AN: hey hey! author here! this is my first story, so be gentle...READ AND REVIEW! REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! i'll give you a virtual cookie...you know you want one. sorry if its not very good...XD hope you enjoy! :)
I ran. Faster than I've ever run before. I guess that's what anyone would do, if they were being chased by a raging psychopath. I turned the corner, running onto main road, hoping that there was still someone around this late at night. It was a useless hope. At 11pm, it was highly doubtful that even a hobo was around. But still, I ran. Why the hell are you being chased by a psychopath at 11pm at night, you might be asking. The answer: because the psychopath, the one I mentioned earlier? He was my boyfriend. Ex boyfriend, now. His name was Jarryd, and he was 15 years old. I've been dating him for 2 months, and I thought he was perfect. Until he went crazy. I turned around, to check if he was still behind me, and was shocked at how fast he was gaining on me. I carried on running, even though my body hurt, and my lungs ached, and every muscle in me was screaming in protest at my movement. I couldnt stop, because to stop meant to admit defeat, to give up, and let him win. And there was no way I was doing that. He was right behind me now, so close that I could almost feel him right against me, his aura brushing over my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "Nora!" I heard him shout, a frightening taunt in his voice. But I was in the lead, and that alone said something for my willpower. "Nora" he said again, this time, his malice was easily discernible. That's me. Nora Alexandra Grey. The 14 year old writer from small town Missoula. He was catching up even more, so I sped up even more. Above me there loomed a building, old and abandoned, the door was easy to open. Hoping to steer him off track, I ran in, taking the first flight of stairs I saw, two at a time. Up I ran, higher and higher, so fast it felt like I was flying. Until, suddenly, a hand gripped my wrist, and I was moving no more. He dragged me back down a couple of stairs, until I was right in front of him. "Think you can get away that easy?" he said, as he bent down to nuzzle my neck. "Think again" he breathed, his breath warming my collarbone, while at the same time making me feel cold as ice. "Stop" I said, and I was shocked at how my voice sounded. I had meant it to come out as a command, but instead, it just sounded like I was begging him. In some ways, I was. He laughed, a cold, short burst that sent shivers down my spine. "Why, baby. I thought you liked this. You did yesterday." He said, kissing my jaw. "Yeah, well. Yesterday you weren't a lunatic, as far as I was concerned. The circumstances have changed now." I said, my voice shrouded in defiance, and yet, you could still hear the fear. Jarryd knew there was no way I could fight him. He was 15, strong, and male. He was captain of the soccer team and worked out a lot. I, on the other hand, was a year younger, a girl, and the exact opposite of sporty. I hated any sport. He had me, and he knew it. "Aww, come on. Me? a lunatic? No way. Besides, even if I was, I still know what makes you tick, Nora. What makes you happy." He whispered the last sentence in my ear, with a heavy emphasis on the happy part. Freak. God, and to think I kinda loved him… I am so stupid. "You bastard." I whispered, as fiercely as I could, Glaring at him while struggling for freedom. He'd pinned me against the wall of the staircase, using his whole body to trap me there. He laughed. "Whatever you say" he said, before covering my lips with his own, officially blocking the witty retort I was about to throw at him. Even with the knowledge that he was a delusional weirdo, I still somehow managed to react to his kiss. Hey, blame it on the good-old 14 year old hormones. I moaned when he moved his hand into my hair, tilting my head back, his hand at the base of my neck. I moved my now free hands up his chest, to his shoulders, which I gripped. The love fest carried on for a while, until he began slowly loosening his hold on my body (unconsciously. You know boys. When making out they stop thinking. Stupidasses.) My hands were still on his shoulders, and he was exactly where I wanted him. As soon as I was loose enough, I gathered all my strength, moved my lips from his to his neck, and whispered "bye Jarryd" at the exact same time I pushed on his shoulders, the ones that I was gripping, effectively freeing myself. I carried on running. Up once more. God, doesn't it sometimes feel like the entire world is uphill? Jarryd was mad, that I can tell you. He was cursing at me as he started to run, shouting very scary, graphic