Arabella D'Angelo is just a shell of a girl, a mere presence floating through the halls of her Los Angeles home. Her once bright grey eyes and sunshine-like spirit was crushed by the weight of her abusive parents.
Living in a constant state of fear...
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Monsters.
They are monsters.
My lungs burned, every breath ragged and sharp as I sprinted through the narrow underground passageway. My legs felt like they would give out, but the panic surging through me kept them moving.
The walls blurred past me, my vision clouded with tears. I barely saw the corner coming and nearly slammed into it, stumbling to the side. My shoulder scraped against the cold, rough stone, but I didn't stop.
I couldn't stop.
My heart pounded painfully in my chest, the echo of gunshots still ringing in my ears. I couldn't erase the image of what I saw, of what they did.
I trusted them. I trusted them blindly enough to look past all the red flags they gave out in the past three months, brushed them off because I was far to indulged in the little fairytale they altered for me.
How could I have been such a big fool?
The ladder appeared ahead, dimly lit by the faint light of the living hall seeping through the trapdoor at the top. My fingers trembled as I grabbed the cold metal rungs and hauled myself upward.
My arms screamed in protest, but I climbed faster, desperate to get out from this hell. My knees scraped against the wall, but I didn't feel anything. I reached the top, shoved the door open and pulled myself through into the living room.
My body felt too heavy. My legs buckled as I tried to stand up, the ache in my muscles finally catching up to me. I barely managed to rise to my knees when abruptly, a large hand wrapped around my ankle.
I screamed, loud and raw, the sound ripping from my throat before I even realized it. My body reacted faster than my mind, pure terror taking over. I kicked hard, thrashing to get away.
"Bella-"
It was Killian's voice, strained with panic as he tried to tug me back by the ankle. His voice only made the fear tighten around my throat. He wasn't Killian anymore, he was someone else. Someone who lied to me. Someone who was capable of something as vile as murder.
I kicked again, harder, and felt my heel collide with what I think was his chest. He let out a strangled grunt, the sound pained as he lost his grip on me and fell back into the passageway with a dull, heavy thud, followed by a string of profanities in Italian.
I didn't stop to look or think and fled again, my body acting on pure adrenaline.
My bare feet hit the cold marble floor as I stumbled forward to the main door. My hand barely registered the sting when I slammed it against the handle and threw the door open with enough force to make it crash against the wall.
