It was eleven in the morning when I dragged myself out of bed. I felt like I'd been sleeping for ages. I didn't need to look at myself in the mirror to know my hair resembled a nest and my mascara and eyeliner were smeared all around my eyes. My foul breath was the real winner though.

I brushed my teeth, washed my unusually puffy face, and tied my long hair up in a messy ponytail, ready to haul my way to the kitchen in my PJs. My stomach was howling with hunger.

I hummed the tune I'd just come up with as I descended the stairs. It was a ballad that played in my head on the piano, but I wanted to memorize it and try it out on my guitar later.

"Good morning, sweetheart. You look like you came straight out of the washing machine," my mom, Julie, told me when I entered the kitchen. She was making lunch.

She wore a sports shirt and sweatpants that showcased her slim hourglass figure, which was a complete contrast to the clothes she wore at work. She worked as a PR manager, and I saw her in formal suits more often than not.

I yawned and picked up my plate of ham and eggs before I slumped down on the kitchen stool. I was dying to wolf down my late breakfast. "Good morning to you too, Mom."

Her amber brown eyes twinkled with amusement. "Did you sleep well?"

Yes, if you didn't count two hours of tossing around in my bed and trying to get some sleep after that encounter with Blake at the party. But she didn't have to know that.

"Like a baby."

"When did you come home last night?"

I groaned. "Mom, don't do that."

"I just want to know. Is that so bad?"

It wasn't bad, but it was irritating. My mom was the sweetest mom in the world—minus her tendency to be curious about my every move.

"You know I didn't break curfew."

"I don't know that. I was sleeping."

I sighed. "I didn't. Cross my heart and hope to die."

She tossed me a smile over her shoulder. "That's good. Was there someone who caught your attention?" She wiggled her eyebrows.

I dropped my gaze to my eggs. "Nope."

"And Kevin?"

"You know I'm not into him," I mumbled as I chewed with my eyes set on my plate.

"But that boy is so sweet!"

I took a big bite as I thought about the last time Kev was at my house. It was totally embarrassing. We watched American Idol in the living room—or more like tried to. My mom kept coming in and giving him the third degree, and I almost expected her to request he show her his family tree before he professed his undying love for me.

Poor Kev couldn't even imagine why she was so interested in him. He was the only boy I'd brought to my house since my ex- and only boyfriend, Rory, so it was no wonder she thought there was more to Kevin's and my friendship than there actually was.

"But I don't like him."

"Oh well. When are you going to invite him to our house again?"

"Mom, stop it. I won't fall for him, if that's what you're thinking." I chuckled. "We're just friends!"

My dad, Owen, walked in the kitchen. "Who's friends with whom?" he asked.

I glanced at him with my mouth full of eggs and bacon and got another reminder that I'd gotten the short end of the genetic stick. Just like Mom, he looked too handsome for someone in their forties with his defined chest, broad shoulders, and solid muscles, proving that weekend jogs really pay off. I had his deep blue wide-set eyes, freckles on the nose, and lighter complexion, but I'd gotten my mom's sand-colored hair, perky nose, and luscious lips.

I had a pretty face if I excluded my double chin and chubby cheeks, but the rest of my body... My mom, my therapist, Mel, and Sar always told me I looked gorgeous and had great curves, but it was hard to believe them. The mirror didn't lie, and the mirror showed a fat stomach, cellulite, and huge flabby thighs. It was hard to love those parts of myself.

"I'm friends with Kevin."

He took a water bottle from the fridge. "He's a good kid. You should invite him here more often."

I groaned. "Dad, not you too."

He raised his hands in the air. "What? I'm just saying. He can have a positive influence on you. You know school is important."

Count on my parents to underscore hanging out with good kids and getting good grades. My family and relatives had tried to drill into my head their high expectations of me my whole life, and they never even asked me what I wanted to do with my life.

My dad was a lawyer, and he represented important public figures. He owned a law firm that had merged with another hotshot firm from Enfield, which was why we had moved from my hometown, Bridgeport, to Enfield. It was only natural for my dad to think I was going to follow in his footsteps.

