A day or to late, I know... but I didn't want to ruin your Christmas with this angst. I made this one extra-long as a gift to you. Merry Christmas... :P
CHAPTER STATS
Word Count (excluding A/N): 2558
Date Updated: 12-26-11
Current Review Count: 569
Dunno if I have to, but... uh... warning for, uh, T-rated... stuff. If you're not technically a "T" yet, just... read at your own risk? I refuse to spoil the plot for the sake of a warning! D:
"Miss, miss…"
Chelsea shot upright with a start, her eyes fluttering open. She looked over at the shipmate next to her. She'd fallen asleep on the covered portion of the deck. "What happened?"
"We're docking in the city," he said, his clothes thoroughly soaked. "You're going to have to get off."
Chelsea nodded, standing up. Her legs felt tired and she wobbled unsteadily before she regained her balance with the aid of some nearby railing. The waves were battering the sides of the boat and the rain hadn't let up. She shivered slightly in Vaughn's coat, still wet from a combination of rain and ocean water. Slowly, she made her way onto the dock.
It was still dark out and the city was nearly completely deserted—probably on account of the late hour and the inclement weather. With a sigh, Chelsea shifted her soggy rucksack to her other arm and squinted at the man running the dock.
"Excuse me," she said, her raspy voice straining to be heard above the thrashing waves and pounding rain.
The man slid the small window of his little office open, looking at her like she was crazy. "What?"
"I need to transfer boats—I'm heading to Mineral Town," she explained, her body trembling from cold and stress.
The man pulled up a clipboard and flipped through some papers before looking up at her. "Sorry, miss. That passage's been delayed until the storm clears up—probably tomorrow morning, maybe afternoon."
"Tomorrow?" Chelsea repeated, her stomach tightening uncomfortably. "But…"
"Sorry," the man shrugged, giving her a pitying glance. "Unless you want to end up shipwrecked, you aren't going anywhere tonight."
"Being shipwrecked isn't that bad," Chelsea muttered as she turned, earning a confused glance from the man.
She vacantly walked away from the dock, stopping before she'd made it too far. She glanced around her, taking in the city. There wasn't much to see through the thick veil of gray rainfall and the looming wall of darkness. The sky was a swirling pool of black and grays, and to Chelsea, it seemed like it was ready to come crashing down to the ground.
None of the street names meant anything to her. She didn't know where she was. It couldn't have been much past two in the morning, which was just late enough for no one to be out yet just early enough for Chelsea to have to find some place to stay. She couldn't just wait in the dark, getting soaked by the pouring rain for four hours until sunrise—could she?
She bit down on the insides of her cheeks. That seemed like her only option.
She was very literally broke. This was no hyperbolic use of the term. She had no money. She spent every last coin she had on the boat ticket, unaware that something like this could happen. She couldn't stay in any sort of inn. She couldn't buy food. She couldn't do anything but stand there in the rain and feel the icy water numb her skin, thoroughly freezing her from the outside in.
Maybe, if she was lucky, the rain could even numb her heart. That way she wouldn't have to feel this horrible, tight feeling in her chest.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, Chelsea looked up to the sky, the rain hitting her face and mingling with her tears. Her lips trembled. Her whole body trembled. She shakily backed into the brick wall of the building beside her, sinking down to the ground. She pulled her knees into her chest, crying quietly to herself.
She felt so alone.
The foreboding expanse of the city frightened her. Thousands of people were here, all around her—most of them were probably asleep—but she didn't know any of them. She didn't know which places were safe and which places weren't. She heard stories of the city many times from her parents. They'd described it as an exciting, busy place—but also one that can be far more dangerous than anything Chelsea had known.
And now here she was, alone in the darkness of this treacherous place, feeling and looking more vulnerable than she would have cared to.
She was living a nightmare. There was virtually no aspect of her life at that moment that seemed particularly appealing to Chelsea. She missed her family. Her crops were dead. She had no money. She had managed to wreck the friendship that had taken seasons to build by accidently being a total idiot to Vaughn. Julia was gone right when she needed her most. Her cow—her baby, her best friend—was dead. Dead.
Daisy was dead.
She hiccupped, trembling more violently against the wall.
And to top it all off, she was now lost in the most intimidating place she'd ever been in. If it wasn't for Vaughn, this place would've already killed Chelsea. She remembered the only experience she'd had in the city, nearly three seasons ago. She'd almost died. Twice. Chelsea shuddered.
She was terrified.
