Small Cuts (Supernatural Dark!fic)

t w o

"I'm running from my shadow
Running from my shadow, but it's still there chasing me down
I'll never win the battle
Never win the battle and I should have known it by now"
Running From My Shadow - Mike Shinoda & grandson

Amara awoke with a start, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes snapped open. For a second, she wasn't sure where she was—the world around her felt hazy, disjointed, the lingering remnants of a nightmare clinging to the edges of her consciousness.

The dull grey light of morning filtered through the thin curtains, casting long shadows across the room. The rain had stopped, but everything outside looked drenched, washed out and bleak. The only sound was the steady drip of water from the gutters outside, a rhythmic beat that seemed to echo in the stillness of the room.

Amara blinked, trying to clear the fog from her mind. Her body ached, every muscle tense and stiff from a night spent in fear, her pulse still racing from the lingering adrenaline. She slowly sat up, wincing as the rough sheets scraped against her skin. Her head throbbed, a dull ache settling behind her eyes.

She glanced around the room, her gaze darting to the corners, the shadows, the spaces between the furniture. Everything looked the same, untouched by the chaos of the night before. But something still felt off. The air was too still, too quiet, as if the room itself was holding its breath, waiting.

Her mismatched eyes flicked to the far corner, where the entity had lingered in the darkness. The corner looked empty now, just a blank wall, but the memory of the shadow still hung in the back of her mind. It had been there. It was real.

Amara rubbed a hand over her face, her fingers trembling slightly. She could still feel the cold from the night before, the way it had wrapped around her like a vice, stealing the breath from her lungs. It wasn't here now—not fully—but the weight of it hadn't completely lifted either. It was like something was watching her, just out of sight.

She pushed the thought away, forcing herself to stand. Her legs wobbled slightly as she made her way to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face in an attempt to shake the exhaustion that clung to her like a second skin. The water did little to help. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, the paleness of her skin. Her long hair, tangled and messy, fell around her shoulders, and that stark white streak at the front seemed even more pronounced in the harsh light of morning.

Her mother's voice echoed in her mind, unbidden and unwelcome.

"God's punishment. A sign that you're cursed."

Amara clenched her jaw, forcing the thought down. She didn't have time for her mother's poisonous words to infect her mind again. Not today.

She dried her face with a towel and padded back into the main room, her bare feet making soft sounds against the worn wooden floor. The cold still lingered, biting at her toes, and she shivered despite herself. She needed to get dressed, get out of this room, find something—anything—that would help her figure out what the hell was going on.

Her laptop sat on the desk, its screen dark. She stared at it for a moment, feeling a knot of frustration build in her chest. The hours she'd spent scouring the internet last night had been useless. All the articles, the forums, the so-called experts—it was all garbage. Half of them sounded like they were playing pretend, and the other half were so vague they might as well have been writing fiction. None of it helped her. None of it told her how to stop the thing that was following her.

Amara sat down heavily in the chair, the weight of exhaustion settling back over her. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitant. She didn't know what else to look for. She'd read everything, tried every keyword combination she could think of. Every lead had led to a dead end.