The Trapped

22

22

- V I C T O R I A -

11.08.16 // 11:30 p.m.

THE LEAVES CRUNCH under my heavy rain boots as I walk through the woods. It is a chilly night for living in Beverly Hills and the moon is high and bright against the dark veil that covers the sky. I come to an abrupt stop near the tree. That tree.

It is exactly how I remembered it, a large stump that is bigger than the rest of the trees and dried up leaves that fell one by one from the branches.

My wrist watch hits 11:32 and they emerge from behind a tree. Their dark hair frames their head, creating a shadow that dipped into every one of their facial features. They smile at me, a creepy and twisted smile as they cross their arms over their chest. They are wearing long sleeves to cover up scars.

"I am surprised you showed up," they speak, raising an eyebrow that makes their forehead crinkle. I shift awkwardly on my feet and stare at the ground.

"What do you want?" I ask. They step closer to me and place a hand on my shoulder. Their thin, bony fingers grip me tightly.

"You need to come back to T. He needs you," they tell me and I brush their hand off of me.

"No, I did what he told me. I am done with him, I cut all ties off." They laugh.

"You really think that's the end, Victoria? I thought you were smarter than this," they whisper and I gulp nervously. They stare at the tree for a moment and pick one of the leaves off. They begin to rub it between their pointer finger and thumb.

"You remember this tree, Vicky Wicky?" They ask and I grimace at the childhood nick name. Memories from that night flash through my brain, some sharp and clear and others a little blurry.

Stay still, Vicky Wicky.

"Yes," I whisper as I try to hold back a sob that threatened to escape. They smile wickedly at me.

"You remember the way T grabbed your thin little arms and threw you on the ground," they taunt.

"Stop," I tell them, but they only continue.

"You remember him tying you to this tree and ripping your Mickey Mouse shirt off and do you remember him unbuckling his pants and-"

"Shut up!" I shout, cutting them off mid-sentence and covering my ears with my hands. They smirk, satisfied, knowing that they have gotten to me.

"I see you still blame yourself, funny. It will never be over," they whisper before disappearing back into the shadows, as if they were never even there in the first place.

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P.s. The reason it says 'they' a lot instead of he or she is because I didn't want to give away the gender.

Thanks for reading!

-jayymckenizee