The Trapped

02

- B L A I R E -

11.06.16  // 7:23 p.m.

THE SUN IS SLOWLY creeping down the horizon, the orange spectrum lights cascade over Beverly Hills as I get ready for a night out. I tie my hair into a ponytail, catching a glimpse of the strange birthmark that is on my right wrist. Sutter is in love with it, but I think it is hideous.

My long loose curls fall effortlessly down my back. My black dress hugs my body tightly as if it is specially made just for me. My blue stiletto heels sit lonely in the back of the closet due to the fact that I haven't worn them in months. I stand up on my tippy toes and grip the straps of the shoes.

The heels make me three inches taller than I actually am and I feel like I am on top of the world, as I should be. I look at my reflection in the mirror one more time before I leave, making sure I look highly presentable.

My mom isn't at home because she has a business trip in San Francisco and wouldn't be returning until later on tonight, making it easier to sneak out. All I have to do is get past the housekeeper who watches everything closely, like a cat.

I tiptoe down the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible, but it is quite hard due to these heels that clink loudly against the marble staircase.

Ms. Lucia, the housekeeper since two thousand and five, swoops around the corner of the great room and stares at me intently, making me freeze halfway down the stairs.

     "Going somewhere?" She asks, placing her frail hands on her hips. Her round spectacles slip down her nose slowly as she blinks up at me.

       "I was just going to meet up with Victoria. Nothing big, just a couple of chick flick movies and popcorn," I lie, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear as I avoid Ms. Lucia's intense gaze.

         "Dressed like that? Do you really expect me to believe you are just going to a friend's house? Your mom told me to keep you on lockdown until she came back."

         "My mom doesn't have to know, just please let me go. It's one night," I beg, putting my palms flat against each other in a praying gesture. I bat my eyelashes at her and poke out my bottom lip. Ms. Lucia loses her serious face and breaks out into a small smile.

          "Fine, don't tell your mom that I let you go out tonight or I'll be fired. Be back at eleven o'clock sharp or by all means I will hunt you down myself and drag you back here," she warns.

       "Thank you," I breathe, visibly relaxing.

That was easy.

I can't help but squeal with excitement and take the rest of the stairs to hug her. She laughs and hugs me back quickly before pulling away.

Germaphobe.

I leave the house, enter the lock code on the iPad next to the door, and breathe in the fresh autumn air. The last few bits of daylight still hang around in the sky, waiting for darkness to c***k it open and take over. The air smells of rain and wet trees. The leaves crunch under my feet as I make my way around to the back of my house where Sutter's car is parked.

Sutter is leaning against the passenger side of his car, hands in his pockets and sunglasses on his face, looking his usual handsome self.

      "Hello there, beautiful," he says, coming up to me and pulling me in for a long kiss. We are never, ever allowed to show our love for each other around our family, or anyone for that matter. 

So at moments like this, when we are finally alone, we are always very... intimate. We've never had s*x, mainly because in our family we had to wait until marriage, but it never stopped us from doing other things while we are alone.

I pull away when I start to feel something hard against my hip. Sutter blushes and stares at the ground, reaching up to scratch the back of his red neck.

      "Sorry," he mumbles. "Stupid hormones." I laugh and duck my head to hide the blush that has crept its way up my neck.

      "We should get going before one of the workers catches us," I tell him and he nods, turning around to open the door for me.

I slide into his car and run my hands up and down the smooth leather seat. Sutter's favorite music, anything from classical to jazz, plays faintly from the radio. I hum along to the familiar tune as Sutter gets in and starts up the car.

       "Who wrote this?" I ask, referring to the music. Sutter takes a quick glance at the radio before looking back to the road, taking a smooth left turn and cruising down the open street.

       "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart," Sutter responds in a British accent and I roll my eyes.

        "You know this song is Italian, not British," I tease. Sutter shrugs and turns up the radio. He reaches over to rest a hand on my knee, then begins running his hand up and down my thigh, making goosebumps appear wherever his hand trails.

"We don't always have to listen to what our parents say," he whispers seductively. I roll my eyes and push his hand away.

        "You know if we ever did that, we would probably be shunned by everyone we know and sent to live in Saudi Arabia or something," I tell him.

        "That isn't such a bad place," he says, biting his lip.

