Killings Of Midnight |✔️|

Chapter 38 (Edited)

     The door was locked.

     But that was her first mistake.

      Damaria listened. The quietness of the house seemed to calm her. She could hear the soft dripping of water from the tap downstairs in the kitchen echo throughout the house. She could smell the laundry from Lance's room that he had left when he went to university. She could feel the emptiness of the house as she sat in the corner of her room alone.

      Her mind was going places she hoped she'd never visit in reality. She was creating a monster inside of her head. A monster she would never be rid of.

       From the corner of her eye she could see only darkness. It was surrounding her. Caving in on her. But she was used to this, it was common for her.

      A sudden thump startled her. Her heart started racing against her will and her hands were sweating. She could feel something else in the house. There was an unwanted presence she had come accustomed too.

      She only flinched as the tap in the kitchen was turned passed it's limit and how the front door shut with a loud bang. She could see the anger in his eyes as he continued damaging the kitchen.

      He would not find what he was looking for. She made sure of it.

      Footsteps echoed on the stairs.

      Damaria waited, now sitting on the edge of her bed; ready to jump at any moment. She was going to escape in front of his eyes. She wanted to see the expression of shock. She wanted him to feel helpless. She wanted to win for once.

      A bang sounded from her door.

      Damaria flinched.

      The knob turned but stopped. It was locked. Damaria locked it.

      Damaria watched as the door flew off its hinges. She was now positioned half out and half inside the room. One leg over the window sill.

      She could see Kurt standing there. He was angry and not in his right mind. She was going to enjoy this.

      Damaria jumped. All she could hear was his angry shouts and the objects in her room being thrown around.

     But Damaria was running as fast as she could. Her breathing was ragged. This was the most exhilarating thing she had ever done.

      She was now eighteen, legally her father couldn't do anything. She ran until she couldn't run anymore. She knew the only person who would miss her would be Lance but even he wasn't here.

      When she got farther enough, she slowed down. She paced herself to a fast walk. She wanted to get a hotel room before anyone could find her.

      But she wasn't going unnoticed.

      As she passed the neighbourhood, Logan passed her riding his motorcycle. She cursed. Out of all the people in he world he was one who got accepted into a university in the city.

      Damaria glared at the ground as she tried to ignore the awful feeling of dread.

      "Hey, bruises!"

      Damaria flinched.

      "Hey! I'm talking to you." She heard the motorcycle stop and she feel Logan's hand on her arm before he even reached her. He turned her around. "Lance's fake sister. You're a waste of space Damaria," he spat. "I met Lance last week, he wants nothing to do with you. You're just a pain. Because of you he will never be able to be happy. You're the cause of all out pain." His grip on her arm tightened. "If you knew what was best for you, you'd kill yourself."