Runaway - A DEVIL'S NIGHT FANFICTION (PTBR + ENG)

Chapter 47 - Nini

Hello, everyone.If you came here after receiving the notification that I'd posted a chapter, thank you very much. Seriously, though. I kinda love you.This is the first chapter where I was so undecided about whose POV it would be that I decided to give them both a chance.Still, I hope you like it.

Four years ago...

The smell of mildew, old dust, and rotting wood invaded my senses, mixed with the chemical stench of paint thinner. I opened my eyes slowly, my vision blurry, as the faint light filtered through faded red curtains and revealed the chipped stage beneath my body. Dark stains on the wood, heavy curtains that were once luxurious now hung in tatters, moving as if the theater were breathing.

A deep, bitter nausea rose up my throat. In the background, Here Comes the Sun played distorted, the once-cheerful melody now something macabre in the damp darkness of the abandoned theater.

Boxes piled in the corners, paint cans, dirty brushes, and carefully rolled canvas formed an improvised forgery studio. But the scariest part was the photographs of me pinned to a board: at school, walking home alone, drawing in my notebook.

They had been watching me.

My hands were tied behind my back with a rough rope, my wrists throbbing where the skin had already gone raw. I tried to move, but my body was heavy, like it had been soaked in some kind of drug.

— Ah, finally awake.

The voice made my blood run cold.

Artie stepped out from the shadows like a ghost, his green eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and cruelty. His blond hair was messy, his stubble making him look even more disheveled. The beret he always wore sat slightly crooked, like he'd just been in a fight.

— You slept plenty, darling. — He knelt beside me, and his smell hit me — cigarettes, coffee, and weed. — Eddie overdid it with the sedative. But you're a tough little thing, aren't you?

I swallowed hard, my throat burning. I tried to speak, but the words died before they came. Terror had locked me up inside.

Artie smiled, like he relished my silence.

— Nothing to say? — He raised his hand and ran his index finger down my cheek, slowly, calculated. — That's fine. I actually prefer it that way.

His touch slid down to my neck, then to my shoulder, his fingers pressing lightly, as if testing how fragile I was.

— You're so small. — He murmured, his hot breath on my face. — No wonder Eddie wants you all to himself.

Artie saw the tremor that ran through my body and laughed.

— He has plans for you, Nini. You paint so well... — His finger slid under my collar. — And you're so... cute.
The nausea surged too fast to stop. I threw up on the floor — and on his shoe.

Artie jumped back with a growl of disgust.

— Bitch! — he shouted and slapped me, then recoiled in revulsion for a few seconds. Next, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed my head against the wall, but seeing the state I was in, he let go quickly.

My body trembled, my mouth bitter, but at least he'd stopped touching me.

Artie looked at the vomit on the floor, then at me, his face twisted in disgust.

I didn't care. Anything was better than his hands on me.

That's when we heard the first sound.
A creak from the back of the theater.
Artie froze.