        "Well, I want to go to Yale and last time I checked, Yale is not in Saudi Arabia." Sutter shrugs and eases into the parking lot of the Beverly Hills twenty-one and underbar.

The fluorescent lights that make up the sign on the top of the building glow brightly with purple and blue. The outside of the club is black and I can already hear the loud music coming from inside.

Sutter pulls the key out of the ignition, gets out of the car, and swoops around to my side to open the door for me. He grabs my hand and tugs me to the entrance.

A long line snakes around the building, everyone excited to get in. A few girls catch a glance of Sutter and I protectively pull him closer. Sutter pulls me to the front and into the VIP entrance where the tall, dark bodyguard slides over to let us in.

The music is loud, pumping through my veins and ringing in my ears. Sweaty bodies dance on one another and the smell of alcohol fills my nostrils, even though it is a twenty-one and underbar.

Do people not follow rules?

Sutter and I find seats in a dark corner surrounded by red neon lights. I sit down and Sutter sits across from me.

     "Want a drink?" He asks me just as a waitress in a tight pink dress saunters over to our table and places fruit punch in front of both of us. She winks at Sutter before walking off, swaying her narrow hips from side to side. I roll my eyes and Sutter smirks, reaching across the table to place his hand on mine.

     "I'm all yours, Blaire," he says. I shake off his comment and glance down at the small budge on the inside of his jacket pocket.

       "We are underage, in case you don't remember," I tell him, bringing the plastic martini glass up to my lips. Sutter smiles before reaching into his jacket and pulling out a silver flask. I widen my eyes at him and glance around the area we are in, making sure no one sees us. Sutter rolls his eyes.

     "What?" I ask.

      "Do you think I am the only seventeen-year-old boy that has brought alcohol into this bar? Because if so, you are highly mistaken," he tells me.

       "Whatever, just be careful." He rolls his eyes again before pouring beer into both of our glasses. I take a sip of the strange combination and cough loudly as the liquid burns going down my throat. I look up at Sutter who drinks it without any problems.

        "You drink a lot or something?" I ask, glancing down at his drink.

        "No, of course not. I just know how to hold down alcohol better than you," he smirks, putting his drink down and leaning on his elbows.

        "Shut up," I say. He chugs down his whole drink before getting up and grabbing my hand.

          "Let's go dance!" He shouts over the loud music, pulling me up from my chair and dragging me onto the crowded dance floor.

Sutter wraps his arm around my waist, turning me around so my back is against his chest. I move awkwardly to the beat of the music, trying hard to match Sutter's effortlessly perfect club dancing. I am a ballet dancer and this kind of dancing is not my style, but I try nonetheless.

Sutter begins to grind his hips against me, making our movements look s****l. But, we don't look half as bad as the other couples who are basically about to combust right here on the dance floor. I hear Sutter groan from behind me and my cheeks flare up as I begin to feel embarrassed.

Oh my god, what if my mom is watching me?

I stop dancing and turn around to look at Sutter whose breathing is shallow and whose eyes are dilated.

      "I'm sorry, I can't do this," I tell him. He nods and grabs my hand, pulling us to the nearest bar stools. I take a seat and let out a shaky breath.

        "Hey, it's fine. We don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with," Sutter says, tilting my chin up with his finger.

        "Thanks," I whisper. We watch all the people dance against each other, everyone happy with no worries on their mind. Everyone is probably drunk or high, but it didn't matter because they were having fun, living in the moment.

From behind me, a young man comes up to Sutter and me. I recognized him from school automatically, but can't remember his name right away. Sutter, however, doesn't seem to know who he is at all due to the look of confusion on his face.

      "Blaire! It's so good to see you," he says, wrapping his big arms around me. I hug him back hesitantly and he pulls back as he realizes that I don't remember exactly who he is. "Joshua. We were in AP physics together last year," he says and the little lightbulb in my head goes off as I remembered who he is.

       "Oh, right! You sat behind me, you were always talking to Lucy," I say, making him chuckle. Sutter is still staring at us confused. He clears his throat awkwardly. "Oh, Joshua, this is Sutter."

       "Yeah, I know who Sutter is! Who doesn't? How are you, my man?" Joshua says, offering a hand to Sutter. Sutter stares at it but doesn't make a move to shake it. Joshua lowers his hand awkwardly and gives Sutter a shy smile. "You look good tonight, Blaire."

