She vaguely recalled the first time she was knocked to the ground by him; how upset she had become over her bleeding nose and how much it hurt. She definitely had been in worse near-to-death situations before. She recalled the moments when she got back on her feet to fight off the perpetrators that attacked her guild. She kept on fighting no matter how much she bled. No matter how much it hurt.

But what happens if the perpetrator was your own husband? The hurt she felt was nothing like before.

She's now in a similar situation as before; laid across the kitchen floor, ears ringing accompanied with a dull headache on the right side of her head. She could make out glass shards at the periphery of her vision. With each violent episode, he used to apologise countless times, always promising the same thing "I won't do it again."
He never stuck to his word. Things kept getting worse and worse. He became more violent, he refused to apologise, he blamed her for everything. This time round, he decided to use his expensive, almost empty, alcohol bottle as a weapon.

This has happened for so many times that she now feels nothing.
Well, nothing but regret that is.

She reminisced her outspoken, confident past self. The times spent with her guild made her even stronger. What has she become now? She dreaded the thought of her guildmates' reactions to her current situation. It was downright embarrassing.

But Fairytail is no more.

The master had disbanded the guild with no explanation, and everyone seemed to agree to the decision. She, however, was confused at the sudden disbandment; But Lucy said nothing. She had faith in their master.
Her only mistake was assuming that the guildmates would still stay as close-knit as they once were. This expectation shattered with every guild member that left. One by one, they left the guild. She dreaded the day Natsu disappeared, with only a note for comfort.

That was it. She was left to fend for herself.

Her father came into the picture a few months after the disbandment, asking for her help and cooperation. His once wealthy lifestyle was no more when his business crumbled. He desperately asked her to agree to an arranged marriage that could help his dying business to flourish. She disagreed to the idea and turned her back on him.
Somewhere along the way, she had agreed to the marriage when Jude admitted that he fell ill. He couldn't manage to pay his treatment and her measly reporter job would not keep up with the increasing fees.

Her shivering body jolted her back to reality. She tried to lift herself off of the freezing floor, penetrating the palm of her hand with glass shards. She winced at the contact and tried to brush them off with her other hand. This movement only increased the pain in her head. Hissing at the pain, she continued lifting herself up, only for her vision to blur. Lucy was tempted to fall back to the ground, but she can't just stay there forever.
She can't…stay.

Her eyes widened at the sudden realisation that her husband left the house following the fight. He never left the house after an argument, no matter how physical. It was unusual to say the least. She suddenly began fearing for her life at the thought of him coming back. What will he do then? Disregard her, give her another beating, or…? She held back a whimper at the thought of someone coming into the house to find her lifeless body.

Panic seized her thoughts as she wobbled to the front door. Her damn vision wouldn't settle and the scent of blood and alcohol was making her feel more faint by the second. But she refused to slow down. She grabbed a jacket and her scarf and began dressing herself. She made sure to put her small purse in the pockets of her jacket. It only held a few jewels she had managed to collect over the weeks. She sneered at the thought of her husband refusing to give her money. When she suggested going back to her former job, he made sure she wouldn't ever dream about it again. He deemed her worthless to the point of hiring a worker to shop for groceries. His trust issues drove her to the brink of madness.
She made way to the front door before she halted her steps. What is she going to do now? She was at the outskirts of magnolia, she barely had any jewels and she didn't have anyone to turn to. Her celestial spirits couldn't even help her. He took her keys away from her after a few months of marriage. He refused to let her participate in magic any longer. She protested, fought with him, screamed and begged. That was the very first time he had gotten physical with her.
She never saw her keys again. She rummaged through every nook and cranny of the house just to find them. This earned her a beating each time.

He called her celestial spirits an obsession and even dared to suggest that she used Loke for any intimate needs. She teared up at the thought of him getting rid of her keys forever. She'd never see them again.

She is left with nothing. Nothing but her life- which is currently on the line, threatened by him. She huffed at her built up frustration. He took away every last thing she owned. But this was the last straw. She refuses to leave her existence in his hands.

With that thought in mind, she opened the door and ran out.

She's at the train station now. Her head wound had stopped profusely bleeding- now that the dried up blood is blocking any further leakage from occurring. The hood of her jacket shielded her head and face from the public eye. It was a small town and everyone knew her husband, so any (unwanted) attention would only lead to gossip and talk, which could ultimately affect her escape.

She reached into her pockets and held out a few jewels. She mentally calculated how much she needed for her to travel, for basics such as water and for a few nights spent at motels. Just until she figured out her next steps.
But what happens when she runs out of money? She certainly can't get a job in this state; she didn't even have the time (or the sanity) to pack a few things.

