Because, Brett... [BxB]

Chapter 20: Dead Of Night

The 26th of July. A Friday night. There's a slight breeze in the summer air as I step out of the club, warmed by the sun that had been gracing the sky earlier in the evening. It blows through my hair, tousling it and I sigh out a breath of relief as I close the backstage door behind me. I have a wad of notes stashed in my bag and I can still feel the glitter spray clinging to my skin below my hoodie.

Sometimes Seth picks me up after work and we go back to his place for some fun, but that's not the case tonight. I'm exhausted beyond belief and want nothing more than to be wrapped up in his arms, yet I know I've got to walk across town to the train station and ultimately find my way home. It'd be unfair to disturb him when he's told me that he has a meeting early tomorrow and needs to prepare.

Dragging my heels, I begin the stroll down the dimmed street, lit only by lights that buzz and flicker under the moonlight. A few months ago, this would've terrified me. The reminder of my reoccurring nightmare would've sent me into a fear-filled frenzy of calling Seth to come and help me. But I'm over it. I was imagining things before, and even though my mother might have something to say against the matter, my neighbour isn't going to stab me.

I'm on Thyme Street though when I feel the first shiver wrack through me. My nan would've said that someone's walked over my grave, and if I was five years old and listening to her stories again, I would've believed her without hesitation. Yet I slow and glance around. The street is completely abandoned and the distant wails of sirens travel on the wind alongside the occasional rumble of an engine. I shake it off as a bad feeling as it's not unusual to hear such sounds and I'm likely just being paranoid.

I repeat that to myself on a loop. An ostinato of chanted words.

That's until an unfamiliar rhythm joins the pitter-patter of my feet and the tempo increases as I quicken my pace. Footsteps continue to follow me and I risk a glance over my shoulder to see a man dressed in all black walking the same way as me. It's not R, I tell myself. R was crazy Elijah playing stupid tricks and the eyes that I had always felt on me were Seth's — my loving boyfriend's.

The man behind me is nothing but a normal pedestrian.

Still, I find myself breaking into a jog. The soles of my shoes slap against the paving and my heart leaps into my throat as I hear his join too, matching mine to a T. My pace speeds further.

By the time I reach the end of the road I'm too panicked to be paying attention, but I do notice the lack of presence. The man is gone.

I lean over, palms on my knees as I attempt to catch my breath and stare numbly at my feet trying to comprehend what just happened.

Suddenly, I feel hot fingers around my neck and a strong body pressed to my back. It pulls me stumbling backwards as another hand raises with a piece of cloth held firmly in it and is forced against my nose and mouth. A surge of white-hot panic races through every fibre of my being and I find myself clawing at the hands encapsulating me. I know I need to stop, to control myself and not breathe until I figure out a weak point to hit. However, it all seems so useless when you're in the moment. Within seconds I've sucked in enough of whatever was on the cloth to make my eyes droop, my body to lose tension and my struggling to cease.

The cloth leaves my mouth and the arms instead constrict around my waist, drawing me close.

"You're all mine."

Black.