Joshua's eyes flicker up and down my body and I squirm uncomfortably.

        "Thanks?" I say, raising my eyebrows.

         "We should get out of here, go back to my hotel room and drink," he suggests, but the hint of seduction in his voice made me think he wanted to go back to the hotel, but not to drink. Besides, who gets a hotel room when you live in Beverly Hills?

         "Just great, why don't you flirt with my girlfriend right in front of me," Sutter says from beside me, making Joshua turn to glare at him.

            "Chill man, I wouldn't want to embarrass you anyway," he mutters. Sutter narrows his eyes at him.

            "Look, I don't really know who you think you are, but you can just back the f-" Sutter is cut off as Joshua grabs him by his shirt and brings him up and out of his seat. His hands turn white as they grip Sutter's shirt tightly.

          "Nobody asked for your commentary, Mr. Canton," he says. All eyes have turned on us and the music has stopped.

What got into Joshua that quickly?

          "Let him go," I say, making Joshua glare over his shoulder at me.

          "Shut up, foolish girl," he spits at me. A door near the bar suddenly opens and a man in a black suit comes out. He is young, older than me, but still young. His eyes are blue, like crystal clear water, and he has a silver name tag that reads 'manager.'

His hair is white, almost the color of fresh snow in the winter and it has odd streaks of silver in it that stand out against the soft glow of the fluorescent lights in the club. 

          "What seems to be the problem here?" He asks in a deep, clear voice that sounds like pure silk. Joshua let's go of Sutter and shoves him against the wall. He straightens his shirt as Sutter stares at him, completely dumbfounded and lost.

       "Nothing, just a misunderstanding," Joshua says innocently, batting his eyelashes at the manager and rocking back and forth on his heels.

        "That didn't seem like just a misunderstanding, Mr. Feldman. Why don't you leave right now, I can't have this kind of behavior in my club," he says.

        "What the fu-" Joshua starts but gets cut off by the flick of the Manager's perfectly shaped hand.

        "Don't start today, Mr. Feldman. Leave, now!" He says more seriously this time. Joshua shoots Sutter one more sharp look before turning to me. He grabs me by the elbow and pulls me close, his mouth coming to my ear.

        "That one was for you, Rose," he whispers before letting go of me and sauntering out of the club. I stare at him, confused until he disappears behind the black door. The music starts again and people no longer are concerned about us as they begin to dance again.

        "Thank you so much, sir," I tell the manager who is staring at me intently.

        "It was my pleasure. I actually need you to fill out a customer report form, if you don't mind," he says.

         "Nothing happened to me, it was my boyfriend," I say, referring to Sutter who leans against the wall silently. His hands are folded away into his pockets and his eyes are frantically looking around the room.

         "I know, but your boyfriend seems as if he has been drinking. You, however, are sober. I need you to do this, so I can send it off to the head of the club company. People were recording that whole mishap and I don't need that kind of bad publicity. You would really be helping out, do you mind?" He asks again.

I nod and mumble a 'be right back' to Sutter before following the manager through the kitchen and into an office. The room is all silver; the walls, the chairs, the desk, even the clock that hangs ticking on the wall. The Manager hands me a white sheet of paper and a silver pen and tells me to describe what happened in exact detail.

I sit down in his plush chairs and begin writing the events that occurred moments ago. The manager is silent behind me, watching over my shoulder like a hawk as he waits for me to finish. When I am done, I put the pen down and c***k my fingers.

     "Anything else?" I ask, re-reading the paper to make sure there were no mistakes.

      "No, I think that is all, Ms. Hawthorn," he whispers.

       "What is your name again?" I ask as I mark out a word that I spelled wrong. My hand accidentally runs across the paper and I smudge the ink. "Shoot," I mumble, wiping the ink onto my black dress.

        "Just call me T," the manager says from behind me.

Suddenly, a white cloth is placed over my mouth and nose. I drop the pen I was holding and grab onto the man's arm, trying to release the strong grip he has on me.

I suck in a breath through my mouth and find that my senses are becoming hazy. The room starts to spin and I lose all control of my body. I release the grip on the man and slump back against the chair as I feel myself starting to fall asleep. The last thing I hear is the man whispering in my ear as he carries me out of his office.

     "Rose."

He repeats that over and over and over again.

Then just like that, I crumple like a puppet suddenly being released from its strings.