But aside from the terror and the dull, throbbing anguish in her chest, Chelsea felt surprisingly empty. It was like she had managed to cry out some of the consciousness of her pain. Like the rain had actually numbed her.
She felt the hair on the back of her neck crawl and she heard a faint sound of footsteps on the pavement in the distance. The sound mixed with the vigorous pitter-patter of the storm, making Chelsea wonder if she'd heard it at all. A stolid glance to the side confirmed her suspicions as she made out the vague outline of a person walking toward her. It was a man—she could tell. He wasn't very tall, but he gave off a stalwart silhouette nonetheless.
Chelsea stood slowly, no longer feeling the rain that fell in torrents around her. Was it possible to drown on land?
Swallowing, she started walking. She walked even though she couldn't feel her legs. It was like she was swimming through an icy river of gelatin—no matter how quickly she thought she was moving, the man behind her seemed to move that much faster.
The distance between them was steadily closing.
Vacant as she may have been moments before, Chelsea was fluttery with panic and fear now. She'd heard what strangers do to young, susceptible women in the city…
His footsteps were closer. She turned a corner sharply, hoping maybe he was actually just going somewhere to run a late-night errand and she was just being paranoid.
Her hope shattered when he turned with her, the gap ever-shortening.
Turn after turn, the man kept following her. She could practically feel him breathing down her neck. Her steps increased in tempo steadily, and eventually she broke out into a run. She didn't want to looked behind her, knowing that he was probably faster that her jelly-legs were and therefore right behind her.
She looked back anyway.
A scream caught in her throat in surprise—he was behind her. Right behind her.
He reached out and grabbed her arm, yanking it towards him. She wriggled furiously, sliding easily out of Vaughn's oversized coat and out of the stranger's unwelcome grasp.
Panicked, Chelsea darted the first way she saw—down a narrow, puddle-ridden alleyway. Not her smartest of moves.
She barely made it halfway down the short street before she felt rough, dirty hands grip her tender arm tightly. She began to scream, but the man brought his other thick hand to cover her mouth.
Her eyes widened in alarm as he towered over her, his face shrouded by the rain and the dark. She heard him chuckle, a hoarse, scratchy sound that turned to a wet cough. She smelled alcohol and tobacco on his clothes, which were unfortunately close to her.
"Keep quiet," he rasped, his face coming within inches of hers.
She watched him, her eyes filled with terror. She felt frozen. This couldn't be happening—not on top of everything else that had gone wrong. It made no sense. She didn't deserve this—did she? This was all a nightmare. An unbelievable nightmare with all of the worst thing that could ever happen in it.
A thought hit her just then, stunning her. She was never going to see her parents again.
The man tore at Chelsea's soaked shirts, effectively ripping the shoulder seam out, leaving Chelsea's bluish, pale flesh exposed form her collar bone to her wrist. She inhaled sharply, trying to scream again. She thrashed her limbs about, kicking and flailing and clawing at anything she could manage.
She wasn't going down without a fight.
"Damn it," the man growled after she managed to scratch his arm. He kept his hold on her wrist, his fingers digging into her soft skin, probably drawing some blood. He glowered at her, slurring something unintelligible. He brought his hand back and sent a hard blow across her cheek, knocking her to the ground.
She whimpered, her face stinging. She tried to push herself out of the mud and scrambled away, but she was too slow—his hands pinned her down.
In one last attempt, she took a deep breath and let out the loudest scream her lungs could muster—which, unfortunately for her, was not very loud.
Ooo
Vaughn stared up at his black ceiling, listening to the rain hit his apartment window. This was the sixth night in a row that he'd managed to not fall asleep.
Heaving a sigh, he sat up, cracking his neck. This was useless.
He hated admitting it, but he was actually starting to miss that damn farmer.
It was useless to feel that way. She would never forgive him for spurning her like that. He may be dense, but he knew when he'd made a mistake. He didn't mean to react so badly to her response to the cookies. He was just naturally guarded—she knew that. But he didn't realize that his guard would make him act like a fool.
Looking back on those final moments on the island, Vaughn realized that Chelsea probably didn't think he was joking about the cookies. Even if she did think that, there was good reason—even Vaughn could tell that giving cookies on Spring Thanksgiving was not something he'd usually do. In fact, he was still wondering what possessed him to do it in the first place.
Oh, right, Vaughn thought. Riley.
