Hyperactive [Chris Hemsworth Fanfiction]

nineteen

[Trigger warning?]

Blood.
Her mouth tasted like blood. It was a metallic taste.
Emerson slid her tongue along her bottom lip, finding they were dry and cracking. Slowly her eyes cracked open one at a time. Whereever she was, it wasn't lit very well but she still struggled to adjust.
When the room came into view she saw blank dark gray walls to her left and right. The room wasn't very large. Her muscles ached with every shift. She struggled to sit up, but her body screamed out in pain. Why was she in so much pain?
She craned her neck to the side to see more, strained to hear more. There was nothing else in the room besides a fold up chair and a leaky pipe sticking out from one of the walls.
She was on a table, a smooth metal one. As far as she knew, her body was somewhat numb and ached the more she tried to move. But she had to move.
She managed to bring her hand up to her mouth. Propelling herself over the side of the table, she bit down on her hand and shut her eyes tight as she hit the cement floor. It didn't hurt as much as she thought it would. But the pain would come later.
The table rolled slightly back with a soft squeak. Emerson jumped and managed to catch her breath without much noise. Remembering the metallic taste, she held shaky fingers against her lips but drew back no blood. A sigh of relief.
Who the hell, she thought.
Whereever she was, it looked like a basement. There were steps she could see now, blocked off by a thin wall. She tried to stand but fell back down.
"Fuck," she hissed. She ran a hand through her hair, exasperated. Then she glared at her useless limbs. She'd have to wait til she got feeling back in them. But how long would that take? Whoever took her could be back by then. Or even before. She'd be helpless.
Panting quietly out of frustration she tried to remember what happened.
She pictured the woman in her mind.
She faced the body of the woman on the ground, her face pale and eyes shut.
What about the woman? She wasn't here with her.
Emerson shut her eyes tight and tried to remember if she had seen anyone else before the woman.
The man with the dog.
Emerson glanced around the streets, finding them surprisingly empty with the exception of a woman on her phone a few feet away at a corner and an older man walking a dog across the street.
But it couldn't have been him. He had a dog. And he was across the street, she would've seen him cross.
She ran a hand through her tangled hair again. Then she heard faint knocking. No- not knocking. Steps. Like thuds.
They weren't getting closer, but they came from somewhere.
Then they were gone.
She released the breath she was holding and closed her eyes. She needed to move.
Carefully, she held onto the table and pulled herself up with a low groan.
Her legs shook and her muscles were tense and aching, but she stood up. Barely.
Her knees wobbled. So she rolled the table with her for support, moving closer towards the steps.
Balancing against the drywall, she climbed the steps quietly and pressed her ear against the door. There was no sound on the other side. The crack at the bottom allowed light to flow through, illuminating her ankles.
Emerson swiftly and quietly twisted the door knob. It was surprisingly not locked, and pushed open without managing to make any sound.
She stepped out onto wooden floors. Dark, polished. It didn't creak beneath her feet as she turned after closing the door behind her. Couldn't leave evidence she'd made it out. If she makes it out.

Finding her way around wasn't difficult surprisingly. She turned corners and found herself in some well furnished living room. The walls were a dark gray, covered in expensive looking landscape paintings and pictures. An open kitchen spread to her right. No one was in it.
The whole place looked expensive.
It wasn't hard to find her way to the front door. She threw it open and dashed outside, her heart pounding. Her feet carried her past passing people who gave her strange and surprised looks. She didn't stop until her legs threatened to collapse. Then she stopped to catch her breath, glad there were people around to witness if anything should happen again.
She leaned against a brick wall outside of some store and ran a hand through her unwashed, knotted hair.
Her hands patted around her body, looking for her phone. It was missing. As was her jacket and hair tie. She huffed and rubbed her arms, realising how cold she was.
She had no way to tell the time or date.
She decided she'd ask.
A soft looking girl with dark chesnutt hair stopped beside her, peering into the shop through the large front window.
"Excuse me," Emerson began. "Can you tell me what day it is?"
The girl glanced at her,"Friday." Her green eyes lingered on Emerson for a beat before she looked away.
When Emerson had last been out, it was most certainly not Friday.
"Uh, can i-"
The girl gasped to herself,"You're that girl who went missing a few days ago, aren't you?" Her eyes went wide with concern.
Emerson's brows drew together,"Days ago?"
The girl nodded, quickly pulling out her phone and handing it to em. She looked at the bright screen.
On the news.. she had been on the news.. since last friday when she'd been reported missing.
"I've been gone a week?" Emerson swallowed the bile rising in her throat. What about set? What about Chris?, she thought.
The girl began to offer to call someone but Emerson thanked her and walked off quickly. Who knows what could've been done to her in a week.

Luckily wherever she had been taken, it wasn't far from where she filmed. She walked back to set as fast as she could without making eye contact. The last thing she needed was a crowd and sirens.
Right as she turned a corner, she ran face first into someone and yelped. She fell back onto her butt, breath catching in her throat. Panic swept over her, a fist closing around her lungs.
"God- Emerson-" Hemsworth was nearly wild. He swept her up and examined her. His eyes were clouded and dark as they scanned her body, checking for any marks. It was clear on his face, he was worried sick. The shadows under his eyes were uncharacteristically dark, his dark hair was a mess. Pale skin stretched tight on his cheekbones.
"I'm okay." She lied. It was obvious he was on the brink of exploding. Emerson didn't need that. "Really."
"What happened?" He tensed, his jaw clenching.
Paranoia swept over her. She glanced around at the passing people. "I-I don't remember. Can we not be here?"
Chris nodded,"Come on." He turned to walk with her, guided her using his hand. "Let's get you cleaned up."

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Juice yall
I honestly dont even know where this is really going but drama sells !

Sorry for any typos