A/N: I write for whoever enjoys it. And I appreciate and love all feedback. But this particular chapter was spurred by the lovely reviews from BlueMagicRose and Anastasia-G.
BKBKBKBKBK
Sticky with sweat, she runs, armpits and forehead drenched, the salty liquid burning her eyes and souring her mouth.
Moonlight chases her.
Spotlighting her every footfall in the pitch black as to say, 'there you are, I see you, you can't get away from me.'
Panting for breath, she bounds blindly, trusting her legs are carrying her to the main road.
She didn't run away immediately, there was a short torment over what to do; scared to stay and scared to go.
On the cobwebbed stairs she sat, staring at the pistol. Was Klaus her kidnapper or her savior?
Recent memory had proven neither.
Legs pump up and down, the balls of her bare feet pounding the dirt, cut and bruised from thorns and debris.
Her heart thumps so violently in her throat that she feels as if she is choking on the organ.
But fear is a motivator, so she does not stop to catch her breath. She runs. Runs from the horror of severed heads and gutted hearts and from the deranged vampire whose blood bolsters inside her veins.
The humid air blows warm over the seeping cuts on her limbs, and she grips at the pistol slippery in her hand from the stream of sweat.
Klaus said it would defend her; he had explained wooden bullets could kill a human just as quickly as a supernatural creature.
And she is prepared to shoot even if it is Klaus who she has to aim the barrel.
BKBKBKBKBK
Darting out from under the hem of the woods, Bonnie stumbles downward into the shallow mosquito infested water of the steep ditch separating the woodlands from the highway.
Her ankle twists awkwardly.
And there are tears, big fat disgust-filled tears and a wincing from a sharp pain. But now was not the time to cry out and wish she could be who she used to be, convincing herself that whoever she was before would never be in backwoods Louisiana running from a vampire.
Lamenting the O.G. Bonnie was not fucking helpful.
Her fingers graze over her ankle and she bites down, and steadies herself on to her feet, putting her weight on to the injured appendage.
If she were to let the scream inside of her out; they would hear her in New Orleans.
She tosses the pistol onto the blacktop, clawing weeds and dirt to pull herself up from the trenches, elbows digging into the soil to create leverage as she swings her legs upward to roll her body onto the asphalt.
And she succeeds, and rolls right in front of a battered Ford truck barreling toward her in the westbound lane.
She scrambles to her knees but isn't fast enough. Headlights mark her for death a second time.
The driver swerves, fishtails a couple of yards down the road and abruptly halts, tires screeching and billowing smoke.
There is a brief moment, as if the driver were considering if they should double back and see what they nearly killed. And Bonnie stops breathing, not knowing what will exit from that truck, and she quickly picks up the pistol still lying nestled in the weeds where she threw it. But the Ford's tires slowly rotate forward and Bonnie lessens her grip on the gun as she watches the red backlights disappear in the dark.
She lunges across the road, jogging with a distinct limp toward her destination.
Fontenot's is illuminated by a single light pole overlooking its empty parking lot.
The store is visibly closed, with a padlocked chain wrapped around the metal door covering the glass front entrance. But Bonnie didn't run all this way to alert a local clerk she was in trouble.
The deciding factor for her escape came to her on those stairs when she remembered the sign she had seen hung up over the payphones as they sped by the convenient store earlier.
'In Case of Emergency. Call 911.'
Exhausted, she braces her weight against the phone stand, her hand trembling as she dials the numbers and from the very real dread that Klaus was near to snatch this victory away.
Pressing each digit, she has no clue what 911 is or what would be on the other line. But this was her emergency.
She waits, and waits, imagining a person picking up and listening to her ordeal, and being just as fucking frightened as she is right now, and she turns her face to the road waiting for someone who will never pick up because she finally realizes there isn't a ringtone.
And the same battered Ford Truck that couldn't be bothered with Bonnie a minute ago, decides to pull into the parking lot and flood the very spot where Bonnie stands with its headlights.
Squinting from the harsh light, she notices three figures. Two exiting the front cab and one hopping from the back of the truck.
She softly places the dirty plastic phone back on to the hook.
Author's Note
This chapter is hella short but that's because I lost the ending and will have to rewrite in the morning. I hope this will hold you over until I am able to type that out.
Thank you for reading.