And after he'd realized what a petty ass he'd been, he realized that there was nothing he could do about it. Chelsea was probably mad at him. He'd be mad if he were in her position. In the end, though, it didn't even matter—all the passages out of the city's port were postponed due to inclement weather, so he wouldn't be seeing Chelsea until the following week anyways.
He frowned up at the ceiling again. That didn't stop the guilt and the sadness pulling at his gut.
With another sigh, Vaughn stood up, running his hand through his silver hair. He pulled on his boots and a raincoat. After setting his hat on his head, he walked across the room to the door of his apartment. Perhaps an invigorating walk through the freezing rain would do him good. What it could possibly do, Vaughn had no idea.
But it was better than just lying in bed and feeling sorry for himself.
Vaughn started down the street, the rain immediately waking him up with a jolt from its coldness. It was falling in sheets. Vaughn was completely soaked after just a few seconds on the sidewalk.
He walked through the rain, taking a deep, cool, cleansing breath. This part of the city smelled strongly of ocean at its most pungent—a smell that is hard to appreciate.
Vaughn tried not to think of anything as he walked down the streets. Naturally, this didn't work. His mind raced right back to what he was hoping to clear his head of. He thought of her smiling at him and how warm it made him feel. It was like she was the epitome of happiness and optimism—his exact opposite. But the more time he spent with her, the more he found himself liking her and the more he found himself liking a lot of things that he used to hate.
Riley was right yet again—that girl was making him nicer.
And the funny thing was that he didn't mind it.
Vaughn's gaze landed on something slumped up in the middle of the sidewalk up ahead of him. He cautiously walked up to it, unable to make out its identity in through the rain and the darkness. As he got closer, he found that it was a leather coat—a worn one. A very familiarly worn one.
Hesitantly, he picked it up. It was still warm, like it had just been cast off. It smelled like saltwater, dirt, and honey. It smelled like Chelsea.
As Vaughn bemusedly studied the article in his hands, a sudden shriek tore through the roar of the storm. His body tensed and his head whipped in the direction of the scream. He'd heard that scream before. He knew that voice.
He squinted down the alley, barely making out two figures about halfway down the narrow road. He watched as the larger of the two—a man, it seemed, and a very drunk one at that—raised his hand up and struck the other, sending it to the ground.
Vaughn's mouth ran dry as another scream—this one weaker than the first—pierced his ears. He ran down the muddy path, adrenaline and anger the only things he felt. Adrenaline, anger, and confusion. And a little bit of fear, too.
"You bastard," Vaughn growled, yanking the man off the ground. He sent a strong punch right to the jaw. The man staggered back, regaining his balance. Vaughn clenched his fist, scowling in a way that he'd sure he'd never scowled before. The man spent all of two seconds assessing the situation—and the cowboy's murderous glare—before pathetically fleeing from the alley.
Vaughn brought his attention down to the quivering form on the wet, muddy ground. His eyes met hers.
It was her.
He reached out a hand and pulled her up, his hands secured on her shoulders to steady her. His gaze was pulled to her red, swollen cheek, then to her torn shirt and muddied skin. It landed on her gaze, which was strikingly desolate—empty. He opened his mouth, so many things swirling around his head that he wasn't sure what he should say first. What happened? Why was she there? What was she thinking? …Was she okay?
Before he could say anything, though, her lips trembled and she shuddered, slumping forward in fatigue. Her shoulders shook and she cried. She cried loudly, and freely, and without any guard. She leaned into him, crying into his already-soaked shirt. Her hands fisted the stretched fabric, her knuckles turning white.
Hesitantly, Vaughn brought his arms around Chelsea's small frame, holding her against him where she already stood. She responded only by hiccupping and burying her face deeper into his shirt.
Vaughn watched her, utterly baffled. Something had happened—something bad. Really bad. It had to be pretty damn horrible to make Chelsea, the epitome of happiness, like this.
Not gonna lie, it's really late and I don't actually know what was written in those last several paragraphs. I hope it was legible. And not grossly... random.
This chapter contained rock-bottom for Chelsea. This means that it is all uphill from here, so no need to worry about anything else happening to ruin Chelsea's life.
...All this time without a klutz-attack for Chelsea... all the bad luck must've been stored up, huh?
Anywho, on a lighter note, anyone else notice Vaughn's first hug? :P
Next chapter should be interesting ;) ...that wasn't supposed to be a winky face, but you know what, I'm going to leave it.
Thanks for the reviews, y'all! I'll try to get some more writing in super-soon.