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    And shouted. All of the gathered people turned to me, and, for a second, I felt some relief. Until Trent angrily reached back and yanked me from the door, stepping on the gas to roar through the intersection. We swung onto a one-lane road and swerved behind an old printing shop. I continued shouting, using the open window to my advantage.
    “Shut up!” Trent commanded once he had parked, drawing out his gun. I snapped my mouth closed, hoping someone from the printers had heard me.
    “Let me go home,” I blurted, eyes still on the gun.
    “I will once we reach the border.” Trent watched my expression. “I’m not gonna hurt you, but the police have to think that I will.”
    An involuntary, hysterical giggle escaped me. My pride, which had been crawling from its dark hole, slithered back in to nurse its new wound. If he wanted me to believe he wouldn’t hurt me, he wouldn't be holding the pistol at my face.
    Trent slid across the seat to the passenger door and climbed out. Before he got to mine, I shifted so my legs were pointed towards it. Trent opened it and I kicked the gun so it flew from his grasp. I leapt from the truck, trying to balance with my arms secured behind me.
    “Somebody HELP ME!” I cried, using my soccer field voice and scurrying forward. “HELP!”
    “No you don’t!” Trent caught me by the ropes and hauled me in reverse, crushing his hand over my mouth. “Work with me, Phil. You’ll go home, soon.” Pinning one arm over my chest, he dragged me backwards towards a smaller green Honda Civic. I kicked at him, hitting his shin. He stumbled and I purposefully lurched forward (my forward, not towards the car). Trent released me and I landed on my side.
    “HELP!”
    He wasted no time in dropping beside me and covering my mouth again.
    “Please, Phil,” he pleaded as I thrashed around, shouting into his hand. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled tie he had been wearing before our game. Letting go of my face for a moment, he knotted it in the center.
    “HELP ME! SOMEBODY!” My voice was getting hoarse.
    “Shut. Up.” Trent accented the words by shoving the knot between my teeth and tying the tie off behind my head. I continued yelling into the faux silk, but my shouts were not as ringing as before.
    Trent left me lying in the parking lot as he retrieved the pile of snacks and case of water. The gun was nowhere in sight. Without the use of my hands, I used my abdomen to hoist myself upright and shoved against the car to pull myself to my feet.
    If I could make it to the street in front of the print shop… Before Trent could turn around, I sprinted (as best I could without the use of my arms) towards the store corner.
    “PHIL!” he exclaimed. I didn’t dare turn round, but it did nothing to stop him from barreling into me and pinning me to the ground. I kicked and flailed my legs as Trent fit his hands beneath my arms and dragged me to the Honda. He set me down on the ground beside it and knelt on the backs of my knees as he tied my ankles together.
    To my great chagrin, Trent picked the lock of and opened the trunk, but only placed the supplies in the darkness before closing it. I watched on, fairly helpless. If only I had brought that stupid phone, I’d be playing board games with my almost-girlfriend, Alyssa instead of lying on the ground, tied up, with a two-day-old t-shirt.
    Trent picked me up by the fabric at my shoulders and heaved me onto the tiny spot of floor between the seats, shoving my feet in so my knees were curled towards my chest. I admit that I could see the genius in my predicament: I wouldn’t be getting out of the car unless someone wanted me to come out because, as skinny as I was, it was gonna take a crowbar, a crane, and possibly the jaws of life to get me free, especially with my arms pinioned behind me (they were going to be asleep very quickly… my fingers were already tingly).
    The door closed and Trent climbed into the driver’s seat. I couldn’t see where we were going as Trent fiddled with the wires and pulled the car onto the street, but I could feel the turns and the rumble of the floor.
    Conversation was kind of out of the question as I had a tie—which, no joke, tasted like dish soap—in my mouth and Trent was muttering to himself like a deranged lunatic… which, I conceded at that point, was what he was.
    Taking the opportunity to ponder my life choices (not really), I thought about what he had said when we had changed cars: he’d let me go once we reached the border. I assumed he meant the Mexican border. It had gotten warmer as we traveled.
    We drove (he drove, I thought of everything I could to keep from panicking again) for what felt like hours (couldn’t see the clock from my position). The sky was dark for a good stretch of time and it had turned light grey before Trent yawned loudly. It was only about fifteen minutes after that he slowed and stopped.
