They Called Me Cold, They Called Him a Liar

So I crashed Tom Hiddleston's tea party

What happened to Martha? Will Sydney turn into a frozen Syd-cicle? And most importantly, what movie will Ivy and Riley watch for their movie marathon???

Find out in the next chapter! *Insert dramatic music here*

Love you guys!

-Dakoda

So I crashed Tom Hiddleston's tea party.

"MARTHA!" I scream, long and loud to get her attention from even blocks away.

The ice on my arms, while still heavy, is manageable. Just as the temperature here outside is just not cool enough, I'll survive.

I drag myself to the door, but stop and turn around.

The patch of sunlight coming through the open window, is being blocked. The shadow moves out of the way, and I'd have missed it if I hadn't blinked. Freaking out now, I pull on the ice coating my arms, trying to make myself look as normal as possibly, besides the fact I'm in shorts and a tank top in below zero weather, but it's worth a try. At my touch, the ice slips off like a sleeve, crashing to the ground. I'm about to open the door, when I remember.

"Shit..." I mumble under my breath. My keys are upstairs and Martha is no where to be seen.

"Something wrong sweetheart? You look lost" I turn around to see a man with a clean shaven face and baggy clothing walking towards me. A face easy to miss in a crowd. And I know what he does, in the back alleyways, or abandoned apartments, taking what he wants and leaving the girls for dead.

My growl catches him off guard, and but he just shrugs and steps way too close into my personal bubble. No one calls me sweetheart, and even just the thought of letting this creep get too close to me is making my skin crawl.

His burning hot hand strokes my cheek, and I flinch away, hissing at the contact. I feel the blisters rising on my cheek, and try to back away from the creeper who decided I was now his favourite person in the world.

I back away, sadly into a wall. His arms slam onto either side of me, leaning in to lightly inhale the scent, probably of fear, coming off my collar bone. A grin splits his face, looking like a knife cut it into his skin. "My, my" he drawls, stroking my hair, "Don't you smell nice, beautiful."

He keeps on stroking my hair, and as he does my hands slides down to my waistband, where I hid my dagger. Oh how much I wanted to heal my burned cheeks and stab him with it, maybe at the same time. I think back to what Martha said about situations like this. I should scream, and I would if I could, but my throat is so dry the most I could try to do is moan.

Alright, think past that. A movie comes to mind, and a smirk crosses my face, if just for a moment.

"So, you like this don't you?" the creeper asks, leaning so close the blisters on my cheek are throbbing in time with the billows of hot air gliding across my face. His breath smells like cigarettes and cheap beer. I shrink away, but he leans in, to cut the amount of space between us in half.

"Yes" I whisper, clutching the knife behind my back. "and I want to show you something "

Please work, please work, I pray in silence.

His eyes are alight with a manic fire, and he steps back, so sure of my capture. "Then go on ahead, sweat-heart. What can you do? Dance, sing, play the violin?"

The smile that plasters itself on my face has to be insane, but I go on ahead, and turn my back to New York's most trusting rapist.

I bring the knife in front of me, and I know, no, feel, when he's close enough. "I can sing. I reply, and pray that some one is close by.