comments at me. Still, I ran. Finally, I reached the top of the building, noticing for the first time how high up I was. Woah. Not two seconds later, Jarryd had joined me. "that was very, very stupid, Nora. You just made me angry. And nobody likes it when I'm angry!" he shouted, as he reached into his pocket and drew out… a gun. A nine millimeter beretta. Not good. He's armed. That means I'm dead. Literally. "Please, Jarryd. Just put down the gun. We can talk this over. Come on. Please" I begged brokenly, hoping he would agree, but knowing he won't. He laughed again, long and loud, and I shivered at the sound. "Put down the gun? Are you out of your freaking mind? Im NOT gonna put down the gun, I'm NOT gonna talk this over. All in going to do, at least now, is kill you. You see, Nora, the fact that you're about to die is all your fault. Earlier, at the party this evening, all I wanted to do was rape you, but noo, you HAVE to run, make me chase, make me WORK. I'm angry now, Nora. I wasn't before. This is your fault. All yours." He said. And at once, I knew he was serious. I was going to die, here, now, before I had even lived. And all because I had run, which had, at least then, seemed smart. Now? Not so much. I would rather have swiped my V card than died. I think anyone would. "Please, Jarryd. Don't. Please" I was begging openly now, and I didn't care. Life was more important than pride. "No." Said Jarryd, but, as firm as the answer was, in a way it looked like he was begging me, as well. "No" he said again, and at that, I started to cry. "Yes, Jarryd, yes. Just put the gun down, put It down and we can all go home. Please, be smart and end this the right way. The legal way." I was speaking in calming tones, trying to make him put down the gun. I, however, was also slowly moving backwards, towards the steps, and the way out of here. Out of this nightmare. He looked like he wanted to cry too. What a time and place for a heart to heart. The roof of a building in the middle of the night. Holy crap. "NO" he screamed, hysterical and crazy sounding. "No!" he yelled once again. I couldn't help it, call it love, call it insanity, call it what you will, I suddenly started walking forward. I started moving towards Jarryd, and away from the exit. I moved slowly towards him, while making reassuring noises, but still, he backed away from me. For every step forward I took, he took one back. "No" he shouted at me again, and in one fluid motion he had raised the gun to face me, and clicked off the safety. Dammit. I closed my eyes, waiting for the pain, but when nothing happened, I opened them. He had slipped. He hadn't realized how far back he'd moved, and he'd fallen off the edge. Fallen off the edge of a plus minus 10 story building. I remember watching him falling, just like my tears, and shouting, shouting so loud I swear people in France must have heard me. Heard me shouting the last word Jarryd had ever spoken . Hearing me shouting no. I remember all of that, but the thing I remember most is the emptiness. That loud, deafening, roaring silence that is only felt when someone dies. As silent as the grave. I remember looking down at his broken body on the sidewalk, knowing that he was gone. And knowing that if he hadn't died, I would have. And that, above all, was the most terrifying feeling I had felt that night. I also remember being found that morning. The paramedics had found me crying silently, curled into a ball in the middle of the roof. They had taken me home, where I had been deposited into the hands of my worried mother.
The rest is all fuzzy. That is all I remember about the night Jarryd Whitmore died. The night I nearly died. The worst night of my life. That was six years ago. I'm 20 now, and a child psychologist. I'm also a writer. I'm still, even now, recovering from the events of that night. I almost went to prison, because they thought I had killed him. But my story had added up in court, and I was not convicted of anything. If Jarryd was alive, he would have been charged with both attempted murder, and attempted rape. He probably would have pleaded insanity. He was pretty crazy. I mourn for him every day, and probably always will. No matter how crazy he was, I had loved him. He was my first love. But that doesn't matter. Now, I have to look to the future, to the things yet to come, because if I don't, I'll probably never end up dealing with what happened. I'll probably never end up being able to do what I did that night. Run forward, with no idea what's ahead of me, and only the hope that it's better than what's behind. With only the thought that if you run fast enough, you'll never get caught.
END
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