    Trent climbed out and opened my door. He looked exhausted. Taking me by the shirtsleeves, he yanked me onto the seat. I groaned as pins and needles cropped up in my fingers.
    “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be, Phil,” Trent said, rubbing his face with the heel of his hand. “When we get inside, you can use the bathroom first. Just don’t make any trouble.”
    I nodded. I wasn’t stupid. I had no intention of keeping quiet when the opportunity arose, but he didn’t need to know that.
    He undid the knots in the rope and I reached up to take off the tie, running my tongue along my teeth at the newfound freedom. I obediently followed Trent as he led the way to a rinky-dink hotel. Once inside, I stayed quiet as Trent booked a room for the day and had a friendly conversation with the old woman behind the counter. The brochures in the rack on the wall said Arizona.
    “Oi, Phil,” Trent said over his shoulder, holding up an enormous orange t-shirt. “You want a souvenir?” I nodded, too scared to answer verbally. The lady gave Trent the key cards and Trent led me down the hall. He opened our door, and before I could see much of it, he shoved me into the bathroom with the t-shirt. I could hear a clunk, and I guessed he had stuck a chair beneath the handle to keep me in while he did who knows what.
    Ten minutes later, I had showered and was towel-drying my hair, eyeing my potential way of escape. I wouldn’t be able to get out quietly, but it was worth a shot. I carefully turned the handle and pulled the door towards me. I caught the chair and silently wrestled it from the knob, slipping through once it was loose. Trent was dozing at the table near the window. I wasn’t surprised. He probably hadn’t slept since he’d kidnapped me, but neither had I. I couldn’t afford to sleep. I couldn’t sleep, period. My nerves hadn’t shut off, yet.
    I edged up to the door to the hall, eyes on Trent the whole time. He had unplugged the phone, but I wouldn’t be able to use it without waking him up, anyway. I undid the chain latch at the top and stopped before exiting, making sure my movements hadn’t disturbed him. I turned the handle and it made a loud click. I froze as Trent jerked awake, lifting his head to stare right at me. Hoping he was still too incoherent to pay me any mind if I was quiet, I stayed put. Unfortunately, his eyes became clearer and he jumped upright.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

    And shouted. All of the gathered people turned to me, and, for a second, I felt some relief. Until Trent angrily reached back and yanked me from the door, stepping on the gas to roar through the intersection. We swung onto a one-lane road and swerved behind an old printing shop. I continued shouting, using the open window to my advantage.
    “Shut up!” Trent commanded once he had parked, drawing out his gun. I snapped my mouth closed, hoping someone from the printers had heard me.
    “Let me go home,” I blurted, eyes still on the gun.
    “I will once we reach the border.” Trent watched my expression. “I’m not gonna hurt you, but the police have to think that I will.”
    An involuntary, hysterical giggle escaped me. My pride, which had been crawling from its dark hole, slithered back in to nurse its new wound. If he wanted me to believe he wouldn’t hurt me, he wouldn't be holding the pistol at my face.
    Trent slid across the seat to the passenger door and climbed out. Before he got to mine, I shifted so my legs were pointed towards it. Trent opened it and I kicked the gun so it flew from his grasp. I leapt from the truck, trying to balance with my arms secured behind me.
    “Somebody HELP ME!” I cried, using my soccer field voice and scurrying forward. “HELP!”
    “No you don’t!” Trent caught me by the ropes and hauled me in reverse, crushing his hand over my mouth. “Work with me, Phil. You’ll go home, soon.” Pinning one arm over my chest, he dragged me backwards towards a smaller green Honda Civic. I kicked at him, hitting his shin. He stumbled and I purposefully lurched forward (my forward, not towards the car). Trent released me and I landed on my side.
    “HELP!”
    He wasted no time in dropping beside me and covering my mouth again.
    “Please, Phil,” he pleaded as I thrashed around, shouting into his hand. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled tie he had been wearing before our game. Letting go of my face for a moment, he knotted it in the center.
    “HELP ME! SOMEBODY!” My voice was getting hoarse.
    “Shut. Up.” Trent accented the words by shoving the knot between my teeth and tying the tie off behind my head. I continued yelling into the faux silk, but my shouts were not as ringing as before.
    Trent left me lying in the parking lot as he retrieved the pile of snacks and case of water. The gun was nowhere in sight. Without the use of my hands, I used my abdomen to hoist myself upright and shoved against the car to pull myself to my feet.
