𝔖𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔱 𝔖𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰

I Can't Get Away

[photo not mine, taken from Pinterest]

WARNINGS:
Blood is sort of mentioned (not lots of detail though)

I Can't Get Away

This is it.

I can't get away.

All those times I ran and ran from him have gone now.

I'm trapped.

This is it.

I can't get away.

I feel the rope burn into my wrists, my arms straining as I try to reduce the pressure of it.

It's dim in here. I'm blind. A blanket of darkness covers my eyes.

This is it.

I- a sound stops my thoughts. The sound of... of a door creaking open.

He's here. I know he's here. This time I cannot run. This time he can hurt me.

This time is the last. I almost feel hope at the thought.

I hear the heels on his boots clipping on the floor. I can hear his breathing. I can smell his scent: cigarettes and cologne. I once longed to feel his breath on my neck. I once longed for that smell to envelope me. But that was before what happened. Before I was broken. Before he was broken. Before...

He's closer now.

My chest rises and falls more quickly, anxious about what will happen next.

I wait.

I wait for it.

The final thing that will break me.

Nearer and nearer he comes until he stops; I can sense him just inches away. He releases a soft breath making the hair that frames my face tickle my cheek. Where I would have once lapped that up, I find myself shrinking back. The rope burns into my wrists some more and I feel blood begin to trickle down my arm.

There is just enough light to see a silhouette of the boy I once knew. I know that if I were to see him in daylight, he'd be nothing like he was.

I know who he is.

This is not who he is.

There is a crash from somewhere beyond the open door, startling me. I know he does not flinch. Moments later, where my eyes were coated in black, they are now searing with pain and whiteness. I turn my face down, blinking, making them adjust to the change.

Eventually, I look up, flicking my hair out my face; I don't want anything to obstruct my view.

First I see his shoes. Black and shiny. Black trousers come next and a black belt with a gold buckle. I don't get any further because his hand cups my chin and forces my head to face his eyes. I look into them. Piercing blue. They once gave me comfort. Now they give me fear.

He studies me then loosens his grip and his hand falls away. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. He does not step back but keeps his nose millimetres from mine. He opens his mouth. The full scent of cigarettes is released.

"Hey, Cleo."

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

I hope you liked it!

Follow for more and continue to check this as new short stories will come on here often.

☺