His End

2

E

"Don't do this to me."

My pleading falls on deaf ears.

Mara hands me a box.
"I'm giving you an hour to pack up your shit."

At my groan, she pulls her head back, glaring at me. "What? It's not like you have a lot."

There is pure venom in her glare, and I'm almost offended. But I can't even be that. All I feel is pure defeat.

"It won't happen again."

Mara turns away, heading into the kitchen of the small apartment. The apartment I'd only managed to call home for three months. A new record, for me.

"You said that last time, Elle. They almost burnt down the apartment!" She snaps, her tone telling me she really means it this time.

My head sinks into my hands, an exhausted sigh escaping me as my world shifts under my feet for the billionth time.

I shouldn't be surprised - this happens a lot. Doesn't mean it stings any less.

When I open my eyes, Mara is standing in front of me, pity softening her eyes. She hands me a bottle of cheap wine.

"Is this supposed to be a goodbye present?" I ask bitterly, failing to smile.

Mara shrugs, and I've seen the look she's giving me before. It's the look people give when they wash their hands of me.

"I hope you escape whoever you pissed off this bad."

~~~~~

I wouldn't call Mara's apartment home, but then again, I wouldn't know what a home meant. Everywhere I go, every state, every small town, he finds me.

Don't ask me how I've evaded him for three years - it's almost like no matter how much the Universe hates me, it won't let me give in.

The small restaurant I chose to collapse into an hour ago is empty, my only company a dozing owner at the till, and the velvet voice of a singer coming from an old radio. He's speaking a language I don't understand, but the dips of his rhythmic voice almost lull me to sleep.

With a blink, I quickly shatter the illusion of peace. I can't relax. I need to find a hostel or someplace to crash. I haven't been forced onto the streets yet, but the possibility is dangerously close.

Mara's present gloats at me. I scoff, tossing the drink into my measly box of belongings.

"I don't even drink."

"What a shame,"

Every bone in my body tenses.

"I was hoping for company."

Careful not to make any sudden movements, I turn my head, glancing over my shoulder.

All the way at the back, lounging in a booth, is a man that looks anything but real. He raises a glass to me, golden hair shifting at his shoulders.

I leap to my feet, a familiar pain filling my veins. Freezes them. It's what fear does to you. Makes every move, every thought painful.

"Don't come near me." I warn, trying and failing to control the waver in my voice.

He raises his hands innocently, the small action alone making my gut sink.

"Whatever you say."

And he keeps to his word. Does not move from his seat.

But that's because he doesn't have to.

From the shadows, three men in varying shades of black emerge, expressions just as dark.