Arabelle Vine, a 22 year old photographer in Seattle Washington, is happy with her current life. She has friends, a great family, and a job she loves. But Arabelle wants to be more than just content with her life. She wants excitement, and she wants...
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I felt bile rising up in the back of my throat as his right hand continued to press onto my throat and the left covering my mouth. I couldn't breathe and the panic wasn't helping. I gagged and hot tears ran down the sides of my cheeks. Pain was everywhere, on the surface and deep in my bones. Bruises littered my body like tattoos, covering my skin in darkness. My eye was beginning to swell shut from the impact of his fist.
I squirmed underneath him kicking him, doing everything in my power to get him off. It was no use. He moved his knees to the outsides of my legs, trapping me. He dug his knees hard into my thighs making me wince in pain as I began to cry even harder. His hands were still on my throat and mouth, he gripped my throat tighter, blocking any air from traveling to my lungs. He removed his left hand from my mouth, smirking as he watched me gasp for air. My hands moved to my throat, scratching at his hand. Black dots started to cloud my vision.
I was going to die.
The thought soothed me and panicked me at the same time. I wasn't ready but at least I knew the torture was coming to an end, that I would finally be free. But I didn't want this to be the way I died. I didn't want the last thing I saw to be the sinister smirk on his hideous face. I wanted to be able to say goodbye to the people I loved one last time, I wanted to hug them, I wanted a bear hug from Papa. I wanted one last car karaoke with dad, I wanted to order 50 chicken nuggets from some random fast food place, and buy one last cheap bottle of wine from a gas station to share between Mavis, Eloise, and me.
I didn't want to die, but I was okay with it.
My gasps for air were slowly dying, as did the relentless assault from my nails on his hand. They started to slowly fall to my side, and my head Grew weak and lulled to the right.
"Oh no you don't Arabelle." He said easing the grip of his hand against my throat. I gasped for air, squeezing my eyes shut. He weaved his fingers through my knotted hair, pulling my head forward so I stared into his dark brown eyes. He leaned forward, his lips brushing the tip of my ear, "It's not time yet my flower. Your staying with me." He pulled back, bringing his fingers up to stroke my tear stained cheeks. "Your so beautiful and delicate, how could I ever let you go?" He cocked his head to the left, his eyes softening for a moment. He looked like the man I fell in love with again.
They were only soft for a little, before they quickly hardened. His fingers tightening in my hair making me wince.
"But no." He stated, "My flower decided to be a fucking slut today didn't she? She wanted to dress like a whore and try and seduce every man that even glanced at her. Isn't that right." If possible his grip on her hair tightened even more.