The sound of the train halting to a stop jolted her back to reality. Guess she'll just have to improvise.

"Hey Sting?" the exceed called out, slowly (but surely) flying downwards toward the ground with exhaustion.

"What?" Sting harshly replied. He definitely didn't mean to use any aggressive tone with Lector; he was just frustrated, being as worn down as the exceed.
The exceed didn't seem to care at his owner's anger when he suggested, "Can we find somewhere to sleep?". Lector didn't wait for an answer at he laid gently on the ground, face first.
He was already snoozing when Sting sighed and turned back facing the now sleeping cat. He put his hands to his hips as he scanned the area, which was mostly covered by trees. His sharp eyesight then made out a flickering purple light at a distance, almost right next to that bloody train station. Damn he hates trains.
He grabbed the exceed by the back of his shirt as he walked to their destination.

Just as he arrived next to the motel, another person entered before the pair. He could care less about the people around him, but the hooded figure had a familiar scent. He just couldn't pinpoint to whom it belonged to. As he entered the building, the hooded person was already climbing the stairs to their allocated room.
Damn he couldn't even get a glimpse.
The receptionist then gave him a key following his payment, and he turned around to leave; when his ears picked up the receptionist's conversation with the cleaner.
"Did you see her bloodied face?" the receptionist murmured, her words laced with fear.
She continued, "Do you think she…off'ed someone?". The implication made the dragon slayer even more curious about the person's identity. He smirked at the newfound information; no matter how miniscule, it was definitely a challenge he was willing to take up.
"I just hope I don't have to clean up any contents." the cleaner commented, worry etched onto her face as she continued washing the motel entrance.

Thoughts of despair and hopelessness filled her head as she laid in the bathtub. The running water gradually became tinted brown and murky whilst the untouched sides of the bathtub were smeared with her blood. If someone was to walk in on her, they'd think she was dead at the stomach-churning sight. She resisted the temptation of shoving her head under the water and let herself become engulfed by it. What held her back was the thought of that bastard benefiting off her death, recalling the time he made her sign an insurance paper 'just in case'.

She somehow woke up on the bed. She couldn't make out the events that occurred after taking a bath; not that she cared too much currently. Her immense thirst was what woke her up from her deep slumber. She cursed at herself for not buying any water on the way. She groggily stood up and wore her jacket, making sure to carry a few jewels with her.

She looked around and spotted a vending machine on the ground floor. With each step she took, her head pounded with pain. She should really get her head injury checked out, but she didn't have the money for a healer's visit or for any medications. Somehow, unbeknownst to her, she made it to the ground floor without passing out or stopping. She was so lost in thought that she barely realised she walked down three floors.

She pushed a few jewels into the vending machine and pressed the button. But nothing came out. "You're fucking kidding me", she muttered, now getting agitated. Her head pounded louder than ever, her throat burned, and her vision blurred with exhaustion.
She pressed the button again.
Nothing.
She slumped her head on the machine's glass, desperately looking at the drinks. Praying something will come out of the damn machine. She doesn't have enough money as it is, she can't afford to lose more.
She kept on pressing the button, now panicked.
Still nothing.
Her face contorted in pure frustration as she began hitting the vending machine with her hands with full force. Once her hands got tired and palms ached, she began using the heel of her boot to hit the machine.
The. damn. machine. wouldn't. budge.
She re-positioned her forehead along the front glass of the machine, and just cried. Nothing was going her way. Absolutely nothing.

"Yeah that vending machine is shit." The sound of a man's voice startled her. Her eyes widened, but she remained still, whilst her thoughts meticulously planned how she can possibly escape the situation. 'A helpless woman, who's on her own at a motel, in the middle of nowhere ' is not a favourable position to be in.
Sting sensed the woman's tense position and apologised, "Sorry if I scared ya, but you kind of woke me up with all that banging."
"Sorry." The girl muttered in a very hoarse voice.

When Lucy felt his presence come closer to her side, she quickly turned around, and headed for the staircase, her head still positioned downwards to avoid the man's gaze.

"Woah there," Sting shouted as he grabbed hold of her wrist.
"Don't you want something to drink?" he stated as he held her arm in a tight grip. He needed to know who this woman is; even if he has to force her into cooperation.

Assuming the worst, Lucy's built up panic now gave her the energy to turn back and push the man away with full force and give her the chance to remove his hands off of her. However, these disjointed movements only forced the hood on her head to fall down. Her vision was no longer obstructed and her face was now revealed. She faced her perpetrator, who stared back at her with wide eyes. He was no stranger. Her breath hitched as she forced the name to come out of her mouth, "Sting?"