⚠️TW⚠️ ⚠️MENTIONS OF ASSULT⚠️
His grip painstakingly makes me grimace.
"I don't think you got the message. I'd be willing to free you, if you give me what I want."
What choice do I have?
So I nod and keep walking. He takes me to a questioning room. Thankfully, no one-way glass, thank god. He lets my shoulder go, and I sit in a chair right next to him. He sits down as well.
Before he has the chance to speak, I grab him by the collar, and begin twisting both to the opposite corners.I kick my foot up, place it on his head, pull the collar backwards, and push my foot forward, so he's right against a sturdy, blue wooden table. Before he passes out, I make sure he hears these words. "I'm no slut." he breathes out heavily, and I drop him. Not wanting to leave any clues behind,I put my hand on the cloth of my shirt, take the gun from his belt, place it in his hand, and fire it, two shots into his head. I take everything off of the belt. Taser, gun, pepper spray, hand cuffs handcuff keys, walkie-talkie, tape measure, and flashlight. Then I book it back to the cell to find JD waiting for me outside of the cell. As soon as he sees me, he starts running too, waving for me to follow him.
"Are you gonna tell me what happened," I fuff.
"Maybe. You?"
"Absolutely not." We reach the entrance of the police station. I open the door for him.
He doesn't stop and runs to a red Honda Accord. He unlocks it, and steps in. I run to the other side, and step in as well.
"Back on the road again, Clyde?"
"Seems so, Bonnie."
I smile.
He starts up the car, and reverses it. The gate has already been opened, and we W̸̢̧̢̨̢̧̡̢̨̢̡̢̨̨̢̡̡̨̨̡̛̗̲͓̰͎͕̳͍̜̩͎͇̹͍͓̤̣̟͎̼͈̹̯̟̮̙̹͍̤͕͉̝̱̤̺̯͉̣͖̱̗̣̟̩̬̞̮̣͍͇̲̞͉͎͇̖̘͚̼̰͍̲̗̥̭̦͚̼̝͈̹̭͈̹͓̠͉͔͎̝̠̩̼̣̜̭̣̤̩̮̲͍̙̟̪̞̗̫̬̰͓͖̪̖̩͍͎͔͖̳̰̗̠͇̖̫̘̗̬̭̟̪͉̦͖̟͔̯͎̥̫͇̹̻̘̎̐͐̈́͐̊̀͗̀͌̈́̓́͊͋̓͒̀̃̽̈̾͆͘͘͜͜͜͠ͅe̷̡̡̡̡̨̡̢̢̨̢̛̘̭̗̭͚͓̝̭̺̠̺̗̘̬̼̮̫̯̮̪̘̱̣͉̘̫͉̦̥̹̣͓̱̭̰̭͖̥̼͍̱͔͓͎̹̣̜̟͕̫̲̬̟͍͎͚͚̯̠̳̭̠͍̙͍̩͎̭̬͙̺̬͔͎͉͈͚̖̘͈̦̞̭͓͓̟̲̬̼͔͓̜̮̞̦̫̳̩̘̠͙̻̹̯̥̼̟̝̹͙̰͖̗̭̲̩̦͚̳͍̙͔̜͕̭̤̙̙̥̜̯̞̼̣̗͂̎̎̓̅͐̄͆͛̇͐̇̋̑̿̀̓̆͊̈́̅̀͒̋͆̈́̂͊̉̂̈́̋͊̓̋̋̑͐͗̊̋́́̽̃̈́͐̔͛̊͘̚͘͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͠ ̴̨̢̨̨̨̧̢̢̧̡̡̢̢̡̢̢̡̡̛̛̛͍̘͕͕̗͚͍͔͍̣͇̞̩̫͖͇̬̤̲͔͍̞̗̦̠̟̺͚̩̱̯̰̮͕̪̮̲̬̣͙̼͉͙̗̮̗͎̬̪̞̻͔̪̦̹͈̙͙̭͎͔̱̻͚̬̖̱̥̼̹͍̣̦̱̼̣̳̟̥̩͚͍͍͖͎̟͕̜͔̥͖͚̼̮̩̞͙̯͇͔̟̫͍̜̗̠͕͖̜̲̺̮̩̟̝͔̙͎̣̭͍̗͓̣͙͍̼̲͚͙̰̻̬͖̻̻̳̰͍͓̥̳̙̪̩̻̟̰͚̠̱̘̹̖̘̺̖͇̖͔̫̰̹̄͛̎̓̈͗̎̒̃̑̓̀̓̀̔́̓͌͗̔̇̆͌͒̓̋̄̊͐̾̿̎̑̊͛̍́̌̑̈͗̈́̓͑̄̐̇̆͂̈́͛͂͗̒́̌̏̐̾̀̆̐͗̈́̈́̈́̿̈́͂̿̓̈́̃̈́̋̏̌̃̀́̈́͊͆͌̈́̆̇̌̈́̀͂̐̾̈́͊̒̓͑̈́̓͑̈́̃́̾̅͋̅͒̿́̾̀̊͆̔̋́͑͋̇̅̂̿̅̓̽̐͘͘͘̕͘̕͘̚̕̚̕̕̚̕͘̚̕͜͜͠͠͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅW̸̢̧̢̨̢̧̡̢̨̢̡̢̨̨̢̡̡̨̨̡̛̗̲͓̰͎͕̳͍̜̩͎͇̹͍͓̤̣̟͎̼͈̹̯̟̮̙̹͍̤͕͉̝̱̤̺̯͉̣͖̱̗̣̟̩̬̞̮̣͍͇̲̞͉͎͇̖̘͚̼̰͍̲̗̥̭̦͚̼̝͈̹̭͈̹͓̠͉͔͎̝̠̩̼̣̜̭̣̤̩̮̲͍̙̟̪̞̗̫̬̰͓͖̪̖̩͍͎͔͖̳̰̗̠͇̖̫̘̗̬̭̟̪͉̦͖̟͔̯͎̥̫͇̹̻̘̎̐͐̈́͐̊̀͗̀͌̈́̓́͊͋̓͒̀̃̽̈̾͆͘͘͜͜͜͠ͅe̷̡̡̡̡̨̡̢̢̨̢̛̘̭̗̭͚͓̝̭̺̠̺̗̘̬̼̮̫̯̮̪̘̱̣͉̘̫͉̦̥̹̣͓̱