❝No one will ever hurt you again. You're mine to protect,❞ he whispered, his lips brushing against my ear. ❝Mine to possess.❞
His grip tightened, sending shivers down my spine.
❝I love you, (y/n).,❞ he rasped, his voice dripping with obsession. ❝Lov...
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My body screamed in protest with each step, my limbs heavy with the lingering ache of Ryan's brutality.
My vision still swam, a haze of blurred edges and dulled colors, a testament to the severity of the beating.
I pushed through the pain, driven by a steely determination. The automatic doors of the shooting range slid open, enveloping me in the ear-shattering crackle of gunfire and the acrid scent of gunpowder.
I approached the counter, my movements mechanical, and handed over the payment for an hour's rental. The attendant's voice was a distant hum, his words lost amidst the cacophony of my thoughts.
With a numb sense of purpose, I made my way to the designated shooting area. The concrete floor beneath my feet seemed to stretch on forever, a cold, unforgiving expanse.
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As I donned the provided ear protection and safety goggles, a sense of detachment settled over me. My focus narrowed to the task at hand – finding solace in the controlled chaos of gunfire.
The rifle's weight felt reassuring in my hands, its familiar contours a comfort against the turmoil raging within. I raised the barrel, aligning the sights with precision, and squeezed the trigger.
The report was deafening, a cathartic release of tension. For one fleeting moment, the pain and fear receded, replaced by a sense of empowerment.
I sighed, frustration etched on my face, as I lowered my rifle and pulled off my headphones. Another miss, another disappointment. My shots had been wild, unpredictable, a reflection of my turbulent emotions.
"You're doing it wrong," a low, smooth voice said from behind me.
I turned, my eyes widening as I took in the familiar figure. Levi, the mysterious stranger from the bar, stood with his arms crossed.
