Hate To Miss You (2) | 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝙷𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚜 ❈

Eighteen

Going back to the real world had been . . . unusual, if anything. I'd been back to classes, back to grabbing coffee and banoffee pie from Morning Glory, black to life, with the added bonus of attending home games for the Devils, getting a front row seat to watch Jack for he past week. For free.

The only downside to being home for the past two months, is that I'd been non stop vomiting for about three solids weeks. Randomly, too. One minute, I was great, and the next I had my head in a toilet bow, chucking my guts up. At first I'd thought it was the flu, but now, I wasn't so sure. Maybe it was just a really bad flu. Or a bad stomach bug. I wasn't sure.

Either way, it had been shit.

The one downside to coming back from on the real world, aside from living in a regular college dorm on campus, without my roommate. Yeah, that part had been pretty shit too.

Right now though, I was curled up in bed, tea in hand and watching Devils play the Sharks, who were losing 4-0 and it was only ten into the first. (lol sorry I had to, sucks to be a sharks fan this year, actual meme team of the nhl)

I'd been doing this for days, especially right now while the season was hectic for Jack and he barely had nights off. Plus, I'd missed a lot of classes and had a tonne to catch up on, so staying in was my best option. It was absolutely not because I felt nauseous at the smell of various everyday scents.

There was a knock at my door, and I rolled my eyes, assuming it was my annoying ass room mate forgetting her keys for the ninth time this week. I rolled over of bed, flopping on the floor with a thud before trudging over to the door with a groan.

"I swear to god, Trixie, if you forgot your keys again I'm going to—"

I yanked the door open, sucking in a sharp breath, my eyes shooting open. A large hand was shoved around my neck, pushing me back into the room.

My fingers reached for it, clawed at it, as a wave of spluttering coughs fell from my lips. His eyes were wide, furious, crazy. Like he was going to kill me, and I truly thought he was.

"Reid," I choked, forcing his name from my mouth had felt like razor blades in my throat. He didn't let go, and the room was going fuzzy, the corners of my eyes turning black.

I reached out for something to grab, anything, that could help me. My hands landed on my lamp, and I yanked it from the wall, knocking it over his head as hard as I physically could.

He stumbled back as glass shattered over his skull, falling to the floor in loud clatters. He glared at me, seething, his nostrils flaring as his chest rose and fell, a little too evenly for my liking. He was patient, measured, calm.

And it was fucking horrifying.

I tripped over my own feet trying to get back from him, to get away, but he was coming at me faster than I could escape. I cried out as he threw a punch, square to my jaw.

"Bitch!" He shouted, getting as close as he can and yanking the back of my hair. A helpless yelp falls from my lips and I realise something trying terrifying. I am totally and completely on my own.

Most of the dorms were empty, everyone out partying on this Friday night, yet I was here, not feeling the greatest, and that left me a wide open target.

He yanked me closer to him before pushing me forcefully to the floor. I landed with a painful thud, crying out again as my head hit the corner of my dresser. I raised my fingers to it, feeling warm wet liquid. Blood.

He came in close, so close I could smell the alcohol and cigarette and the faintest hint of days old cologne. His lips were suddenly on my ear. "Nobody's coming to save you now, pretty baby."