This was why I hadn't yet told them I'd applied to a few music colleges. I was still gathering the courage to tell them about it, and my stomach knotted each time I thought about that moment. It was going to be disastrous.

"Speaking of school," I started quietly, "there's something I need to tell you."

Dad stopped halfway through the kitchen door. "Tell us what?"

"You look like you're about to drop a bomb on us. Are you pregnant?" my mom joked.

I snorted. At this moment, even that felt better than the truth. I wished I could delay telling them about the detention, but my dad would be so angry if I didn't tell them now.

"I got detention."

They frowned and glanced at each other. "Detention? But how is that possible, Jessica? What did you do?" Mom asked.

It was almost like they expected me to say Gotcha! There's a hidden camera. I wished there were a hidden camera and this weren't real. I wished I hadn't thrown Blake's phone on the ground to start with.

"Jessica?" Dad prodded, his tone revealing an impending argument.

I should've finished my breakfast first. I pushed my plate with the half-eaten eggs aside. "I threw my classmate's phone on the ground."

Mom brought her hand to her chest. "Jesus."

Dad's face turned so grim I felt like I'd committed a felony. "Why did you do that?"

I kept my eyes firmly on my plate, bristling at his rising voice. My parents weren't aware of how much I was bullied in school, because I was too ashamed to tell them all the details. They thought it was something temporary and insignificant, something that would pass if I ignored it. They told me to ignore bullies and focus on my studies and they would leave me alone. Little do they know.

I'd mentioned Blake to my mom once, and all she told me was to stay away from him and report him to my teachers. As if it was that easy. As if Blake cared about school authorities—he was the authority, all thanks to the cash his parents threw around in the name of school donations.

"The boy I told you about," I began, glancing at Mom. "He bullied me in class again today. He didn't stop no matter how much I pleaded for him to. He was horrible...so I just snapped."

The silence in the kitchen was too loud. "So you just snapped," Dad repeated.

"Yes," I replied with red cheeks. "I grabbed his phone and threw it on the ground...and his screen broke."

Dad ran his hand through his hair. "I can't believe you would do something like that. That boy should be punished for his actions, but you didn't have to stoop to his level. I thought we raised you better than that."

"I know, and I'm so sorry, but he just wouldn't stop—"

"Then you should've reported him to the teacher," Dad interrupted.

"That doesn't help, Dad! The teachers in our school are not like you. Our principal is not like you. They don't care."

"Well, it's high time they start caring now that the school board is changing." He stopped next to me and put the water bottle down on the counter. "I'm going to talk to your principal again and demand he do his job."

"In the meantime, you're going to apologize to the boy and pay for his phone screen," my mom said.

NO. That was an absolute no. I didn't even want to imagine how badly that would go. Blake didn't need my apology, and he'd already said paying for his screen wouldn't do me any good.

"I'm afraid of him, Mom, so I don't want to go anywhere near him. And he's the one who should apologize to me! For everything he's done to me."

Dad scowled deeply. "Has he ever hit you or physically abused you?"

I chipped away at my nail polish. "It's complicated."

"Jessica." His stern voice demanded obedience. "Did that boy hit you?"

"No, he never hit me. He just manhandles me most of the time."

He let out a long sigh. "We'll talk to the boy's parents and—"

"No!" I exclaimed. I was horrified just thinking about that. I didn't want to drag Blake's and my parents into this, which most likely wouldn't do anything to help me. It would only anger Blake, and then all hell would break loose. "I-I'll talk to him and apologize."

My dad looked at me as if he didn't buy it. "Will you?"

The blush on my cheeks intensified. "I will."

There was no way I would actually talk to him and apologize for the broken screen. I'd rather eat glass.

"Good," Mom said. "And I really hope you won't resort to damaging people's property in order to deal with them again. What you did is never the solution. Owen will talk to your principal and make sure something like this doesn't happen again."

