I Write Sins, Not Tragedies [An Emmett Cullen Love Story]

Chapter Thirteen

I Write Sins, Not Tragedies 

Chapter Thirteen: Crossroads

I stood there staring at him, frozen with shock. I didn't really know what to say; I hadn't expected to ever see this man again. Yet here he was, and everything about him oozed rage and I couldn't place why. When he walked toward me he stumbled a little with each step, and once he arrived nose to nose with me the smell on his breath confirmed my theory; he was drunk. 

"Wh..what are you doing here," I stuttered a little, I tried to put on my most believable brave face before I spoke to him again. "What do you want?" 

Ben chuckled darkly and a wicked glint grew in his cold gray eyes. "You've always been such a doll, Mary. Just like your mother." Ben began wrapping calloused hands around my face and neck enclosing me in his grasp. I tried to wither away, but he held me there firmly; hoisting me off the ground until I had no footing and no edge to escape. 

Ben carried me several yards to the nearest tree, slamming me hard against it. So hard in fact, that when my head hit the tree it bounced back a little and when I opened my eyes the vision was blurred and there was a high pitched ringing in my ears. 

I clawed at the hands that held me, mentally cursing the habit of chewing my nails. Surely such dull stubs were not going to have the desired effect on him. I was trying everything I could to get him to let me go, but someone as small and fragile like me didn't stand a chance. I knew that the odds of me getting out of this were a billion to one, though I wasn't prepared to face my death unless it were absolutely certain. 

Ben kept snarling at me to keep still, but there was no chance in hell of me listening to his commands. Although I was afraid of him and what he could do to me, what he had planned; but I was more afraid of never making it out of this place. 

Mentally, I visited a place where I was dead. I probably wouldn't even be searched for until a few days had passed, and even then the only person who would find me here would be Emmett. How would he react to entering his place and seeing my dead remains? My mind flashed a playback of his words menacingly, I don't care about you. It reminded me that seeing me dead wouldn't have bothered Emmett a bit, in fact, he would have probably celebrated by sucking me dry to satisfy his vampritic hunger. I guess that was all I was ever meant to be to him, a treat. 

"Now, Mary, you be a good little girl," Ben cooed to me while fiddling to unbutton his dirty khaki pants. "This will be over faster that way." 

Oh hell no. 

There was no chance that I was going to sit back and be raped. He would have to kill me first. I mustered all control I had left in my body and threw my right knee hard into his gems. He let out a yelp of pain and let me go, but not before sending a knife deep into my side. 

I was on the ground while he was trying to ease his pain. The wound in my side was gushing a fountain of blood, too much blood. I clutched it tight with my hands and stumbled to me feet, making a clumsy bolt into the woods. My vision was still blurred, so I couldn't tell the difference much between up and down and at time I was pretty sure I was stumbling in a circle. I was helpless. 

After a few moments, I head been speak again; and his menacing tease made all the hairs on my body stand on end. "Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?" It was the nursery rhyme my mother had always sung to me when I was a little girl and terrified of those monsters in the closet. There was no mother to sing away the pain, there was no one. I was all alone in the face of death. "With silver bells and cockle shells and pretty maids all in a row."  

It was a nursery rhyme that had always been shrowded in horror stories and tales of the supernatural and paranormal. I had learned all of that from my indepth studies of classic literature. After all, I loved to write though I hadn't got much of it in since living with the Cullen family or since the tragic passing of my mother. Some of the haunting theories were that The Mary alluded to in this traditional English nursery rhyme is reputed to be Mary Tudor, or Bloody Mary, who was the daughter of King Henry VIII. Queen Mary was a staunch Catholic and the garden referred to is an allusion to graveyards which were increasing in size with those who dared to continue to adhere to the Protestant faith - Protestant martyrs.