Her Wish (Michael Jackson Fanfiction) (Completed)

End of the Road, Part 2

I've split this into two parts because a lot happens. A lot. Trigger warnings: slight mentions and allusions of violence, violence (I couldn't honestly bring myself to write anything too graphic)

Kendra

There is a definite stinging in my muscles. I wasn't even sure I could pick my head up. Practically a fishbowl on my shoulders. I strained to move my fingers, and even that hurt to an unknown degree. Weak and pathetic. That's what I was.

All my self-defense training and my survival instincts went out the windows. I was careless. Letting my guard down for even a minute was careless.

With every ounce of strength I had left, I managed to sit my upper half up. My vision returned to me, full clarity allowing me to realize the environment I had been brought to. Dusty shelves and a tabletop were nearby, I couldn't see the contents but I could only assume it was tools of torture or something worse.

Sunlight peeked through a small window on the wall, how long have I been unconscious? My set costume clung to my skin from hours of wear and sweat. Gross.

Finding more of my strength returning, I push myself off the floor, intent on searching this place.

Within a few feet, something pulls me back hard causing me to fall flat on my stomach. The culprit? A chain attached to my ankle. Great.

At the sound of my movements, I've alerted Marc that I'm awake. An unseen door at the top of the stairs opens and shuts, revealing Marc—still in his clothes from earlier—-steadily descending the steps.

"Ah, if it isn't the man with the bitch scar on his face...so nice to see you," I speak, sarcasm dripping with every word. I know I shouldn't stoke the flames of a madman's rage but I do it anyway.

Before I knew it, I felt his foot kick me right in the stomach. Pain shot through my body as I fell to my knees, groaning and groping for something to hold onto.

"Real funny, but guess who's laughin-"

And that's when I did it.

I hit him. Punched him square across the face. He toppled backwards and clasped his cheek—which now carried another cut from one of my rings—looking at me with murder in his eyes.

My life, I was certain, was going to be short as of now, and I couldn't shake the fact that I didn't even get to tell Michael how much I love him one more time. In a split second, Marc is on top of me, straddling me and keeping me planted firmly to the cold cement beneath us.

I fight with everything, clawing at any part of I can get my hands on. "Get the fuck off me!"

But he's quicker, claiming my wrists in a vice grip, chaining my hands together in front of me. The bile at the back of my throat threatens to make its appearance. He raises his fist, ready to strike but holds back. Raising himself off of me, he heads toward the table I saw earlier.

"J-Just do what you're gonna do and get this over with already!" I hold fast to some semblance of strength, despite its hold leaving so quickly.

"You stupid, little girl," he examines things laid out on the table, I can't see his face but I know it's not one I want to see. "You don't get to rush this."