Hunting Season (Detective Loki Fanfic)

Eleven

A/N: HOLY COW!!! No way this fic got 1K reads! Thank you all so much for reading, voting and commenting! I lost motivation for this story for a little while, since I got so busy with life. I'm back and ready to update! This chapter is just kind of a short filler while I work on some steamier, NSFW-ish chapters (because ik that's what you guys want haha). I really want to incorporate the movies storyline with their romance, so bear with me!

Enjoy it <3

...
It had been a few hours since David left. It was dark out now. Amanda had been to my room to check on me throughout the evening and well into the night. I was still reeling from what had occurred earlier on into the day.

Did he really say he loved me? Was I hearing things? Was HE hearing things? We'd only just met a while ago... I thought to myself. David was such a reserved man around others, I felt that him breaking character to love a woman he just met is so...not like him. What did I do to make him love me so hard? It didn't seem like I did much, I only dragged him into my life problems and gave his boss a reason to question his performance, which for him seemed like an occurrence unheard of.

I needed to get out of my head.

I aimed my remote at the TV that hung from the hospital ceiling. The screen clicked on. The news channel blared out from the dingy vintage speakers.

- updates on the case of the missing girls, Anna Dover and Joy Birch. The man pictured on the screen is a prime suspect in this case. According to our local sources, the man was seen at the public vigil held a few days ago, fleeing when he was approached by the lead detective on the case: Detective David Loki.

My heart fluttered at his name. I was proud of him, cheering him on from the sidelines. But I couldn't deny that a small part of me wanted him to come back, caress me and tell me that everything was going to be okay. It was selfish, but a girl can have her wants, can't she?

The man is considered armed and dangerous. If you see something, say something. Call or tex...

I tune out the sound of the news, frustrated at the constant heartache of this case.

I had a sudden urge to look at myself in the mirror. I knew it would only cause more stress, more headaches. I sit up, feeling a little bit more healed than I did when I got here, but still in a lot of pain. I swing my sore legs over the edge of the bed, a sharp ache shooting from my rib area to my head. It's like my body was screaming, begging to be dragged back to the bed. But I pressed on. I needed to see myself. I needed to remind myself that the man who did this to me is to never be forgiven. I needed to sear this image into my mind so I never hesitated when it came to ripping his ass in court. I pressed my hand onto the cold door, anxiously pushing the creaking slab of wood open. I run my hand along the smooth painted wall, feeling for a light switch.

Click.

The mirror was right in front of the door, being the first thing in view. My stomach dropped at the sight of me. My hair was disheveled and matted, tangled to all hell. My eyes were puffy and swollen. My cheeks and jaw were bruised, a yellowish hue surrounding the deep purple results of a heartless strike. I ran my tongue along my unbrushed teeth, feeling a back molar loosen at the sudden disruption. Tears began to sting my eyes at the sight in front of me. A pang of sadness ripped through me, coursing through my blood. As I looked at myself more and more, the sadness became pity, pity became frustration, and the frustration turned into pure hatred. I was never one to hate, never one to have strong feelings about any particular thing or person. Because I was just that kind of person. I was peaceful. Happy, even. I wanted no drama. And why is it that I allowed myself to be isolated by a man who was the complete opposite? He was angry at the world, violent, expressive in all the bad ways. I allowed myself to be blinded by love, or what I thought was. I let my good, trusting nature to overpower my ability to detect bullshit when it was right in front of my face the entire time. What the fuck was I thinking, staying with him for so long. Did I think he would change? He would see what was wrong with him and heal himself? I thought to myself. I let the tears fall, angry at myself for allowing him to dictate my emotions even when he wasn't even here.

I washed my face with cold water, waking myself up and snapping myself out of the emotional mess that I was in. Patting my face dry with a clean towel, I took a deep breath and decided to get back into bed.

A knock at the door almost made me jump out of my skin.

"Come in" I say flatly, already irritated at the person on the other side of the door.

I hear the doorknob click open, and heavy footsteps enter the small hospital room.

I take a few steps out of the bathroom doorway to see who it is.

My heart drops into my stomach, and my blood starts to pound into my ears as my knees begin getting weaker, soon unable to hold up my body weight.

"Hey, Cassidy. How are you?" Marks father steps into the room, his tall frame towering over me even from afar.

No words could escape my throat. I felt as if i were being suffocated, unable to breathe.

He steps forward, and i step backward into the bathroom doorway, fear, anger and pure hatred coursing through my veins. I slam the door in his face as he quickens his pace, trying to reach me and do God knows what.

I lock the door from the inside, feeling as if the air around me slid its tendrils around my entire body and squeezed as hard as it could. I slid downwards, Mark's father knocking at the door. I could hear the impatience in his voice.

With a shaky voice, i pleaded. I pleaded with the Gods to make him go away. Then i started thinking. Thinking with adrenaline. I've let the men from that family taunt me for years. I was tired of being fearful of them, letting them have the slightest bit control of me. Their son was in jail, and there was nothing they could do about it. I wanted to face him. Face the devil, and tell it to shove it.

I stood up, hand hovering over the doorknob. I placed my hand on it, wanting to just rip it open like a band aid.

Fuck, Cassidy. You can do this.

I ripped the door open, face to face with the man who birthed my abuser.