The Dark Days

Thirteen.

It's around eight o'clock in the evening of day three stuck in this cell when a tall man in his late thirties or early forties comes running in, panting like he ran a mile. "Emma!" he calls, and in two seconds Emma is leaning out from the open doorway of her office.

"David?" she questions. "What's wrong?"

"It's Mary-Margaret," he pants. "She's gone."

"Did you call the school?" she asks, pulling her jacket on.

"Yeah." He stepped closer to her. "She never went today. Never even called in."

"Did you check the apartment?" she asks, getting her keys and coming to stand in front of him.

"Yes, and... it's trashed."

Emma covers her mouth with one hand. "What? What do you mean?"

"I mean it looks like there was a really big riot," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Broken dishes and glass everywhere. Like someone put up a really big fight."

"When did you see her last?"

"At the apartment."

Peter's words shoot through my mind: "I promise, you won't be in here for very long." Did Peter kidnap this "Mary-Margaret" person?

As the sheriff and the man run back outside, I stand up and go to the middle of my cell. I run my hands through my hair and notice that it's terribly greasy. I turn around to go back to my cot and notice a window above it. I climb on top of my cot and look out. I can see thick metal bars through the dusty glass and a few street lights, but that's all. It's too dark. I sigh and sit down on the cot, my legs crossed underneath me. My mental exhaustion catches up with me and I lay over on the cot, curling up and closing my eyes. It only takes me a few minutes to fall asleep.

I'm sitting on the bed in the hideout, twiddling my thumbs and picking at my nails to keep myself entertained until Peter gets back. He only had to step out for a moment and should be back any second.

After a few minutes the door opens. I don't turn towards the sound. The door closes and I hear footsteps coming toward me. I feel the bed dip as the person lays on it, and only then do I turn to face Peter.

"Hello, Kasey," he says tiredly. I smile and he smiles back. "Lay down with me," he says, and I do. I lay down next to him and he wraps his arms around my waist, bringing me into his chest. I snuggle into him, craving his familiar warmth. I breath deeply and he kisses my head.

"I have a surprise for you," he tells me, pulling away. I lean my head back and pout as my eyes find his.

"But Peter," I whine, "I hate surprises."

He kisses me deeply, nipping at my lower lip. Our kiss heats up and soon he's slipping my pants off.

"Peter," I say as his lips travel down my neck. "You had a surprise for me. Remember?"

Peter places kisses up the length of my neck and then pulls away, meeting my gaze. "Oh. Yes, of course."

Peter rolls us so he's on top of me and straddles my waist. He stands on his knees and then waves his hand over me, making a tingling sensation spread all over my body. I look down at my clothes to see that I'm now wearing a tight, short, and awfully revealing black dress.

"Peter, this is -" My voice cuts off when I feel the dress suddenly tighten, cutting into my skin. I gasp for air, but nothing comes. My fingers grip the sheets beneath me, tearing them.

Peter leans down and begins to kiss my neck again. The dress squeezes tighter around me, making it impossible to move as my hands and feet go numb. His kisses go under my collar bones, and I want to stop him but I can't move and I can't speak. His hands slide up my thighs and up to my waist. He grips the fabric, tearing holes into it and my skin. I try to cry out from the pain, but I can't.