The Breaking of the Bones

Summary:
A young woman has escaped from hell on earth and is running for her life. Eventually she'll have to stop and face what happened. With the help of a beautiful, untouchable FBI agent, can she learn to trust? Can she love? Can she ever hope to live again?

Author's note:
This story is full of gory, icky, horrible, gross things.... And that's just my grammar, punctuation, spelling, plot holes, and the like. Then there's the story itself.

Anyway....

The characters, the plot, and all the crazy details are from my sick and twisted brain. please do not copy or post elsewhere without my permission.

Before I forget, the snippet of poetry in chapter 1 was from X:WP S6 EP19 MHR. Why? Because I happen to love that poem!

Rated R (leaning towards mature) for violence, sex, and general psychotic mayhem. If you are squeamish or homophobic stop reading now. What are you doing here in the first place?

Enjoy. Or not. Your choice.

Feedback is always welcome. Write to me at keket1976@yahoo.com

Thanks, Barbara. For everything!

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"Running. I remember running. So hard and so fast I thought my lungs would burst from my chest and my limbs would tear from my body."

She grabbed at a sapling - nearly snapping it in two - and caught herself before hurtling over the cliff's edge. Pebbles skittered over the side and fell to the churning water below.

The wind whispered through the trees as she held tight and looked down.

She drew in a ragged breath as birds sang cheerfully and small animals scurried through the underbrush.

Her heart thundered against her ribcage and blood rushed in her ears.

The fear coursing through her body was so strong she could taste it, like ozone before a lightning strike.

Panic closing in, she let go of the sapling, and jumped.

Warm air whistled in her ears as she fell.

The water enveloped her in a freezing rush and she couldn't help but wonder what the water would have felt like had it been winter.

Nine months ago, she thought. The middle of December.

She surged up from the rocky bottom in a few powerful strokes, then struggled to keep her head above water as she rode the rapids downstream.

Bruised, battered, choking and weak, she reached the side and climbed up the muddy bank, every move a painful struggle.

On her hands and knees she crawled through the sharp, thick sedge grass and muck. The sun was warm on her naked back, chasing away the chill and drying her body quickly. Her hair remained wet, greasy, and matted to her scalp.

The pain was nearly unbearable, making her nauseous and light headed. But, as long as her adrenaline was pumping, she could ignore it.

Or so she hoped.

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She stayed close to the shore, following it downstream for several miles. It was slow and treacherous. The mud sucked her down with every step and drained the strength from her already weakened limbs. Tree branches, thorns, and vines grabbed at her skin and hindered her progress, but she pushed on until the sun had set. She would have kept going but the moon was only a tiny sliver and she could no longer see to traverse the rocks without risking serious injury.