My friend jugs finished proof reading chapter 3 for me, here it is hope you enjoy it!
It was only noon when Jonathon had first started trying to sleep, yet every time he closed his eyes all he could see was her. After what seemed like an eternity of tossing and turning, he gave up and simply lay in his bed, glaring at the ceiling in frustration; as if it were to blame for the mess he was in. Finally, he crooked his head sideways and squinted at the bright florescent lighting from the digital clock. 9:00pm. He huffed in exasperation and yanked the sheets from him, deciding he'd do something more productive then hopelessly attempting to sleep. Heaving himself up, Jonathon made his way over to his cabinet and yanked out a pair of black jeans, a dark maroon shirt. He got dressed and slipped on his grey sneakers before he left. He went down stairs and, his stomach reminding him that he hadn't eaten in almost two days, entered into the kitchen and started making sandwiches. He sat down to wolf it down, but before he could even get a single bite in, his Father entered.
"Jonathon." Valentine nodded curtly, greeting him
Jonathon nodded back in a similar manner. "Father; I hope your business meeting went as planned - or at least in your favour." He replied, taking a hungry bite out of the sandwich.
Apparently happy with Jonathon's response, an almost smile flickered across his features.
"It did indeed." He answered, and turned to leave. But as he was about stride away, he caught sight of Jonathon's dinner, his expression curious, if not a little concerned.
"Is that your dinner?" He inquired, a slightly sceptical tone seeping into his voice.
In the middle of taking his second bite, Jonathon shrugged, uncaring as to what his Father thought of him right now.
Valentine chuckled to himself and resumed his departing from the room, "Boys," he sighed incredulously. Just before he was about to walk up the glass stairs, once again, he stopped and turned on his heel, "oh and son?"
Jonathon, slightly exasperated, looked up from eating, "Yes, Father?" he asked inoffensively.
"Here." Smiling, he tossed his stele to him. Jonathon caught it in a swift motion. Valentine continued up the steps again. Once he was out of his view, Jonathon shoved it into his pocket with force, fighting the memory of the other night.
Soon after, he finished his 'dinner' and without thinking, shrugged on his favourite black zip-up jumper and left the apartment; heading back to the town where he had met her. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of what she called her 'safe house'. He wondered why she called it that; it didn't look safe at all. It was old and rickety, and there were burn marks along the base of the shack. It was located at the edge of town, not too secluded from civilisation but not to close either; a perfect sanctuary. He cautiously walked up the squeaky steps, but stopped short as full realisation of what he was doing hit him.
What am I doing? Why am I here?
He didn't have any answers at that moment; all he could do was turn the fragile door handle and enter the empty house. By the looks of it, the house had probably been cleaned out and renovated, leaving it as just one large room, the centre revealing an old, worn mattress - the old grey blanket that covered him earlier loosely thrown over the bed - a milk crate was plonked upside down next to the mattress, working as a night stand, and two big torches sat at either side of the bed. At the end of the bed there were three middle sized packing boxes. Looking into them, he noticed one box contained first aid and survival gear (bandages batteries, disinfectants), another had long lasting food and the last simple women's clothing. He stared around the dark, dusty room, gaze searching to see if she was there with him. When he returned disappointed, he sat down on the bed, deciding to wait for her to return.
...
A half hour later, Jonathon found himself pacing the room in agitation. Anxiety ate at him, making him question whether he should stay any longer or if he should leave whilst he had the chance. Thoughts ran through his mind, hitting him one after the other like a bullet to his skull
Why am I here?
I shouldn't be here!
Where is she?
Why hasn't she arrived yet?
What if she's hurt?
Wait... Jonathon stopped his pacing immediately at his last thought, eyes widening at the rush of emotions that accompanied it. Why should care if she's hurt?! He demanded of himself, the exasperation and frustration over his conflicted feelings making his head hurt.
Jonathon was snapped from his confusing thoughts when he heard footsteps at the door. Without thinking, he rushed over to it and opened it in one swift motion, his irrational feelings overriding his thought process, leaving him utterly unprepared for what appeared before him.
The girl he'd met the previous night before could hardly be recognised now. She was beaten, bloody and staggering; her clothes ripped from God knows what. He had a sudden and overwhelming urge to hold her in his arms but all he could do was stand there in shock at her broken figure. The next thing he knew, her eyes fluttered shut and she collapsed into his arms. He gathered her up in his arms, his hand resting on back of her head. He quickly noticed the dampness. Cold, sweeping panic drowned him and he clung onto irrational hope as he lifted his hand to examine it. He looked down in horror at the thick substance smeared on his hand.
Blood.
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