"That isn't necessary—"

"Of course it's necessary," Dad said. "I don't want students to harass you. Also, that can affect your grades, and we've already told you how important your grades are. You can't hope to get accepted by top universities if you start getting bad grades and detentions. So if I hear you got one more detention or made any more trouble, I won't buy you a new guitar."

My jaw dropped. "What? But I've been asking for that guitar for years!"

"Then you better make sure not to make another mistake."

I wanted to cry. They weren't being fair. All my life I'd been studying hard, always obsessing over my grades, and now that I'd gotten a detention for the first time in my life, they were treating me like I was going to become a delinquent.

I dashed back to my room and closed the door with a bang, angry tears spilling from my eyes. I felt the need to shout my resentment to the whole world. I hated being so impotent.

When I was seven, my grandmother taught me how to play a guitar and gave me her Martin—an acoustic guitar she'd owned since she was in her twenties—as a birthday present. It was special for me because it had guided me into the world of music and helped me discover who I was, and I'd grown to love it more than anything else I had. It was my anchor when I felt lost and my source of joy when I felt blue. It'd led me to singing.

However, its tonal quality wasn't as good as it could have been. So, I'd been asking my dad to buy me a new guitar ever since I realized I wanted to be a singer and started imagining myself on a stage, just me and my guitar, performing my songs for my audience.

Now I was one detention closer to not getting it, as if years of being an exemplary student could be easily annulled with one freaking detention. It was downright ridiculous.

I dropped face down on my bed and grabbed my iPhone.

I told my parents about the detention, I texted Kev.

And what did they say?

That I should apologize to Blake.

You're kidding, right?

And that I should pay for his phone screen.

Are your parents on drugs?

It gets better. My dad says he won't buy me a new guitar if I get one more detention.

It's confirmed. They're on drugs.

Tell me about it. I hate it. I've been stressing myself out over the pop quizzes last week, but it's all for nothing because good grades aren't enough for them.

But this wasn't your fault.

Technically, it was my fault, and it doesn't matter that Blake is a jerk. Plus, now I have to 'apologize' to him.

But this is Blake we're talking about. Apologizing to him is useless.

I rolled to my back and looked at the posters of my favorite indie pop singers on the walls. I thought about the lyrics of "Running with the Wolves" by Aurora, wishing I could break free from the chains of fears that held me back and be free, starting with Blake. He was everywhere. He owned my mind and hurt me on different levels, and it sickened me that I'd given him so much power over me.

The chains of fears... Now that could be my new song.

I know. So you can just kill me and put me out of my misery, I messaged Kev back.

I have a better plan. Let's go out and eat something.

I smiled widely. Food was always the solution.

You're a genius, Kev :) I'm totally down!

After we decided when and where to meet, I went to my makeshift recording studio. It was actually a walk-in closet, which was so big it served perfectly as a studio. When we'd moved into this house, I had picked this room only because of it. I'd turned it into a studio, soundproofed it with foam, and equipped it with an audio interface, studio microphone, and studio headphones. I'd spent all the money I'd received from my family and relatives over the years on it, and I didn't regret a single cent.

I took my guitar and sat on the chair. I was dying for my daily dose of playing and singing. I strummed a chord and allowed the music to envelop me in its empowering arms. Closing my eyes, I started singing, letting all my worries and stress out and forgetting about everything but the melody that carried me over to a place far more magical and peaceful than any other.

***************

"Mmm, this is heaven," I said with my mouth full as I looked at my delicious cheeseburger. It was a real treat.

Kevin grinned at me from across the booth, and I spotted a piece of lettuce stuck between his teeth. "It's d-d-delicious."

I chuckled. "Eww, Kev! You have lettuce stuck between your teeth!"

He went beet red and covered his mouth with his hand. "Really? Give me your compact."

I chortled. He was adorable like this.

"Here you go." I fished the pink mirror out of my bag.

