Happy Lowman Imagines

Stood Up: Part Three

NOTE: Contains abuse and mentions of rape, and death.

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I am going to die here.
Looking round the dark dingy room with hooded eyes, you felt at peace. You were going to die here, soon. You could feel it in your body, in your soul. There was only so many beatings your body could take, and you'd taken more than your fair share.
You had always been scared, terrified even, that you would live a boring, ordinary life. You'd grow up, get married, have kids and die, not leaving anything worthwhile behind. The real white picket fence life. You were still scared, but you no longer feared for that. No, your life wasn't boring, or ordinary. Not anymore. But you feared now that you'd be remembered for this. That you'd die, and be remembered as the girl who was beaten and raped, then beaten again by a man she once fell in love with. You didn't want to be that girl.
You weren't afraid of death itself, the idea of death comforted you. Once you took your last breath you knew you would be at peace, that he couldn't hurt you anymore. Happy had done his best, he had protected you for a while. You would be eternally grateful for that time you got with him. But you knew you were destined to die at the the hands of your ex. It was your own fault really, you should have waited for someone to pick you up. But you were stupid. A stupid little girl. Brandon liked to tell you how stupid you were.
You weren't sure how long you'd been here now. Your wrists were rubbed raw from the rope tied tightly around them. You could barely hold your head up anymore and you'd grown used to the pain shooting through your body.
He had spent the first day beating you til you passed out, numerous times.
The next day he raped you. He came back every few hours, to either beat you or rape you, sometimes both.
You weren't sure how long you'd been here, but you knew you wouldn't be here much longer.
Death was coming for you, coming to save you from this life. you could feel it in your bones.

Happy slammed a shot down on the bar.
Six days you'd been gone. Six fucking days.
He knew your ex had you. He blamed himself, he had been on the way to pick you up when he'd stopped to buy you flowers, wanting to surprise you. He had planned to tell you how he felt, to tell you he was falling in love with you.
He had arrived at the bookstore but it was shut, empty. He had rode around the streets for hours, before he spotted your bag, left on the ground.
That was when he knew.
The club was looking for you.
They'd find you. He'd find you. He had to, he couldn't lose you.
Three more shots slid down his throat, he didn't even realise he was pouring them, or lifting them to his lips.
You were the only thing on his mind. He missed you. He missed your strawberry scented skin wrapped around his at night, missed the way you whispered softly in your sleep. He missed the sound of your voice, your laugh.
He hadn't realised how much he had fallen for you. How much he'd gotten used to you being in his life. Now his bed was empty and cold, and you haunted his dreams. You haunted his mind, his eyes, his ears.
Everything he saw made him think of you. Everything he heard.
He had to find you.
"We will find her, Happy." Tig said, like he could read his mind.
Happy nodded, looking at his brother.
He poured another shot and passed it to Tig, before grabbing another glass for himself.
They sat there for an hour in silence, drinking their way through the bar, shot by shot, passing a joint between them.
"Happy!" Juice shouted.
Both men jumped out of their seats instantly, heads snapping in Juices direction.
Happy marched towards Juice, who held a piece of paper in his hands.
The rest of the club began to circle him.
"I found her. I found her man." Juice said, a triumphant smile on his face.

The door slammed open and heavy footsteps walked into the room, slamming the door shut behind them.
The stench of cheap cologne, stale beer and desperation washed over you as Brandon knelt in front of you, grabbing a fistful of your hair up, forcing you to look at him.
"Tell me you love me." He snarled at you.
You stared into his face. How had you loved this monster? You would have married him, raised a family with him. How had he turned into this? Or had he always been like this, maybe you brought out his dark side. You weren't sure, and you didn't care. You needed to anger him. Yes, you had to make him mad, he would beat you, kill you. Then it would stop.
"Say it." He growled at you as he slapped his hand across your already swollen cheek.
You looked into his eyes as your mouth filled with blood, before you spat at him.
His fist collided with your mouth almost instantly.
"You fucking bitch!" He yelled as he hit you repeatedly, throwing you into the floor before he began kicking your body.
You didn't feel it, you didn't cry or scream out. You just lay there, knowing that with each hit death crept closer.
He stopped suddenly and stood straight.
You weren't sure, but you thought you heard the familiar rumble of motorcycles.
Brandon grabbed you again quickly, lifting your limp body and tossing you into the chair, where he tied another rope around your chest and the back of the chair.
The rumbling got louder.
He paced infront of you, pulling a gun out of his pocket and peering out the window.
His jaw dropped.
The rumbling stopped.
He pointed the gun at you, stepping closer to you.
You watched him as he lifted the gun between your eyes as you heard the front door slam open and the sound of dozens of boots storming through the house.
Suddenly the door to the room slammed open.
You didn't look. You knew who it was, you just sat and stared down the barrel of the gun calmly.
You began to smile and closed your eyes, ready. Death was almost here.
Suddenly a loud bang echoed through the room.