The Lost Boys • Imagines

Imagine #8 - Lost Boys

Imagine running from the boys.

Word Count: 764

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Santa Carla is the murder capital of the world, which should be enough of a warning in itself. Add that to all the missing posters, the dangerous gangs, and the crime and you have a recipe for danger.

At night, it becomes even more evident.

The streets are always bare during the off season, apart from a few drunk stragglers and partiers coming from the beach.

You've made it your duty to avoid being outside when the sun goes down, cautious of the threat that the night contains.

But, sometimes, life catches you off guard.

You have to close up shop tonight, which means you'll have to walk home in the dark. Having heard the news, you had begged to trade shifts with whomever would accept, but none of your coworkers would have it.

So, here you are, all alone in the empty shop, locking down before heading outside into the dark.

You walk, head bowed as to not draw unnecessary attention. To your dismay, it doesn't seem to be working.

Breathing slowly, you walk on the uneven pavement, praying for safety. Quiet laughter sounds behind you, making your breath hitch. You don't dare turn around.

"Y/n," a low voice whispers, seemingly right next to you.

Startled, you whirl your head only to be greeted with nothing. Must be hallucinating now, you shrug it off and continue.

The giggles follow, a good ways behind you. There are only a few more blocks to your house, you can make it.

Again, that ghostly whisper tickles your ears.

You ignore it as best you can. How would this person even know your name?

You turn the corner only to come face to face with them. The locals call them the Lost Boys, and you think it suits them well.

The curly blond, the straight haired blond, the long haired brunette, and the platinum blond with a mullet.

They are each stunningly gorgeous and yet so dangerous. They are what dreams and nightmares are born of.

You stutter and stand still. They make an indestructible wall that blocks you from where you need to be.

"Excuse me," you mumble, waiting for them to move. They just grin wickedly.

So, you step onto the street and try to walk around them. The follow your movements, blocking you once again.

Cursing internally, you try again. They mimic you again.

By now, your heart is pounding a mile a minute. You stare at them with wide eyes, feeding their grins.

"P-please, I don't have a lot of money," you say meekly, secretly gripping the pocket knife you keep in your coat pocket.

"We don't want your money, Girly," the one with long blond hair states.

You gulp. These boys are trouble and they've found you.

Without a second thought, you turn on your heel and sprint away, hoping they won't catch up.

You run for a few minutes, expecting one of them to grab you at any second. You can't hear anyone pursuing you, though. Maybe they didn't think you were worth the hassle?

Glancing back, you can't see them anymore.

As soon as you turn your head to the front, you slam into a chest, resulting in a few jeers and laughs.

You scramble backwards as you stare into the icy blue eyes of the apparent leader who you ran into.

"C'mon doll, where you going?" The curly blond one asks, biting his thumbnail.

It feels like the very air is pressing against you as you stare into the eyes of these threatening men. But, you're not about to die without a fight.

You reveal your knife wielding hand, pointing it at them, "Leave me alone!"

This only results in more chuckles.

"Babe, we're not gonna do that," the tall silent one speaks for the first time, some how terrifying you even more.

The leader steps forward and bends down. You keep the small blade focused on him, inching back a bit more.

"Darling, that won't do any good," he informs you in a smooth, calm voice.

Breathing raggedly, you tense as he reaches his gloved hand to your cheek. Acting on instinct, you stab the knife into his arm, making him growl in pain.

As you do this, you shoot upwards and try to flee again.

The dark haired one stops you, encasing you in his strong arms as you struggle futility.

A sharp scream escapes your lips as tears start to fall from your eyes.

This can't be happening, your frightened mind rationalizes.

"Oh," the one you stabbed says, stroking your cheek, "But it is."