He grabbed it and faced the window so I wouldn't see him while he removed the piece. I took a sip of my Coke and looked through the window at the people passing by. A large layer of snow lay thickly on the ground, promising children snowy adventures. The dark, cloudy sky indicated there was more to come as the howling wind propelled snow particles around.

"Your p-p-parents are really s-strict." He handed me back my compact. "One detention isn't the end of the world."

I took another bite of my cheeseburger and swallowed it quickly. I always scarfed my food down and ate it rather sloppily, but I had to slow down if I didn't want to disgust other diners. The place was full of people from our school and college kids. I looked at my food sadly. It almost begged me to stuff it into my mouth with its deliciousness.

"It sure is for them. All my life I've been told how great my dad is. I'm always reminded of his achievements. The best in his class, graduated summa cum laude, owns his own law firm. And if that isn't enough, they keep reminding me not to be like my cousins, who are either too lazy to study or mingling with the wrong crowd."

"They're p-putting too much pressure on you."

I reached for my cup and took another sip of my Coke. "Yep. They always wanted me to be their perfect child. I have to be responsible and think about my future, blah blah blah. Sometimes, I feel it's never enough. I feel tired of proving myself to them."

"You still haven't told them you want to be a singer?"

I took a bite. "Nope. Seeing the way they are when it comes to something as minor as detention, I'm scared to imagine their reaction when I tell them about this. They think singing is just my hobby." I grinned at him. "If you don't hear from me, it means they've killed me."

He chuckled. "I'll make sure you're remembered." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "I think you should tell them you want to be a s-s-singer. Singing makes you happy, so they should understand it."

"I hope so. Let's keep our fingers crossed."

Then again, even if they accepted it, that would solve only one part of my problem. The other part was much bigger, and I didn't know how to deal with it.

I had stage fright. I'd had it ever since I was twelve and that incident happened. I couldn't sing in front of others. Sar and Mel had tried to convince me to join the school choir for months before I finally caved. The first few weeks were disastrous because I couldn't find my real voice. All that came out was a high-pitched squealing, and it was humiliating.

Our teacher tried to help me overcome it. She told me there were twenty more people in the choir, so the attention wasn't solely on me. The choir wasn't about me. It was about all of us—the unity. Gradually, I was able to relax enough and perform at a satisfactory level, but we had a school festival in about a month, right before spring break, and I was absolutely terrified of singing at it.

I watched him slurp his Coke. "How did your therapy go?"

Kevin had a speech disorder, and he'd started speech therapy a month earlier. He'd lived with his stutter his entire life, which put a huge dent in his self-esteem and desire to pursue his dreams. It made him afraid of communicating with others or meeting new people.

Once, he'd told me he felt his stutter defined him. He said nothing brought him more shame and frustration than when he did his best to speak fluently only to fail and be met with misunderstanding or ignorance, especially from those who deemed him stupid just because he couldn't put his thoughts into words or took a long time to form a sentence. He faced mocking, pity, and annoyance day after day, which squashed his hope for change, so he chose to speak as little as possible. I wished I could help him somehow.

"It was so-so. We worked on easy onset. Again."

"What's that?"

"You s-start to use your voice gently and ease into the rest of, of, of the word." He took a deep breath and demonstrated the technique. "We read s-s-some passages from a book."

"How was it?"

"Exhausting. I don't see any progress."

"It takes time, Kev. You've only been going there for a month."

"But I t-told you I went to therapy as a kid. Nothing helps. It's not curable."

"Maybe you just haven't found the right therapist or therapy for you."

He didn't look convinced. It was true that many stuttering cases couldn't be treated successfully, but I hoped that wouldn't deter him from chasing his dream of becoming a singer. As unusual as it was, Kevin didn't stutter when he sang, which was remarkable.

"Oh no," he said with a suddenly pale face, looking at something behind me with wide eyes. "Look who's here."

My pulse quickening, I glanced over my shoulder. My cheeks warmed when I saw Blake, Mel's brother Steven, Masen, and two girls enter the diner together. I whipped my head back and moved my hair to hide my face behind it. Just my luck.

