Time Limit

AJ

*ATTENTION: TRIGGER WARNING (VIOLENCE, ABUSE)*

' DADDY DEAREST '

After the fight, Camille and I talked for a long time while Brooke left for her extra classes. After all, as smart as she was, Brooke was only thirteen and had to take classes with other people her age.

I didn't quite know why, but for some reason, Camille acted much warmer towards me. Didn't she use to hate me (even though I hadn't offended her in any way)? Yeah, that was weird. Anyhow, as soon as I reached the cabin that Serena, some other PJO fangirls I shared, I showered and went straight to bed.

Normally, it would've been a good idea, with how tired I was.

Apparently, not today.

I tossed and turned as I slipped into the Land of Dreams.

Or, to be more precise, nightmares.

>>>>>

I was shaking with fright, curled up in the corner of the storage room.

"Don't worry, Annie," he whispered, strolling in and spotting my tiny figure behind one of the many stacks of packets containing white powder he had in the storage room. "If you behave this time, we'll be gentle with you. If you don't..."

He took off one of the three belts around his trousers and cracked it like a whip.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

When they opened, I was in another place.

Eleven-year-old me was shooting arrows at a target, moving pulling the drawstring back to shoot another arrow. I hadn't missed any bull's-eyes for months.

Just as I was about to let loose, my arm went slack from exhaustion, and the arrow missed, hitting the ring just outside the bull's-eye.

His hot breath rolled over me and I trembled and put down my bow, ready for the inevitable snap of the belt buckle against my back.

Before the belt could go down, the scene changed again.

"Don't — touch — the — phone!" he yelled, a crazed glint in his eyes. He hit me with the belt after every word, and I was sobbing in agony, blood dripping off my wounds.

"D — dad, please, no more!" I sobbed, curling up into a ball, the belt hitting my back again and again and again.

He leered over me, a towering figure twice the size of my twelve-year-old body. "Then don't touch the phone, you piece of sh*t!"

The belt struck me again and again, and I fainted, the pain numbing my body.

>>>>>

"No!" I bolted upright, panting hard.

It was just a dream.

I wrenched the covers off my bed. "Dammit," I growled. The nightmares were back.

I glanced through the clock on the cabin wall. 4:02AM. Oh well, I was used to not sleeping for long anyways. Might as well do something productive.

Quickly and as quietly as possible, I slipped on my sports clothes and hurried to the gym. I was out of practice; I could've won against the murderer if I'd only been practicing more, with the state he or she had been in.

My punches rang throughout the gym, echoing off the walls.

Harder. Faster. Stronger.

Because if I wasn't a fighter, I was worthless. His words were lies, I knew, but this wasn't. I had nothing special — I wasn't particularly smart, I wasn't particularly friendly, I wasn't particularly beautiful.

But fighting was something I was actually good at, and I would stop at nothing to become among the best.

I upped the attack on the poor punching bag, striking it as fast as possible with my fists, making it swing with every punch. When my knuckles became too painful to go on with, I started to knee, elbow and kick the punching bag, abusing it with every skill in my repertoire.

I had to train and train and train, because I would never be enough. I wasn't as smart as Brooke, but I was smart enough to know that Camille and Brooke had been fighting the killer for at least three minutes, weakening him or her substantially. And I had barely been able to hold my worth against him or her.

I would never be enough.

Then, I shook my head. That was him talking. I had to clear my mind, somehow —

It was then that I noticed the beautiful compound bow hanging from the equipment rack.

Slowly, gingerly, I picked it up, like it was a delicate glass statue. It felt light in my hands, and I found my body unconsciously shifting into the correct stance. After all, it had been hammered into me.

I moved towards the shooting range. Technically, it was only for Hunger Games fans since they had to learn to defend themselves should they ever have a field trip to Panem, but it worked.

I picked up a dozen arrows from one of the buckets of equipment and nocked it, then drew the bow.

Inhale. Aim. Release.

Thunk. The arrows in was buried straight in the bullseye.

I nocked another and another and another, using a new target each time.

Eleven arrows, and eleven targets, all now with an arrow in the centers. To be frank, though, I expected it. It was one of the most unforgettable things I had been taught to do, in a good way.

The other things were unforgettable too...but it didn't mean I wasn't terrified.

I nocked the last arrow with a shaky hand, but it fell to the ground, and I was suddenly overcome by dizziness. The world spun around me, and I could barely utter a scream before I hit the ground, a wave of memories — terrible, terrible memories washing over me and drowning everything out.

"AJ?" someone called, running inside the gym. "AJ!"