A new story! One of many I've written, but this is my first story outside of the TDWAP trilogy that I'm actually posting. A fair warning, this story is quite a bit darker than my other ones, so don't expect light and fluffy here. I also understand that this won't be everyone's cup of tea, but I do expect respect. In other words, I welcome constructive criticism, but if you don't have something constructive or positive to say, I'd ask you to keep the thought to yourself. Please and thank you in advance!
As far as updating goes, I do have a lot of this written already, so updates will come steadily. That being said, I am leaving some time in between to edit, so I won't be adding a new chapter every day. If for some reason it's been a month since I've updated this, or something like that, do feel free to bug me about it. Most likely, I'll be ready to post it and I'll just have forgotten to actually do it. (Chances of that are slim, however).
And here's the ever-necessary disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC, the rest is the creation of C.S. Lewis's fantastic imagination.
Enough business! I'm looking forward to hearing what you guys think of this, so please do feel free to drop a review. Similarly, if you really want the story to go in a particular direction or want to see a certain scene written in, I'll do my best to find a way to work it in if I can. Some things are set, but I'm always open to suggestions.
And without further ado, here is the prologue! You can expect Chapter 1 to be up within two weeks.
Enjoy!
Prologue
Running. It's the first thing she knows.
She's running now, so fast she can barely breathe; like she ran as a kid, when the worst thing after her was her cousin pretending to be the Boogeyman. But this time, there's a real monster on her trail. And he's getting closer.
She runs faster, faster than she ever thought she could, because she's desperate and she has to get away and he tried to take a piece of her, and if she doesn't keep running he'll take it with a knife to her throat.
Did she leave her phone in the house? She's done for without a link to civilization, to someone who can help her. Her coat is in the house, and her purse isn't hanging from her shoulder. She has nothing but her own two legs and her determination to get away.
She doesn't even know where she is.
But she doesn't care; she just knows she has to get away somewhere, to anywhere on earth but here.
If she stops, he'll win. He'll take her, and she won't be able to stop him.
Her heart pounds in her ears, an erratic thumping that drowns out everything else. Vaguely, she hears his shouts, his curses, but they slip past her as if she's made of smoke. She can't even hear his footsteps chasing after her. Just her heart.
Thump, thump. Thu-thump thump.
Her lungs burn and her legs cramp as she pushes on. Her heart threatens to beat itself out of her chest. The thought that her heart could give out gets through the fog in her head. If she slows down, he'll take it. And if she keeps going like this, she'll collapse and he'll catch her anyway.
She understands what it is to feel hopeless now.
He's coming; she can hear him now. He's close, and getting closer every second. She isn't strong enough to keep going, and now she's going to pay the price for her weakness.
She knows she only has seconds to decide how she wants to lose: fighting or giving up. When the scream tears from her throat, she realizes that somehow, some way, she chose the former.
A hand grabs her hair, yanks her backwards hard towards the pavement. A dull crack sounds in her ears, and for a moment it's the only sound in her world. Pain explodes across the back of her skull, blinding pain that covers her world in black spots.
It's over. There's nothing to be done.
All at once, she goes limp. Didn't he tell her it'd hurt less if she didn't resist? Or is that her own mind trying to keep her alive?
A tongue swipes up her neck as ugly hands roam her. She almost recoils from the slimy feel of everything. He was full of shit; this is far from pleasurable.
"There's a good girl," he croons against the shell of her ear. "I always did like the chase."
Her trembling starts up all over again, escalating until her head is banging on the asphalt from the force of her shakes. She jostles her head, as if a concussion can make the words disappear forever. Already her stomach is churning, and she can taste the bitter, stale vomit at the back of her throat.
The jangle of a belt buckle snaps her into painful reality again. Without meaning to, she starts trying to scramble away, limbs flailing blindly, nails clawing air. Cold hands, clammy hands, grasp her wrists and hold her down until she sags in their grip again. She can't think, can't process anything that happens then. Flashes of a body over her dart through her brain, but nothing sticks. If he commands her to do anything, she's not aware of obeying or disobeying.
But one thing registers, when something presses at the back of her throat: she was told to fight for her first time. And right now, he was vulnerable.
A moment passes. She finds a corner of her mind that isn't completely shut down. She knows what she has to do. And she bites down. Hard.
The next thing she's aware of is the sickening, metallic taste of blood. It coats her teeth, drips out of the sides of her mouth, trickles down her throat in a warm flood of bitterness. She's choking on the stuff, but her mouth is no longer being invaded. In one motion, she turns on her side, coughs out the crimson evidence, and pulls herself to her feet.
Running. She's always running.
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