Wow, I am crooked...the more I love a character, the more I put them through...
Connor is kidnapped and mutilated by Helen, turned into a monster deadly and vile enough to cast fear into the heart of anyone who dares look upon him. Got the idea after I watched the trailer for the movie Beastly. Plus, I just like angst...
I own nothing but my brain. And even that's iffy.
~XOXO, Bella
The man looked down at his maimed hands and released a moan of agony. His fingertips, still raw and mangled, ended in long, hooked talons. The very air burned him where muscle lay uncovered.
He didn't want to look in the mirror; he feared too greatly the hideous, inhuman eyes that would meet his. When finally he dared, his stomach turned over in disgust. Black, soulless pupils dominated his eyes, which were closed to slits to block out most of the light. He looked like he lost a fight with a self-aware hammer; his cheeks were shallow and his lower jaw jutted out too far to look human. His teeth, very obviously grafted from a carnivorous creature, jutted outwards, as though to catch any piece of flesh that dared come near him. Teeth in flesh…at least he was human enough to feel a shudder run through his heart at that thought. His heart that beat too quickly.
But that must've been Helen's plan. She created him—this monster that was built about his skeleton, not the man he was inside. Keep him intelligent, intelligent enough to go insane at what he was. Her plan worked; staring at the monster in the mirror, hot fury ran through his blood, alongside the need to tear something to shreds. He clapped a hand against the wall, feeling the gravelly pieces that crumbled from beneath his claws. The moment he saw Helen, he'd tear her limb from limb—
And then what would he do? Run? To where? As much as he hated what he was, a part of him, the part that was still Connor Temple, had no intention of dying. Every moment at the ARC was impossible, and if his life had to be impossible…dammit, he wanted to live!
He wanted to see Abby's face again, her beautiful angel-face, There was a rusty part of the grates that covered the roof of his enclosure. He could escape silently, he realized, before an even darker thought entered his mind: Helen wanted him to escape.
He forced that thought from his mind as he scaled the bars. It was easy, now, to his keen senses and enhanced, almost robotic, strength. He was out in moments, and found not a single siren crying his escape. His nerves were on a hair-trigger.
He shot across the rooftop, and, reaching the edge, launched himself over. He tumbled to the ground with less grace than he'd like, but survived the fall. Stumbling to his feet, he breathed heavy breaths. He knew where he was, he realized; at least, he could find his way to London. He could feel some instinctive pulse pulling him in the right direction.
He followed highways, lurking several feet deep in the woods to remain unseen by the innocent people out driving. If they saw him, they'd think he was a monster.
He was a monster.
It didn't take him long to reach the edge of the city. He knew where his flat—Abby's flat—was. He would go there, and Abby could help him…no, she couldn't. She'd see him and scream.