̭̰̭͖̥̼͍̱͔͓͎̹̣̜̟͕̫̲̬̟͍͎͚͚̯̠̳̭̠͍̙͍̩͎̭̬͙̺̬͔͎͉͈͚̖̘͈̦̞̭͓͓̟̲̬̼͔͓̜̮̞̦̫̳̩̘̠͙̻̹̯̥̼̟̝̹͙̰͖̗̭̲̩̦͚̳͍̙͔̜͕̭̤̙̙̥̜̯̞̼̣̗͂̎̎̓̅͐̄͆͛̇͐̇̋̑̿̀̓̆͊̈́̅̀͒̋͆̈́̂͊̉̂̈́̋͊̓̋̋̑͐͗̊̋́́̽̃̈́͐̔͛̊͘̚͘͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͠ ̴̨̢̨̨̨̧̢̢̧̡̡̢̢̡̢̢̡̡̛̛̛͍̘͕͕̗͚͍͔͍̣͇̞̩̫͖͇̬̤̲͔͍̞̗̦̠̟̺͚̩̱̯̰̮͕̪̮̲̬̣͙̼͉͙̗̮̗͎̬̪̞̻͔̪̦̹͈̙͙̭͎͔̱̻͚̬̖̱̥̼̹͍̣̦̱̼̣̳̟̥̩͚͍͍͖͎̟͕̜͔̥͖͚̼̮̩̞͙̯͇͔̟̫͍̜̗̠͕͖̜̲̺̮̩̟̝͔̙͎̣̭͍̗͓̣͙͍̼̲͚͙̰̻̬͖̻̻̳̰͍͓̥̳̙̪̩̻̟̰͚̠̱̘̹̖̘̺̖͇̖͔̫̰̹̄͛̎̓̈͗̎̒̃̑̓̀̓̀̔́̓͌͗̔̇̆͌͒̓̋̄̊͐̾̿̎̑̊͛̍́̌̑̈͗̈́̓͑̄̐̇̆͂̈́͛͂͗̒́̌̏̐̾̀̆̐͗̈́̈́̈́̿̈́͂̿̓̈́̃̈́̋̏̌̃̀́̈́͊͆͌̈́̆̇̌̈́̀͂̐̾̈́͊̒̓͑̈́̓͑̈́̃́̾̅͋̅͒̿́̾̀̊͆̔̋́͑͋̇̅̂̿̅̓̽̐͘͘͘̕͘̕͘̚̕̚̕̕̚̕͘̚̕͜͜͠͠͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅW̸̢̧̢̨̢̧̡̢̨̢̡̢̨̨̢̡̡̨̨̡̛̗̲͓̰͎͕̳͍̜̩͎͇̹͍͓̤̣̟͎̼͈̹̯̟̮̙̹͍̤͕͉̝̱̤̺̯͉̣͖̱̗̣̟̩̬̞̮̣͍͇̲̞͉͎͇̖̘͚̼̰͍̲̗̥̭̦͚̼̝͈̹̭͈̹͓̠͉͔͎̝̠̩̼̣̜̭̣̤̩̮̲͍̙̟̪̞̗̫̬̰͓͖̪̖̩͍͎͔͖̳̰̗̠͇̖̫̘̗̬̭̟̪͉̦͖̟͔̯͎̥̫͇̹̻̘̎̐͐̈́͐̊̀͗̀͌̈́̓́͊͋̓͒̀̃̽̈̾͆͘͘͜͜͜͠ͅe̷̡̡̡̡̨̡̢̢̨̢̛̘̭̗̭͚͓̝̭̺̠̺̗̘̬̼̮̫̯̮̪̘̱̣͉̘̫͉̦̥̹̣͓̱̭̰̭͖̥̼͍̱͔͓͎̹̣̜̟͕̫̲̬̟͍͎͚͚̯̠̳̭̠͍̙͍̩͎̭̬͙̺̬͔͎͉͈͚̖̘͈̦̞̭͓͓̟̲̬̼͔͓̜̮̞̦̫̳̩̘̠͙̻̹̯̥̼̟̝̹͙̰͖̗̭̲̩̦͚̳͍̙͔̜͕̭̤̙̙̥̜̯̞̼̣̗͂̎̎̓̅͐̄͆͛̇͐̇̋̑̿̀̓̆͊̈́̅̀͒̋͆̈́̂͊̉̂̈́̋͊̓̋̋̑͐͗̊̋́́̽̃̈́͐̔͛̊͘̚͘͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͠ ̴̨̢̨̨̨̧̢̢̧̡̡̢̢̡̢̢̡̡̛̛̛͍̘͕͕̗͚͍͔͍̣͇̞̩̫͖͇̬̤̲͔͍̞̗̦̠̟̺͚̩̱̯̰̮͕̪̮̲̬̣͙̼͉͙̗̮̗͎̬̪̞̻͔̪̦̹͈̙͙̭͎͔̱̻͚̬̖̱̥̼̹͍̣̦̱̼̣̳̟̥̩͚͍͍͖͎̟͕̜͔̥͖͚̼̮̩̞͙̯͇͔̟̫͍̜̗̠͕͖̜̲̺̮̩̟̝͔̙͎̣̭͍̗͓̣͙͍̼̲͚͙̰̻̬͖̻̻̳̰͍͓̥̳̙̪̩̻̟̰͚̠̱̘̹̖̘̺̖͇̖͔̫̰̹̄͛̎̓̈͗̎̒̃̑̓̀̓̀̔́̓͌͗̔̇̆͌͒̓̋̄̊͐̾̿̎̑̊͛̍́̌̑̈͗̈́̓͑̄̐̇̆͂̈́͛͂͗̒́̌̏̐̾̀̆̐͗̈́̈́̈́̿̈́͂̿̓̈́̃̈́̋̏̌̃̀́̈́͊͆͌̈