Your life was perfect, to say the least. Straight A’s, lots of friends, parties almost every weekend and especially- a smoking hot boyfriend; however, your attraction to him ran so much deeper than just physical. He was going to be the father to your kids, you were sure of it.
Most nights, Vance spent them at your house. Despite his rough exterior and poor reputation around North Denver, he was extremely gentlemanly to you and even more so around your parents. Due to this, he was allowed to stay over (so long as the door stayed open all night, according to your father’s rules).
That was until one day: the day your entire life was flipped 360°.
It didn’t feel real, when you got the call.
You were at a friend’s house when it happened. Vance had gotten escorted out of the Grab’N’Go by the police (again) and your parents didn’t want to deal with it, so he went home instead of coming over that night.
…Or so you thought. He didn’t want the officers to know where he lived, and being the gigantic idiot he was, walked straight into The Grabber’s house.
That day, everything changed. You got quiet, for a girl who used to never stop talking. Everything got quiet.
It started off slow. Skipping one or two classes, until it became an every day thing. People were shocked when you actually showed up. Your once bubbly persona plummeted to rock bottom, now characterized by purple bags beneath your eyes and clothes that looked like they were picked off your floor.
It took almost two years. Two birthdays of Vance’s came and went—you were the only one putting up his missing posters anymore. Everyone else had given up by the end of the first month—two years of your own personal hell inside your mind, getting heckled by every person you walked by at school- you slowly built yourself back up. You had to. You still weren’t perfect. You’d never be again, but it was progress.
Such silence as the day Vance was kidnapped never came again. You thought that feeling would never be recreated, but it haunted every fiber of your being- that was until…
It was September 14th- a day you now remember so clearly. You got the call: the call you had dreamt- no, pleaded- to receive incessantly for the past 2 hellish years of your life. That Vance was safe. He was alive.
No car, no bike, you ran to the scene. You shoved past every policeman that tried to stop you, before your eyes met Vance’s. You fell short, staring at him. He was smaller now- looking as if he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in decades, definitely having been starved. And, he was disgustingly dirty. You didn’t care, though. Not now. Not when he was right in front of you, and safe.