"Please don't let him see me," I whispered to myself. "Don't let him come anywhere near us. Make him sit at the far end of the room. Make him disappear into thin air."

"I-I don't think that's gonna help, Jess. They're heading our way."

I sucked in a sharp breath. "You're joking, right?" I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Please tell me this is just a bad dream. They're not really here," I muttered, staring at my cheeseburger which, all of a sudden, became much more interesting to look at than anything else.

"Would you look at that? It's Burks!" Masen exclaimed, stopping right next to our table. I didn't move, refusing to look away from my cheeseburger. "And Metts. I'm not surprised to see you here, Metts. You have to replenish your supplies of fat somewhere."

The girls who were with them giggled, but I didn't dare raise my head and look at any of them. Or at Blake. Almost instantly, I regretted eating this giant cheeseburger that probably had enough calories to last me a week.

"Why is she pretending to be a statue? Knock-knock," Steven said, knocking on the top of my head twice.

"What do you want?" I said in a whiny voice as I snapped my gaze up to meet his, which was difficult since he was 6'5". "Leave me alone."

They went into a fit of laughter, and color rose to my cheeks. I still couldn't look in Blake's direction, though I saw him in my periphery behind Masen and the girls.

"Just checking if your brain is still there," Steven said. His friendly smile didn't feel right.

There was something about Steven that was totally off-putting, and I didn't know if that was because he was a heavy user and typical bully or because he looked like a hyena with bloodshot eyes. I had to hand it to Melissa for putting up with her brother.

"You won't find it," Blake said, and I met Kevin's gaze. He looked embarrassed. "She's a stupid freak."

I. Hate. Him.

"Come on," Steven cooed. "She's not all that bad. Maybe she's got no brains, but she's cute."

I grimaced with another dose of mortification, feeling more and more eyes on us. I didn't want to be in the spotlight. I wanted to bolt from here right away.

"Now, are we going to spend the whole day standing here or what?" Steven asked.

They finally moved to go sit down, but my relief was short-lived because of all the booths, they sat in the one right next to ours.

I almost groaned when Blake sat facing me. He raised his eyes to meet mine, and a jolt raced through my stomach. He held me in his unblinking gaze, rendering me immobile. My chest ached with unspoken feelings, which came from a twisted place that dismissed the fact that he was abusive toward me all the time.

I lowered my head and tried to hide behind my hair once more, but I knew it was useless. I could never hide from him.

I racked my mind for anything to talk about with Kev, but I couldn't come up with anything, and I bit into my cheeseburger forcefully. It was like all ears and eyes were on us.

"Hey, girly four-eyes," Masen started after the waitress took their orders. He turned around, patting Kevin on his shoulder. Oh come on! Leave us alone! "Look at you. Mama's boy is finally on a date."

I dug my fingers into my thighs. If there was anything I hated more than being bullied, it was seeing others bully Kevin. Someone always picked on him in one way or another, and I couldn't stand it.

Jumping out of my shell, I snapped at him, "We aren't on a date. And don't call him that."

"You could've fooled me," Steven interjected. "You defend him like a real girlfriend."

"We need to give her a medal," Masen said to Steven.

"Exactly," he agreed, sporting a creepy grin.

"Give her a medal—for the fattest girlfriend in the world," Blake joined in, and the girls chuckled. I squeezed my hands into fists, feeling like I could start crying any moment now.

"Since when do they let trash in this place?" Blake asked, sounding and looking bored. "We have to talk to the manager. His staff has some cleaning to do."

I bit the inside of my cheek and glanced at Kev's and my unfinished food. I itched to run away, but I didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing me running. They had seen me running too many times already.

"Ignore them," I mouthed to Kevin and picked up my phone to go on Instagram, relying on it to help me endure this.

"They are no fun," Steven said in a fake whining voice. "They don't want to talk with us. So rude! Boohoo."

He exploded into a loud hysterical laugh, probably gathering the attention of the whole diner. Who knew what drugs he'd used today?

Kev sent me a message. Do you want to go?

