trapped

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IT WAS NEARING two in the morning. The night was dark, the only light being that of the full moon glowing brightly in the sky, as well as the numerous lights that lined the almost-lonely street on either side. The few bars in the area were filled with numerous residents, leaving the streets empty of everyone except one person.

A young woman made her way out of one of the bars. Her shift as a bartender had just ended for the night, and she was looking forward to nothing else but going home and sleeping until she couldn't anymore. She hugged her jacket over her chest, as it was becoming slightly chilly outside, and made her way down the empty sidewalk. Her heels clacked loudly against the pavement, giving the woman a worse headache than she had had just before leaving. She stopped walking long enough to remove her shoes from her feet. Her house wasn't that far away—a mile give or take—and she would rather step in gum or on a nail instead of walking such a distance in heels.

She turned to head into the alleyway—the one she used as a shortcut to get back home—and began to hum. She wasn't scared the way most people, especially women, would be were they to trek through an alleyway at two in the morning. She was used to it, and although she was in an area full of drunks, she was always in an area full of the same drunks—the same drunks who wouldn't think to hurt a fly.

As the bartender continued walking through the dark alleyway, her only light source being that of the street lamps at the opposite end of the alleyway, she tripped over something. She fell to her knees on the ground, dropping her shoes and her purse containing her phone and various other belongings. She cursed under her breath before using what little light she had to help her find her stuff. As she maneuvered her hands around in the search for her belongings, her left hand latched onto something warm and soft. She froze immediately, fear settling into her body as she ran her fingers over the familiar texture. She scrambled to find her purse and phone this time, managing to do so after only fifteen seconds, and the instant she had her phone out of her purse, she switched on the flashlight, waving it down towards the area she had just pulled her hand from.

The bartender was met with a startling sight, a sight she never would've imagined seeing, especially in this part of town no matter how ironic the setting appeared to be. A woman lay on the ground; her blonde hair was splayed out across the pavement; her face was pale and stained with tears; a small amount of blood was trickling down the side of her face, indicating that she had hit her head on something. Nothing else looked out of place, however, her shoes were missing and her clothes did look a bit disheveled, almost as if she had attempted to dress herself in under ten seconds. This woman knew she had not been the one to dress herself, though, and it terrified and saddened her to think that someone could do such a thing to someone and then leave them for dead.

The bartender swallowed the lump in her throat and began to shake the woman. There was something very familiar about her, but she couldn't put her finger on it at the moment, nor did she care enough to do so. All she cared about was making sure this woman was okay.

"Hey," the bartender spoke quietly, delivering a few pats to the woman's cheeks. "Please wake up, sweetie."

The bartender continued shaking her, and after about another minute the woman began to stir. The bartender watched as her eyes fluttered open, and in a single instant she was shooting up from the ground, backing away from the bartender and curling herself into a ball against the wall. The woman shied away from the light being pointed at her, and the mere sight of it broke the bartender's heart. She was still absolutely terrified, living a nightmare she couldn't wake up from, and the bartender knew that.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise," the bartender reassured the frightened woman. "I just wanna help you, okay?"

The woman gave a slight nod, ignoring the stabbing pain inside her head.

"What's your name?"

"Reyna Foster," was the hoarse answer.

The bartender's eyes widened ever so slightly at the answer; she now understood why the woman looked so familiar to her, but at the same time it was not something she wanted to believe.

"O-okay," the bartender stammered, navigating her way through her phone to dial 911. "I'm gonna call the ambulance, okay, Reyna?"

Reyna could not answer her, as the memories of what had just happened to her began flooding into her mind. Her gaze was fixed on the ground below her, and the bartender watched as the pain and the tears filled Reyna's green eyes. She felt horrible for her; she didn't understand how someone could do such a thing to such an amazing and talented person, and the thought of it alone almost made her want to cry.

An incident such as this was something Reyna would have to live with for the rest of her life, that much the bartender knew. It was a memory unlike any other—a painful memory that would torture her day by day, a memory that she couldn't get rid of no matter how hard she tried to. This was something that would destroy her emotionally as a person; this was something that would change her indefinitely. An incident such as this was not something she could avoid simply by using her skills as one of Hollywood's most beloved actresses, though she would do so to the best of her abilities. An incident such as this was something she could not run away from, no matter how hard she willed herself to do so.

Reyna was trapped—she was trapped living inside a nightmare she feared she would never wake up from.

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I'M SORRY IF THIS PLOT TWIST THING HAS OFFENDED ANYONE, BUT I THINK AS SOMEONE WHO HAS HAD THIS HAPPEN TO HER (THOUGH NOT ON SUCH A BRUTAL LEVEL) I'M ALLOWED TO WRITE THIS. PLUS, A LOT OF FANFICTIONS NOW ARE BECOMING A BIT CLICHÉ, SO I WANTED TO DO SOMETHING DIFFERENT AND THIS WAS THAT.

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