Darryl didn't answer me. Instead, he locked his hand painfully on my left arm and forced me further down the alley.
I thought that maybe "they" were other kids that wanted to beat me up or torture me. But why would they get Darryl to help them? Were they from school? I figured they had to be. And maybe it wasn't Darryl helping them.
Maybe he was one of them.
And were they immune to my smell? It had worked for so long that I figured it would always work. It's not like I suddenly took a bath and became a legit target.
The whole thing made no sense.
I tried to pull away again.
Halfway down the alley, he dragged me to a gate in a high wooden fence behind one of the houses.
He pounded on it three times with his fist.
After a few seconds, the gate was unlatched and swung open. Darryl pushed me in so hard that I fell to the ground before I could understand what I was looking at.
The gate immediately slammed closed.
Before I got to my feet, I was already surrounded by a tight circle of five huge people—their faces all hidden by the same stupid Halloween mask. I'm sure you've seen it. It was the creepy cracked doll face. Darryl stood outside the circle and watched.
Someone grabbed me from behind and zip-tied my wrists together so tight I cried out.
Darryl giggled.
Rapidly, tape went over my eyes and then my mouth.
I figured I was about to die.
Or worse.
I got shoved somewhere into the house and then into a small space—I think it was a closet because sounds got muffled, and there wasn't much room.
My hands were useless and growing numb, and the table on my mouth and eyes was the extremely sticky kind that you can't just work off.
I scooted around and kicked at the door, but all that got me was zip ties around my ankles and then tying my legs back to my arms like a pig.
Hog tying.
I was more confused than frightened at first. I always did everything I could to keep people away from me. I tried on purpose to be gross and was never friendly to anyone because it was easier to be hated.
So why were these people bothering with me?
Well, I had an idea. I know about people who go things to boys, and I figured that I was going to be sold or something like that.
I used to think that I didn't care about anything that happened to me, but thinking about what might happen, I realized I cared—a lot.
But I was totally wrong about what they wanted, though I wouldn't find out until the following day when I was let out of the closet.
This wasn't about the men with the masks at all.
ns 15.158.61.5da2