    If I could make it to the street in front of the print shop… Before Trent could turn around, I sprinted (as best I could without the use of my arms) towards the store corner.
    “PHIL!” he exclaimed. I didn’t dare turn round, but it did nothing to stop him from barreling into me and pinning me to the ground. I kicked and flailed my legs as Trent fit his hands beneath my arms and dragged me to the Honda. He set me down on the ground beside it and knelt on the backs of my knees as he tied my ankles together.
    To my great chagrin, Trent picked the lock of and opened the trunk, but only placed the supplies in the darkness before closing it. I watched on, fairly helpless. If only I had brought that stupid phone, I’d be playing board games with my almost-girlfriend, Alyssa instead of lying on the ground, tied up, with a two-day-old t-shirt.
    Trent picked me up by the fabric at my shoulders and heaved me onto the tiny spot of floor between the seats, shoving my feet in so my knees were curled towards my chest. I admit that I could see the genius in my predicament: I wouldn’t be getting out of the car unless someone wanted me to come out because, as skinny as I was, it was gonna take a crowbar, a crane, and possibly the jaws of life to get me free, especially with my arms pinioned behind me (they were going to be asleep very quickly… my fingers were already tingly).
    The door closed and Trent climbed into the driver’s seat. I couldn’t see where we were going as Trent fiddled with the wires and pulled the car onto the street, but I could feel the turns and the rumble of the floor.
    Conversation was kind of out of the question as I had a tie—which, no joke, tasted like dish soap—in my mouth and Trent was muttering to himself like a deranged lunatic… which, I conceded at that point, was what he was.
    Taking the opportunity to ponder my life choices (not really), I thought about what he had said when we had changed cars: he’d let me go once we reached the border. I assumed he meant the Mexican border. It had gotten warmer as we traveled.
    We drove (he drove, I thought of everything I could to keep from panicking again) for what felt like hours (couldn’t see the clock from my position). The sky was dark for a good stretch of time and it had turned light grey before Trent yawned loudly. It was only about fifteen minutes after that he slowed and stopped.
    Trent climbed out and opened my door. He looked exhausted. Taking me by the shirtsleeves, he yanked me onto the seat. I groaned as pins and needles cropped up in my fingers.
    “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be, Phil,” Trent said, rubbing his face with the heel of his hand. “When we get inside, you can use the bathroom first. Just don’t make any trouble.”
    I nodded. I wasn’t stupid. I had no intention of keeping quiet when the opportunity arose, but he didn’t need to know that.
    He undid the knots in the rope and I reached up to take off the tie, running my tongue along my teeth at the newfound freedom. I obediently followed Trent as he led the way to a rinky-dink hotel. Once inside, I stayed quiet as Trent booked a room for the day and had a friendly conversation with the old woman behind the counter. The brochures in the rack on the wall said Arizona.
    “Oi, Phil,” Trent said over his shoulder, holding up an enormous orange t-shirt. “You want a souvenir?” I nodded, too scared to answer verbally. The lady gave Trent the key cards and Trent led me down the hall. He opened our door, and before I could see much of it, he shoved me into the bathroom with the t-shirt. I could hear a clunk, and I guessed he had stuck a chair beneath the handle to keep me in while he did who knows what.
    Ten minutes later, I had showered and was towel-drying my hair, eyeing my potential way of escape. I wouldn’t be able to get out quietly, but it was worth a shot. I carefully turned the handle and pulled the door towards me. I caught the chair and silently wrestled it from the knob, slipping through once it was loose. Trent was dozing at the table near the window. I wasn’t surprised. He probably hadn’t slept since he’d kidnapped me, but neither had I. I couldn’t afford to sleep. I couldn’t sleep, period. My nerves hadn’t shut off, yet.
    I edged up to the door to the hall, eyes on Trent the whole time. He had unplugged the phone, but I wouldn’t be able to use it without waking him up, anyway. I undid the chain latch at the top and stopped before exiting, making sure my movements hadn’t disturbed him. I turned the handle and it made a loud click. I froze as Trent jerked awake, lifting his head to stare right at me. Hoping he was still too incoherent to pay me any mind if I was quiet, I stayed put. Unfortunately, his eyes became clearer and he jumped upright.