Colored Full Of Trauma (Freshly Started Revision)

Home.

Tommy's Perspective.

"Fight back, and I'll slit your throat."
His ugh, sweaty hand squeezes my mouth tight as he speaks to me, with his cold blade grinding against my Adam's Apple. But, his voice isn't out loud, it's not entering through my ears. It feels like the motherfucker is speaking into my mind, nearly masking the roar of the riverfront.

"Now, you're going to peacefully follow me to my RV, and you're getting me my well-earned money, without trying to become a dead bounty. Got it, scumbag?" He may not be speaking, but his breath still feels like it's clouding my senses.

I nod, facial hair being trimmed slightly.
"Good."

One small step backward in compliance.
Another, fainter one. One last-
And boom. Heh, oldest trick up my sleeve.
Clenching his wrist, I use all the will within my thumb to keep myself from force-swallowing his knife. And as my sexy crystal glistens over the water, I jolt us head first into the depths.

The back of my head slams into his, letting the blade flow free. But even my strongest elbow jabs are slowed, keeping me locked in his grip. My soaked hair grazes against rocks at the bottom, my feet lighten as they paddle air, and his hold tightens around my throat. Around we twirl, in the squiggliest circles ever drawn.

"A bit more complicated than I hoped for, but you're not my first rodeo. How long do you think you can hold your breath, buddy?"

Fuck off! You should at least sound bubbly!

I struggle, I struggle harder, I try to maintain my strength as fish piss enters my mouth, but I can't wriggle out. I can't even feel, or see where we are, everything is a racing blur.

"Arrg, fuck!"
He exclaims as our torsos collide against each other before the crashing current enters my ears again. I finally feel the soggy sand grind against my wheels below me. Forcing myself down, I gain the traction to hold us in place. Then, I enlist another trademark move in the Tommy toolbox; Feeling the muck squish between my socked toes, I leap us above the surface, pulling him by his creepy-ass black trench coat, and I make sure that the last thing he sees today is all 8 wheels against his crushed nose.

Lugging us onto the ass-saving boulder, I can't help but stare at distilled pink liquid rushing over his crystal, and down his chin. Like beautiful lipstick, a red crystal covers where his mouth should be.

"Aw, now I recognize you, you badass bastard. You're The Mute, bartenders love your stories,"
I chuckle.
"My personal favorite, you ask?"
I flip my rollerblade around in my fingers.
"The start, when you were held at gunpoint as a kid, terrified in that vault, and scared the robber shitless when he realized that your harsh little voice was echoing in his head. What did you tell him again?"
I ask his unconscious body to humor myself.
"Let me go, or I'll tell the cops that your hand found its way into my pants too. Ha! What a brilliant bluff! I need to take poker lessons from you, man."

He lay there, breathing faintly under closed eyes.
"Ah, you're no fun."

As my foot forces water out of my rollerblade, I hear another man shout in the distance. "I said stay still, you're not going anywhere until I see my boss leave the water unharmed, or your boyfriend's head float by!"

Immediately, I dive back in, driving my body diagonally downstream before pulling myself onto the dry, grassy shore.

"Zoey!"
I shout as I jump through the bushes, pricks slicing into my bare arms before I'm back in the clearing.