METHOD OF MADNESS ━ 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 ¹ (Under editing)

𝒾𝓋. 𝓉𝓌𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓎-𝒻𝑜𝓊𝓇: blood on her hands

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : shot at the night - the killers

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

iv. twenty-four: ❝blood on her hands❞

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Small heath, Birmingham

A svelte woman walked the rain-slicked watery lane pavements of Small Heath, Birmingham, on a bitterly cold night. The murky darkness enveloped her as she headed towards a narrow path, preferring solitude over returning home. Diego was likely at their house, busy preparing a meal, and she had no intention of breaking her contemplative stroll.

The boozers lining the street gave her a wide berth, their wary glances and muttered curses making it clear they knew better than to approach. Marianna felt an odd sense of security in their avoidance, a privilege not many women could claim on such dreary evenings.

However her fleeting peace was shattered as she rounded a corner and a rough hand seized her, slamming her body against a grimy, cold wall.

She quickly discerned that her attacker was a man, his brute strength and towering presence overpowering her slight frame. Her instinct was to fight back—kicking, twisting, and straining against his grip. Yet, his weight pressed heavily against her, immobilizing her with a sickening pressure. Her breath hitched as his hand slid down her body, his touch invasive and cold.

Panic surged through her veins. She squeezed her eyes shut, her mind racing. Memories of Kimber's house flooded back, a montage of terror and rage. Desperation clawed at her as she fought to cling to the package she held, her only anchor amidst the chaos. The voices in her head screamed at her to drop it, to reach for the object Johnny Dogs had slipped into her bag.

Fear and fury mingled in her heart as she struggled, her senses overwhelmed by the violence of the moment. The cold wall pressed into her skin, a stark reminder of her vulnerability, while her mind was consumed by the overwhelming need to escape and reclaim her dignity.

Marianna's mind was a whirlwind of confusion and fear as she struggled to grasp the full extent of his vile assault. Her voice emerged as a strained hiss through clenched teeth. "Who the bloody hell are you?"

His breath was hot and rancid against her cheek, mingling with the cold night air. He pressed his hip into her backside, his rough, northern accent cutting through the darkness with a sinister edge. "I came to ask you a question, sweetheart."

Despite her frantic wriggling and kicking, her attempts to escape were in vain. The roar of distant thunder swallowed her cries, amplifying her sense of helplessness.

The man's laughter echoed in her ear as he leaned closer, his warm breath a stark contrast to the biting chill of the night. "Aah yeah. Hush now. Just answer my question, and then we'll be done."