Forest

Chapter Six

It has been six days since my agressivenes took the full controle over me. I assualted her. I lost the controle I ones had, and since i got the control over my agressive behavior I have never lost it. I only let it took the over hand when I had to or just simply wanted to, but just now. I had no idea, she just pissed me of in a second.

And for what? Because she dared just for one moment to have a big mouth to me. Which to be honest i didn't expect at all, I never thought a girl like her would dare to open her mouth to me.

The moment i heared her voice for the first time, when she begged for me not to hurt her, made a little piece in my heart break. My gun was still tucked into my waistband, forgotten, but I saw her eyes fix on it, wide and terrified. That fear made me pause for a fraction of a second, I didn't realize how scared she could be of the sight of a gun. I never ment to scared her but I did.

I had never let my aggression take me over this way—not since I learned how to control it. I've always been the one in control, letting my temper rise only when I wanted it to. When it served a purpose. This time, though, I had no purpose. No plan. She made one stupid comment—one second of defiance—and something in me snapped.

I said so many rude things to her, like I knowed her beter then she did herself —I don't even know her name let stand that I know anything about her—, and it made her snap, it made her angry, and she raised her voice at me, and my anger, just let me explode, and before I knew it I lost total controle.

My hand was around her throat before I could think, lifting her off the ground like she weighed nothing. The power in that moment surged through me like electricity, intoxicating and vile. I wanted to break her defiance, and maybe I did. But all I feel now is regret.

Her body was already battered—already carrying wounds an bruises form the time she jumped of the cliff. And I added more damage, more trauma. I threw her against the wall like she was nothing. When her body crumpled to the floor and she didn't move, the realization hit me. I hurted her, badly while she was not someone who wasn't fighting back. She was just having a big mouth, because she was terrified of me, and I made the most rudest comments. The moment I left the room, I collasped on the other side of the bedroom door. For just one moment I got scared of what I did to her. I didn't have any clue way she was the reason I losed my controle so quickly. 

And now, six days later, she still hasn't woken up.

She's still there on the floor where I left her. I can't bring myself to touch her, to move her. Every time I get close, the same image flashes in my mind—her wide, terrified eyes. The way her body looked so small, so broken, as she lay there. So I let her there on the floor where she collasped, right beside the bed. 

I check on her every day. I crouch beside her, holding my breath until I feel hers, until I find the faint pulse beneath her skin. As long as she's alive, I can tell myself I haven't killed her. Yet.

I saved her before. That was supposed to mean something. I pulled her out of the ocean, not knowing why.  And then, days later, I became a monster for her to fear. 

A growl escapes me as I rake my hands through my hair, the frustration burning in my chest. I'm an idiot. A reckless, violent idiot. What kind of person am I when i first save and try to protect her and then hurt her. 

Day Seven. 

Another day. Another day of waiting, of watching the camera feed above the dresser in my bedroom. I installed it after the first time she broke out of my apartment, she was unconscious for three, days and when she woke up she found herself a way out, it took me a hour to find her and I didn't wanna do that again. So I hung up a camara, so I could watch over her. So I could get a notifaction the moment she would wake up, —if she was going to wake up. So was directly updated

I've been scouring the internet, digging through police reports and missing persons databases. if anyone is misses her so I can just find a little bit more information about her even when it only holds her name, but somehow it doens't seems like someone does. Nothing. It's like she doesn't exist. No one is looking for her. No one cares. That thought unsettles me more than it should.

Day eight. 

The notification on my phone nearly makes me drop the damn thing. The camera feed shows movement. For the first time in days, she's stirring.

She blinks, her eyes fluttering open and closed as if the effort alone is too much. Her breaths are shallow, her face pale. I watch as she raises a trembling hand to her head, wincing at the pain.

Her lips are tinted blue from the cold. Her body shakes, fragile but alive. I see the tears spill down her cheeks, silent, relentless. Then, just as suddenly, she stops. Like she's forcing herself to stop. 

She tries to stand. Her first attempt fails. So does the second. She doesn't give up, though. She drags herself across the floor, every movement slow, deliberate, painful. When she finally reaches the bed, she crawls onto it and wraps herself in the duvet, her small frame still shaking beneath it.

Her head tilts slightly, her eyes scanning the room. Even in her weakened state, she's alert, assessing. Her face is screams that she is in pain, but her gaze... her gaze is sharp. She knows she is still in the same room as she was when she woke up for the first time.