Locked in the Art Room

Angela's POV

One of my friends came running down the hall, breathless. "Angela! Ms. Miller's looking for you in the art room."

"Ms. Miller? Really? What for?" I asked.

"No idea," he shrugged. "Maybe some project or whatever. You better go see for yourself."

"Ugh... fine. I'll go check it out."

Seriously, couldn't she pick a better time? I should be heading to the hospital to see Mom… yet, curiosity pushed me down the nearly empty hallway. Almost everyone had already left.

When I reached the art room, no one was there. Only messy tables, streaked with dried paint. 

“Ms. Miller?” I called out.

No answer.

Either my friend messed up, or she’d already left. I sighed, about to turn away…

Then it happened.

Before I could reach the door, a hand slammed over my mouth—rough and sudden. I froze in panic.

“Shhh.”

The whisper brushed against my neck, and I couldn't move. My chest tightened, and panic shot through me.

“Don’t fight. Stay still,” he muttered close to my ear.

My heart skipped. When he released my mouth, I spun around quickly to see who was in the room with me.

“I-Ian?” I choked out. “Why are you here?"

He didn’t answer. He just pulled a key from his pocket and locked the door. The click made me flinch, and I felt a cold wave of dread.

“Damn, Ian! What the hell are you doing?!” I shrieked.

His eyes pinned me. Dark. Unreadable. He stepped closer, and I retreated until the table dug sharply against my hips.

“You’ve been blowing me off like I don’t matter, Angela. I’m done being ignored.”

“Move!” I tried to push by, but he caught me instantly.

“You don’t get it!” he snapped. “I’ve had enough!"

His push came without warning, hard enough to send me crashing to the floor. Pain shot up my back as he pinned me under his weight before I could even struggle.

“You’re mine, Angela,” he breathed, hot against my ear.

“Get off!” 

“Quit fighting,” he hissed, his hand sliding from my face to my neck. “You’re only making it harder.”

Panic surged when he shoved a rag into my mouth. I thrashed, but his weight locked me in place. My body screamed with every futile movement.

Tears stung my eyes as I shoved at him, desperate to get him off. His hands had crossed the line, he even tried to undo the buttons on my shirt.

No. No. Please, no.

I shook my head hard, tears streaming, but he didn’t let up.

With the last bit of energy I had, I kicked out wildly and desperately. My foot hit him, and he jerked back with a snarl. For an instant, I had time to breathe—a small triumph.

This was my chance. I made a run for the door, my heart racing as adrenaline surged through me. My fingers clawed at the rag until it came free.

“Help!" I screamed, pounding the door with my hand. My throat burned, but I didn’t care. I needed someone to hear me.

Ian recovered instantly. He grabbed my wrist tight and pulled me back hard. 

“You’re not going anywhere, Angela,” he growled.

“You freaking psycho! Let me go!” I shouted, struggling. He leaned in, trying to kiss me, but I twisted away.

“Angela, are you there?”

My heart jumped. Aaron’s voice outside the door. Relief hit me… until Ian clamped his hand over my mouth again.

“Shut up!” he hissed.

“Angela,” Aaron called again, closer now.

Ian’s glare burned into me, making him look even scarier. Panic clawed at my chest. I wanted to scream, but my voice was trapped. My mind raced, looking for any way out.

Desperate, I bit down on Ian’s hand. He roared, finally letting go.

“Aaron!” I gasped, voice raw. “Help me!”

“You bitch!” Ian snapped, slapping me.

Pain flared across my cheek. He lunged again, hands rough, grabbing and pressing. I fought back—scratching, kicking, screaming with everything I had. Anything to keep him off me.

Then… BANG! The door rattled. Someone was forcing it open.

For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then, Aaron finally smashed the door in. Our eyes met. I froze. I must’ve looked like a total wreck.

“You son of a bitch!” Aaron shouted.

He lunged at Ian, fists flying. Ian snapped back, hitting Aaron’s jaw, then stomach.

I froze, stomach twisting. Aaron stumbled, crashing under Ian’s relentless blows. I flinched, heart hammering.

“No! Stop, Ian! You’ll kill him!” My voice tore out, raw and shaky.

But Ian ignored me. He kept beating Aaron. If this went on, Aaron would be killed.

Fear gripped me as my eyes landed on a wooden chair. My hands shook uncontrollably. It was the only way. Ian was too strong to stop with my hands. I had to swing it, hit him, give Aaron a chance. Every nerve screamed in panic, but I forced myself to focus.

Finally, I grabbed it and swung with everything I had. The chair hit Ian’s shoulder. He grunted, snarling.

“You little bitch!” he shouted, whipping around.

He rose fast, coming at me. I stumbled back, slammed into the wall. Chest tight. My stomach churned. I had no idea what he’d do next.

Cornered, Ian’s hands gripped my throat, pressing until I could barely breathe. My hands tried to push him off, but his grip only tightened.

“Look, Angela… none of this had to happen,” he muttered, low. “If you’d just be mine…”

Tears burned my eyes. Air was scarce. My neck ached, every breath stabbing me like fire. Panic twisted inside me. I was losing it… I can’t… I can’t fight him… how do I get out of this?

My strength is fading fast. I can't hold on much longer. Am... I going to die?