Page 4 of Speak

“You’re going to be incredible, Raven Monroe. You’re gonna dazzle them all and leave them speechless.”

I still don’t let that tear shed when his confidence, his pride for me makes me feel all tingly inside. “Thank you, Alex. Say hi to Jolene for me?”

“I will. Lock up when you leave, will you?”

“Of course.”

He backs away from the room, whistling Ludwig’s Sonata No. 14. And I can’t help but stay grinning. I grab my cello from my designated locker and open it up, what’s an extra hour or two of practice? I have to knock the Julliard and Berklee recruiters dead. I’m so lost in thought when I hear footsteps coming back to me.

“You want to jam out tonight instead, Lex?” I call out, still bent over my cello case.

I gasp but my breath is cut short when something is wrapped around my throat. My cello is kicked aside, and my head is rammed against the locker’s edge. My vision blurs as something warm, thick and wet trickles from my forehead, down.

Holy fuck it hurts.

Once, twice, they bang the locker door against my temple, still holding onto whatever is wrapped around my throat. “Ple-“

“Shut up, slut.” The voice is garbled and low. Familiar, but I’m not sure. Female, for sure.

“I have mon-”

“I don’t want or need your fucking money. I need you todie.” A different voice says. It’s low and also familiar.

What? Die?

I grunt when another shooting pain comes, this time to my side, and then I’m tossed to the ground. Fist after fist comes flying at me when I realize it’s not just one guy. It’s three and one girl, ablonde, wearing balaclavas and black contacts so I can’t see the color of their eyes. Then the kicks start.

“T, break her fucking leg so she’ll fit.”

“She’ll stink up the place by Monday, S.”

“We should take her to the ravine. Let the water take her far away.”

“Too many cameras on campus, A.” The one called T says.

“You don’t have to do this.” I gasp out through gritted teeth.

“Yes I do,” the taller guy, S, cuts in. “So shut the fuck up and die, bitch.”

Other T, stomps on my leg, the bone crunching under his boot and when I try to scream he shoves something in my mouth to gag me and pulls that thing around my throat, pulling it tighter and tighter. My wrists are tied behind my back. Whatever is in my side, is pulled out.

“Jesus, J. You’re only supposed to be the lookout.”

“She's always been a stuck-up bitch. I needed to get one in.” J replies.

Stabbed. I’ve been fuckingstabbed.

“In that case,” there’s a dark chuckle that comes from the corner of the room.

I howl when a fist hits my temple where I’m pretty sure I’m already bleeding. I’m mumbling please but it’s muffled like the rest of my pleas were.

“You aren’t getting out of here alive, bitch.” Before they close the door to the locker, they pull whatever leash is around my neck, and leave it out of the locker, tethered to me. Tight enough if I gasp, it’ll cut off my air supply.

I scream anyway until my throat is sore and it hurts to breathe.

My eyes close slowly, it’s so… dark and nice in here, actually.

Silent.

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