𖤍DEMON'S SWEETHEART 2𖤍 𝙿.𝙹𝙼

Ch. 2

I run.

Run for my dear life.

No no no...

In the dimly lit alley, my heart pounded in sync with the ominous footsteps closing in behind me. The chilling wind whispered haunting secrets as I stumbled over uneven cobblestones. The relentless echo of heavy breathing and the distant wail of sirens filled the air.

I turned a corner, hoping to get away, but there he was– wearing a mask, holding a glinting gun. Panic seized me as I sprinted down through narrow spaces, the shadows swallowing me like a nightmare's abyss. But it felt like he was always close. His menacing laughter made it even scarier.

Please don't kill me...

I tried to catch my breath, my desperate gasps reverberated through the desolated alley and I was there looking for a way out. It was like a game, but a really scary one, where someone was trying to catch me.With each frantic step, the nightmare tightened its grip, a twisted dance between predator and prey.

Me and him as always.

"If I can't live in peace, him and his son can never too!" The man behind me growls, ground shattering voice pierce in my eardrums.

Someone please help me...

Before I can go to a safe place, the man grips my hair from behind and jerks me towards him, I scream in pain.

I called out for someone. I don't know who. Everything seems so blurry and vivid.

The man presses his gun on my abdomen. Tears streaming out from my ears, I hear myself begging in his vice grip, his witty laughter making my inside churn in the worst way possible. Before I could protest again, he triggered the gun.

Bang!

Suddenly, I woke up, gasping for air. Cold sweats dripping down from my forehead. I was shaking badly at this point. The echoes of the nightmare stayed with me, a reminder of how intense and frightening my own mind could be.

I started to cry. Cry out of frustration.

"Why these nightmares coming back again and again?" I grip my hair, the world around me is spinning. My head hurts.

My sobs gets louder even I'm trying to stay quiet as much as possible. I lay down again on my bed, curling my body on the mattress. I hide my head with my arms, trying to calm myself down by creating my own safe space. But only pathetic sniffles are coming out from my mouth.

Fear.

I don't know why I am so afraid. This is just some mere nightmare playing with my emotions. But then again... Why always?

Why I can't defend myself?

Why I can't fight back?

Why do I always die?

Rummaging around, my hand found the nightstand and I frustratingly opened the drawers with my shaky hands. I need my pills.

Shit, I'm having panic attack.

I can't process what I'm doing. After fumbling my hand here and there, I touched the very known small bottle. My PTSD pills. I shakily opened the little bottle and take out a pill with some struggle. I grab the glass of water from my nightstand and quickly gulp the pill in one go.

I'm gonna die.

I lay down on my bed again, gripping the sheets tightly underneath me while it gets soaked with my continuos dripping tears. I let out a whimper, shutting my eyes tightly.