́̆̇̌̈́̀͂̐̾̈́͊̒̓͑̈́̓͑̈́̃́̾̅͋̅͒̿́̾̀̊͆̔̋́͑͋̇̅̂̿̅̓̽̐͘͘͘̕͘̕͘̚̕̚̕̕̚̕͘̚̕͜͜͠͠͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅW̸̢̧̢̨̢̧̡̢̨̢̡̢̨̨̢̡̡̨̨̡̛̗̲͓̰͎͕̳͍̜̩͎͇̹͍͓̤̣̟͎̼͈̹̯̟̮̙̹͍̤͕͉̝̱̤̺̯͉̣͖̱̗̣̟̩̬̞̮̣͍͇̲̞͉͎͇̖̘͚̼̰͍̲̗̥̭̦͚̼̝͈̹̭͈̹͓̠͉͔͎̝̠̩̼̣̜̭̣̤̩̮̲͍̙̟̪̞̗̫̬̰͓͖̪̖̩͍͎͔͖̳̰̗̠͇̖̫̘̗̬̭̟̪͉̦͖̟͔̯͎̥̫͇̹̻̘̎̐͐̈́͐̊̀͗̀͌̈́̓́͊͋̓͒̀̃̽̈̾͆͘͘͜͜͜͠ͅe̷̡̡̡̡̨̡̢̢̨̢̛̘̭̗̭͚͓̝̭̺̠̺̗̘̬̼̮̫̯̮̪̘̱̣͉̘̫͉̦̥̹̣͓̱̭̰̭͖̥̼͍̱͔͓͎̹̣̜̟͕̫̲̬̟͍͎͚͚̯̠̳̭̠͍̙͍̩͎̭̬͙̺̬͔͎͉͈͚̖̘͈̦̞̭͓͓̟̲̬̼͔͓̜̮̞̦̫̳̩̘̠͙̻̹̯̥̼̟̝̹͙̰͖̗̭̲̩̦͚̳͍̙͔̜͕̭̤̙̙̥̜̯̞̼̣̗͂̎̎̓̅͐̄͆͛̇͐̇̋̑̿̀̓̆͊̈́̅̀͒̋͆̈́̂͊̉̂̈́̋͊̓̋̋̑͐͗̊̋́́̽̃̈́͐̔͛̊͘̚͘͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͠ ̴̨̢̨̨̨̧̢̢̧̡̡̢̢̡̢̢̡̡̛̛̛͍̘͕͕̗͚͍͔͍̣͇̞̩̫͖͇̬̤̲͔͍̞̗̦̠̟̺͚̩̱̯̰̮͕̪̮̲̬̣͙̼͉͙̗̮̗͎̬̪̞̻͔̪̦̹͈̙͙̭͎͔̱̻͚̬̖̱̥̼̹͍̣̦̱̼̣̳̟̥̩͚͍͍͖͎̟͕̜͔̥͖͚̼̮̩̞͙̯͇͔̟̫͍̜̗̠͕͖̜̲̺̮̩̟̝͔̙͎̣̭͍̗͓̣͙͍̼̲͚͙̰̻̬͖̻̻̳̰͍͓̥̳̙̪̩̻̟̰͚̠̱̘̹̖̘̺̖͇̖͔̫̰̹̄͛̎̓̈͗̎̒̃̑̓̀̓̀̔́̓͌͗̔̇̆͌͒̓̋̄̊͐̾̿̎̑̊͛̍́̌̑̈͗̈́̓͑̄̐̇̆͂̈́͛͂͗̒́̌̏̐̾̀̆̐͗̈́̈́̈́̿̈́͂̿̓̈́̃̈́̋̏̌̃̀́̈́͊͆͌̈́̆̇̌̈́̀͂̐̾̈́͊̒̓͑̈́̓͑̈́̃́̾̅͋̅͒̿́̾̀̊͆̔̋́͑͋̇̅̂̿̅̓̽̐͘͘͘̕͘̕͘̚̕̚̕̕̚̕͘̚̕͜͜͠͠͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅ
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The Ballad of Heather Chandler (HEATHERS THE MUSICAL)
FanfictionCipherdoodle's description: High school can be such a drag sometimes. Searching for approval can be a motivator for some, but for Heather Chandler, its her lifeline. After a prom night to remember, Chandler goes on the run with Jason Dean. No one kn...