Yes, but I don't want it to look like we're running away.

Then we'll finish this and go. Okay?

Deal.

The waitress brought them their drinks, and Kev signaled for the check. I took a bite and chewed quickly, each passing second seeming like an eternity. I could feel his stare on me, but I refused to look at him. My cheeks burned as I bit into my cheeseburger again. I didn't taste anything as I chewed, scrolling through my Instagram feed so I wouldn't have to look at him.

"Tonight's races are going to be fun," I heard Steven say. "I'll make good money."

"They're not that fun because they're a piece of cake. It will be an easy victory for Blake or me," Masen said.

"Like always," Blake replied in his deep voice, and before I could stop myself, I pulled my gaze from my screen to look at him. My stomach backflipped because he was already looking at me, his fiery gaze making me feel like there was no one else here for him but me. It didn't make sense. If he hated me so much, he shouldn't have been paying attention to me. He shouldn't have been looking at me like that.

"Don't sound too smug, bro," Steven told him, and I broke our eye contact. "I heard rumors about some guy who's supposedly unbeatable. T said he's going to race at the track soon."

"Let him come. We'll show him how it's done," Blake said, talking a big talk.

I took the last bite of my cheeseburger. Sar had told me about their revolting gang activities. They participated in illegal races and fights, and some other members were also involved in theft and drug dealing. T was their gang leader. I just couldn't understand why someone would ever join something as horrible as a gang.

Blake, Masen, Steven, and Hayden had been in that gang for a long time, but more than a month earlier, Hayden had finally gotten out of it, leaving his troublesome past behind for Sarah and himself. He had to go through hell in order to leave, and even had a brush with death when other gang members jumped him out. It had taken him weeks to fully recover.

Just imagining Blake in that same situation filled me with inexplicable fear. I shouldn't have cared about that. That was his life, not mine. Yet, I was afraid for him. I wanted to laugh at myself for being afraid for my bully. I was so susceptible.

Kevin finished his burger and took the last gulp of his Coke just as the waitress brought us the check. Finally.

"Let's go," I said when we paid for the meal and stood up. My cheeks turned red as tomatoes because they all turned and silently watched us leave.

I hurried past their table, too aware that I had to pass Blake to get my freedom, but he moved quickly. He threw his Coke at me, and the liquid landed all over my jacket and jeans. I halted with a gasp.

My embarrassment hit an all-time high when the countless stares of the customers around the place were pinned on me in prolonged silence. One young teenager raised his phone as if he planned to film me, and I turned my head away from him. I felt like a zoo attraction.

Anger, shame, and hurt boiled to the surface, getting stronger when I met Blake's gaze, which was full of contempt. He smiled sardonically.

"Oops," he said, loudly enough for the people around us to hear him. "My hand slipped."

I had difficulty swallowing. "When? When will you stop doing this?" I could barely say it, my voice breaking. He showed zero remorse as usual.

His smile disappeared in an instant. "I'll never stop," he said in a low voice only I could hear. "You can run, Fats, but it won't make any difference."

My eyes filled with tears, which meant I had to escape before I got humiliated even more. I wasn't going to let him see me cry. The stains on my clothes represented the shame, regrets, and pain I'd carried for a long time, and I was so sick of it. I wished all my problems could be magically eliminated. I wished a day would come when I wouldn't have to fear Blake or others and could live my life in peace.

I couldn't look at anyone as I rushed with Kevin to the door and out into the cold. Only then did I succumb to the tears, regretting leaving my room in the first place.

--------------------

Hello, hello! <3 Thank you so much for reading the sample chapters! I'm keeping my fingers crossed that you enjoyed them :) If you want to read more, you can buy Trapped through Amazon, iBooks, Kobo, and a few more stores. The links are in my bio. And if you want to get notified about my new releases and more, you can follow me on my social media or join my newsletter: https://www.verahollins.com/newsletter/

*sends lots of hugs and her evil popcorn and jumps back into her evil cave*

Love ya

Vera