Playing With Fire

Chapter Twelve

Hey! 

So, I'm FINALLY about to wrap up my other story Take You Down--which is sad but exciting at the same time. Sad because I really connected with my characters. However, I'm excited that I can really focus on revising this story!

For those who have read this before, I can tell you this is going to be a completely different roller coaster ride. I do have one thing to say though. I will not tolerate any rude comments; therefore, if you don't like the new version, just put this book down. It's as simple as that. If someone posts a degrading comment, it will be taken down and there will be no benefit for the commentor. This doesn't mean, however, that I won't accept contructive critisim. There is just a huge difference between being helpful and being hurtful. 

NOW. 

For chapter twelve...

Can I get 100 votes and 20 comments? 

VOMMENT. 

xxSummerxx

                                               

                                                      Recap

There Travis stood, inches from his original position against the wall, with a sleek, black gun trained firmly in his grip.

           I don’t even recognize my trembling voice when a bloodcurdling scream rips its way out of my mouth.

         Panic seeps through my body once the echo of my scream fades and I slam my back against the wall. I’d be one damn ignorant girl if I tried to tell myself that no one heard that. Truth be told, I only thought I could scream like that on roller coasters.

          Shit I repeat in my head over and over again.

          There’s no point trying to be silent, considering my loud mouth blew that option.

          I hear Travis shuffle frantically and that’s what does it. Without a further thought, I tear myself away from the wall and pump my legs as fast as I can in the direction I came from.

         Run.

                                              Chapter Twelve

Never in my life have I ran this fast.

The adrenaline—I’ve felt it before—but never this speed, this aching and thumping that travels all the way to the tips of my fingers and back in a bone- crushing chill.

One could describe this feeling as a ‘rush’ or a ‘thrill’; however, those are the last words that come to my mind.

Try petrified.

It’s a creeping terror that rushes into one’s system, gnawing mercilessly at the brain as a constant reminder of its presence. It consumes the body, controls its shivers, and locks the bones, all with one thought.

It’s a mind game—only fear never loses.

As I cut through the poorly monitored grass in the park, the image of that gun slips into my mind. The man, laying on the floor—most probably dead—was murdered by Travis Emmons.