The wind tangled my hair across my face. The sky was it's usual grey, turbulant clouds danced acroos the sky. My heart was pounding in uneven beats, sounding out my fear. I walked along the sidewalk, hearing heavy steps behind me. I slightly turned my head, peeking over my shoulder at the black figure behind me.
It was tall, clothed in a black hoodie, the hood over it's face. My fear was coming off in waves as I looked straight forward again. A million questions raced through my head, but I knew what I needed to do. Run.
I took off as fast as I could. My heartbeat echoed in my empty head. My head felt as if it were a balloon, floating away from this hell called earth. That's what I wanted, what I've wanted for a long time now. But no, I was still here, being chased by a tall freaky guy. I ran down the street, turning the corner, only to find a dead end. I couldn't beleive it, but I had to. I was surrounded on three sides by tall brick walls, and I was being followed by a creepy guy on my fourth side.
I was clawing at the walls so hard that my knuckles were bleeding. I was hardly breathing. A pool of fear was drowning me, pulling me to it's depths. A low chuckle sounded behind me. I turned around, My hair slapping my face in the process. "Well, can you run through walls?" A deep voice asked. I didn't trust my voice to speak, so I just shook my head. He moved forward. "Not talking, are we? What's wrong? Did I cut off your tounge?" He asked, bringing on another round of laughter.
I was coming up with different schemes inside my head, trying to escape. I didn't have a good one. I glanced around him, calculating my chances of escaping, but he had me by my throat up against the wall before I could think of a number. "Going somewhere?" He asked. I could feel the anger rolling off of him as his fingers dug into my neck. I was 100% useless, and he knew it too. I was tiny, he was giant. There was no question of and automatic defeat if I tried defending myself. "So sweetie, I have a secret for you. But, shhhh, It's a secret..."
I sat up, kicking the sweaty covers off of me. My heart was racing as I took in my surroundings. I was in a small bed, with grey sheets. The walls were blue curtains for privacy and flourecent green lights. I sighed to myself; I had fallen asleep at the hospital.I knew I would have it in for me when I got home. But I didn't really care, my mind was on my nightmare.
Secrets. That's all I lived off of. A secret a day keeps the normals away, I guess. But that's all I can do. Guess.
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I fold my jacket tighter around my shivering body. The air is cold, nipping at my bones. I see my house up ahead, all the lights on in the windows. I know my father is awake, his anger still rolling and his fists pumping with need, the need to beat me until it hurts to breathe. It is a need I find myself craving, no matter how sadistic that is.
I walk a little faster, just wanting to take care of this. I hate that this has to happen, I hate that I have become addicted to this pain. The pain just makes my head clear, and that's what I love. It makes my thoughts disappear, even if it of because if pain.
I squeeze my eyes shut as I walk up the walk way. The gravel crunches under my shoes, though I am almost flying. My breath is uneven and my nerves are radiating.
I walk up the steps, taking deep breaths. The porch freaks as I walk across it, not doing anything except making me jump. I walk inside, treated by air colder than the air outside.
My dad is standing in the living room, his arms across his sweater vested chest, a deep frown on his face. "Natalie, where have you been?" He asks, his voice too cheerful for his frown. I bite my lip, not knowing what to tell him.
"Natalie-Lane Kennedy Vine, where have been?" My dad asks more firm. I contemplate lies quickly in my head. But then realize, why should I lie?
"I was at the hospital, with a.... friend who got beaten up." I say. His frown deepens, if that's even possible, and he stares at me.
"Why did you feel you needed to stay?" He asks. I raise my eyebrows. What kind of question is that? You should always want to make sure someone is okay when they get hurt. But I guess someone as heartless as my father wouldn't understand that.
I shrug. "I wanted to make sure he is okay." I say quietly. He scowls. "Stop being so damn weak!" He yells. I cower away as he raises a hand, readying a slap.
I want to yell at him, 'I'm not being weak! I am being human! Unlike you!' But I don't. I know I will not be able to talk again if I do that. He just doesn't understand. I care about people, even if I hate them.
"You are lucky. I will let you by this time. But only because I am too disgusted with you to actually want to touch you." He says. I nod and run up to my room.
I tear my bloody clothes off, letting out my tears of pain and agony as my clothes catch on my cuts and bruises. They are filled with blood. I start the water, making sure it is really hot, and get in. My whole body screams and throbs, telling me to get out of the water, but I stay in, whimpering like a lost puppy.
The water turns red and thick as it runs off of me. Thick clumps of blood about as big as half dollars drop down. My tears join them, though they hurt as they run from my eyes. I just end up a bloody, cut up, bruised, sobbing mess.
I scrub my body at least five times, cleaning my skin extremely well. I end io smelling like baked goods and flowers.
I dry off, put my hair in a bun, put on an oversized navy blue t-shirt, and collapse into bed, extremely exhausted. Not long after, I fall asleep. Trying to count my breaths.
