Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for my OC. Warning: some strong language.

Prologue

The blood stained her hands, marking every crevice and line in her skin with a coating of crimson liquid. Her head was sore from the beating she'd endured, and the red marks to her body were beginning to smear her skin with black and purple tones; a stark contrast to her usual paleness. She'd fought for her life on many occasions, but this time was different in every sense.

Her father had been an abusive man. She had known the pummelling of his fists against her young body more than his protective arms in the form of a hug. For years, she hoped she would escape one day, and she had promised herself that she wouldn't ever have to face the violence or abuse that she had faced every single day for the best part of nine years. She would dream of a place far away from the reality she knew; one filled with love and happiness. She knew darkness, and there was enough of it in her heart to truly kill her, consuming every inch of her.

She watched the man stand from his fallen position from where she, herself, had landed. Her entire body felt as though it was on fire; she knew she'd broken a rib or two, some feelings never went away. She knew the adrenaline was keeping her from experiencing the true extent of the pain, and she could only wish that the pain wasn't as unbearable as before. His expression changed when he caught sight of her on the ground, blood pouring from the wounds to her face. The glass from her windscreen had done most of the damage, as it had shattered into a million pieces and embedded itself into her face.

"You are mine," he seethed at her as he advanced towards her. Everything she had owned, everything that was hers, all now fit into a bag and was scattered across the ground. She knew he didn't want that, nor did he want the vehicle that she was driving that now, with a glance in its direction, was broken and crashed into a tree in the ditch. He had dragged her out of the vehicle and when she had fought against him, he knew that she wasn't going to go easily. She had hoped that he wanted her remaining supplies, as the alternative was worse than she could ever imagine.

"I will never be yours," she seethed back at him as she fought against him once more.

A hard hand walloped her across the face and all her senses numbed then; the burning began to set in like a wildfire trailing across the curve of her head and down her neck. Her ears were ringing a loud symphony that only she could hear, her vision was blurred, and tangible lines and shapes were now hollow and faded.

"What do you want from me?" she heard herself say, and she heard him scoff close to her ear and she felt sick to her stomach. "I have supplies. Take them. It's all I have."

"I don't want your supplies," he seethed. "I want you—"

The whoosh in the air was something she noticed but wasn't sure if it was her mind conjuring up sounds from the hit she had taken. Her ears still rang profusely, and she wondered if she had imagined it; the world was so quiet now that any noise was distinct. But when she fell to the ground, the weight of the man's grip now removed from her body, she looked around at the darkness that engulfed her. With her vision still as blurry as it was, she was unaware of the figure coming out of the treeline, a hunter with a crossbow poised in his hands. It was still aimed at the man that was going to claim her, who was now bleeding out from the wound to his head, and as she turned to him, she acknowledged the arrow that protruded from his head, its sharp end embedding into his brain. His eyes were now unseeing, his mouth ajar as his last breath escaped him slowly.

She emptied her stomach on the road beside her, the small contents amounting to nothing but a stale granola bar she'd been keeping for when the tins of food ran out. The hunter knew not to approach her but to allow her some space from the events she'd been through. Once she was finished vomiting, she wiped at her mouth.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice a mere whisper.

He noted how defeated she sounded. He shuffled his feet and bowed his head, shouldering his crossbow. "I ain't after anythin'."

He heard her scoff. "Everyone's after something."

"Well I ain't," he refuted. "Are ya okay?"

"Do I look okay?"

"Ya look like ya been through shit," he answered honestly.

She nodded with a scoff. "I feel like it, too."

She peeled herself from the ground, every movement and every breath causing her inexplainable pain to radiate throughout her body. The nausea hit her suddenly and she knew that meant one thing: a concussion. Just what she needed out in the middle of nowhere with a dead attacker and a stranger – a man who had saved her life – hidden by the shadows that night offered. Though the stranger had saved her life, everyone had an ulterior motive.

"Have ya got a place to go?"

She looked at him then with a wince as she stood to her full height. "I'm not telling you. I don't trust you."

"Fair enough," he tipped his head to her and she furrowed her brow. She observed him for a moment, taking in his strong form, the way his hair fell into his eyes, the grime to his body. She was unable to see much of him, but all she knew was her brain was screaming for her to retreat to safety. His question burned in her mind: have ya got a place to go?, and as much as she wanted to trust someone, she knew she couldn't.

Trust was earned, and everyone she had come across had fallen at the first hurdle.

"Have you got a place?" she asked, inquisitive.

"I ain't telling ya," he countered, repeating her own words. "I don't trust ya."

She smirked with a nod. She zipped up her backpack and trailed her fingers along the large gash to her forehead, wincing at the slickness of blood that coated her fingertips. She cleared her throat. "Thank you… for what you did. He was going to kill me. So, thank you."

The man simply shrugged his shoulders. "Not everyone is like him. He ain't nothing. There're good people out here, still."

"I'll believe that when I see it," she whispered. "Apart from you. But I've come across many people exactly like him. Some are just as violent as he was, and some aren't. Some people are just desperate, and some people do it for fun."

"Have ya got a weapon to defend ya self?"

No, she wanted to tell him.

"Yeah," she said, chewing her lip.

"Then why didn't ya use it?" he countered. He closed the gap between them then, and she took a step back instinctively. He noticed her movement then stopped. "I ain't gonna hurt ya. I ain't like them. I ain't like him."

He pulled out a hand gun, checked the number of bullets in the chamber, then handed it to her. "I have a spare," he continued. "Just in case ya come across any more people like him."

She hesitated for a moment then took it. "Thank you. You don't have to."

"Ya been out here long? On ya own?"

She nodded. Then her brain became fuzzy and her vision blurred once more. A tunnel stretched out ahead of her and she could feel herself fading from reality, with all sounds around her becoming muffled and all she could hear was blood pounding in her ears.

"I... don't... feel..." she faltered then, her balance wavering and unsteady and then, nothing.

The darkness that claimed her was a familiar one, and she wondered if it would be permanent this time.