy as always, like he laughed at the idea of a comb.

"Hey, Smarty," he speaks, bringing you back to your nightmarish reality. "You look pretty good like this."

"J-Josh..."

He had immediately picked you as the focus of his antics the first day of your freshman year. Ever since, he had seemingly been on a quest to humiliate you and mentally break you. Usually, he doesn't really get to you and is relatively easy to ignore.

"I didn't think you'd be so good at that, but I'm not surprised you were a virgin," he laughs quietly, guiding you to your feet by your chin. You feel all of your muscles quivering, no amount of will power able to hide the effect he's having on you now. His smirk confirms that he knows it-- he's finally gotten what he wanted.

"You know..." he begins thoughtfully, leaning to whisper in your ear, "I don't think I'm finished with you yet." You glance around anxiously; shouldn't the theater staff be in here cleaning up before the next showing? "No one's coming in for a while." You swallow hard; it's as if he had read your mind or something. "There's not another showing in this theater tonight; you'd be surprised how much a twenty-dollar bribe can get out of these kids." You let out a squeak, jumping as you feel him harshly grasping your ass.

He turns, hand still on your ass as he forces you out of the room. You look down, trying to hide your face behind your hair. He isn't having it, tucking your locks behind your ear; he wants everyone to see what he did to you. You feel like you should be in the scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark where all of the Nazis get their faces melted off, so hot is your shameful blush.

He doesn't bother to ask if you drove here or walked. You know you're no match for him-- fighting back would only make things worse. For that reason, you willingly-- if tremulously-- climb inside of his pickup, planning on making a run for it as soon as he moved out of the way. Your heart drops into your stomach as he locks the doors behind you. He unlocks the driver's door again only when he reaches it, climbing in as well.

"Buckle up, Smarty," he commands, smirking over at you again. "It'd be a shame if something were to... happen... to you." The tone he uses unnerves you, and you do as he demands, muscles quaking so harshly you can hardly manage it. After the seatbelt clicks into place, he starts the engine, ripping out of the nearly empty parking lot and immediately exiting to the interstate.