The Wolf & The Lamb
::ONE::
I am scared. I am so scared. Make him stop. Make him leave me alone. Make him go away, please. Somebody. Anybody. Help me help me help me I can't take this anymore. It hurts. It burns. I can't breathe. I can smell him. Sweat. Power. Blood. No! No! NO!
…She wakes up choking for air, a scream ripping at her throat but unable to escape. But then it rips it's claws through her jugular and flows into the air jagged and ugly and desperate for someone to rescue her from him from the memory of him. Her eyes burned with tears and she hugged her comforter to herself, I am twenty-two years old damn it. I'm not sixteen anymore, Alex is dead. He is dead and he can't hurt me anymore.
She tells herself, but it does nothing to ease her anxiety. The phone rings, too loud for her liking but she doesn't dare answer it. Her blinds are closed, always closed and she works from home. She hates going outside, hates interacting with people. She knows that they want to hurt her, she knows that the world is a horrible dangerous place. She is scared, she is always scared of everything and everyone. Annabeth can't bear more pain in her life, she's too exhausted and fragile.
Her only comfort is her grey and black kitten, who she affectionately calls "Baby". Alex is dead, they executed him that's what she saw on the news so it must be true, there's no reason to be afraid anymore. She contemplates maybe going to a club an-no, absolutely not. Never trust anyone, always expect the worse, don't go outside, don't talk to anyone, they'll hurt you and even if they are nice people they'll hate you because they can tell you're tainted and ruined and ugly inside.
She closes her eyes and climbs out of bed, her kitten mewling dramatically as if she hasn't been in feed in centuries or something. "Hold on little miss drama queen" she teases in a sweet voice as the kitten rubs herself on her legs, purring loudly. She gives her some dry food and fresh water and strokes her soft back as she noisily consumes her meal. She opens the fridge and sees that her food supply is limited, and feels her anxiety crawl up her spine. Grocery Shopping.
Annabeth quickly gets dressed.
Modest, dull colors as usual. Her hair is in her face, she's chewing on her nails and biting the skin around them in her anxiety and nervousness. She wishes she wasn't always so nervous, it's just a trip to the grocery store for Christ's sake. Nothing is going to happen, nobody is going to hurt her. "Good morning dear" someone says, it's Ms. Norbury from the apartment next door. Annabeth actually really likes her, she has two cats named Cleopatra and Emerald, always bakes her coconut cream pie on special holidays, and wears sparkly scarves and wears Chanel no. 5 even on the weekdays.
When she doesn't wear her perfume she smells like coffee. Her nails are always painted red, Annabeth's nails are chewed up and void of color and it's another reason to hate herself. Ms. Norbury reminds her of Bette Davis, and it's obvious that she was a knock out in her youth. She sometimes invites Annabeth over for dinner, but she always makes some excuse. She doesn't deserve to be in the presence of someone like Ms. Norbury for too long a time. "Good morning" she says politely and quickly, hurrying to the elevator. She walks to Bently's Whole Foods, she won't take a taxi. She buys what she needs and hurries to pay so she can get out and go back home where it is safe.
These memories or flashbacks if you will don't hit her every second of every day, the fear is constant yes but not the memories. When they do hit, they hit her like a train going a thousand miles per second. They make her slid down the wall of her bedroom, choking on her own sobs and shaking violently as her head thumps against the wall in a futile attempt to make the horrid images and sounds stop. Her kitten cuddles up to her in a comforting way but she can't find the strength to pet her.
And now she's crying out and it's not just in her head, it's filling the entire world. "Please, No!" she shrieks, her throat burns from the force and she's in a fetal position on the floor. She can hear his voice, smell his breath, feel him on top of her; his skin on hers, fingernails, and her throat is closing and she cannot breathe. She gasps for air and is thankful as it slowly returns and the horror ebbs away.
Another flashback survived.
Annabeth often lets Baby roam the hallways, everybody on this floor is nice and keeps to themselves. And Baby is a good girl, she doesn't go where—well, she probably does get into mischief but she always comes home. Annabeth feels bad that her apartment is so small, baby is so full of energy.
She turns on the television, and there's that documentary that they made about him playing. They made it last week after his execution, and tried to reach her but she refused to answer their calls and heartless questions. She turns off the tv and decides to make herself some semi-late breakfast. Alex was twenty-six when he was executed, he'd been in that jail since he was twenty four. And she had been free from his reign of terror since the age of twenty. Except, she doesn't feel free.
And nobody understood, they didn't want to and she pushed those away who tried to. Her father had married Caroline Burgess when Annabeth was sixteen and Alex twenty, there was no room for four people and Alex had his own apartment, so Annabeth was to live with him. She'd suggested it herself, at that time she still believed that people were generally good and kind. She saw no reason to not trust people, and she thought Alex was charming and intelligent. She thought they could be friends, maybe even best friends. But he made her life miserable.
Annabeth fought back at first, defied him, refused and rebelled but he broke her down. He destroyed something precious inside of her, snuffed out the flame and broke her wings. Her wings were still torn up and tattered, she was still scared, still broken. And it didn't matter how such thread/glue/tape she used. Alex was still embedded like a plague into her mind, tainting her view of a world once full of possibilities and beauty. Five years, that's how long she was under his reign of agony.
It's okay, sweetie, he's dead. You're okay now. She hugs herself tightly, offering herself words of comfort. There is a knock on her door, she freezes eyes wide and heart pounding. But she looks through the peep hole and sees nobody, Annabeth slowly opens the door, looks down and lets out a blood curdling scream. Horror and Agony exploding within her violently, gut wrenching sobs ripping her throat apart as she slaps her hands over her eyes as if it will make this go away.
The mangled remains of baby.
She can't stop screaming and Ms. Norbury is rushing out in a bathrobe and cap, she gasps at the sight and quickly grabs the young woman, hurrying her inside away from the horrific scene. Another neighbor comes out, gagging but she can hear him calling the police. "Honey, look at me. It's okay, everything is going to be okay. The police are coming" she tries to calm her down. "There's a note" Mr. Hartford says cautiously, "I'm going to make you some tea okay? I'm so sorry, I can't believe somebody would—oh jesus, people are such monsters. I'm so sorry" Ms. Norbury kisses her forehead and leaves with the other man in tow. He doesn't like dealing with emotional women.
Annabeth shakily opens the envelope, pulling out its contents and dropping them with a sharp cry of horror. She counts to ten and picks them back up; pictures of her, and a hand written note…his handwriting! :
I can't wait to filly with you again, my darling devotchka.
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