Captured Innocence ➵ [Completed]

|5|

|5| Lyla Pembroke |

When I woke to see the glass broken on the ground near my bed I knew what he had done. He had drugged me once again and I let him. I can't believe I could be so stupid and take the food from him. I should've know that he'd do something like that. He's psychotic and I'm stuck with him for the moment.

I think everything over but I still don't know the right thing to do. I need to get out of here without getting killed. How do you handle someone like him especially with your life at risk?

I hear a door slam closed and figure that he's back. I quickly climb out of the sheets of the bed and stand on it so I could see out of the window. I try with all my might to get it open but doesn't budge at all. I step off the bed trying to get to the door so I could try that one too but I stupidly forget about the glass.

A shriek leaves my lips as I fall onto my bottom. I grip my foot and notice the small shard of glass sticking from my foot. "Shît," I curse. "Oh my goodness."

I have to take it out if I want to walk. I take deep breaths as the grip the small piece.

"Angel, I'm home!" I hear him call as I pull the shard from the bottom of my foot. I can't help the scream that leaves my lips.

Something drops as he opens the door to the bedroom. "Oh, Angel," he rushes over to my side and I cringe away. He notices and an angry look forms on his face. "What happened?"

"What does it look like?" I snap angrily.

"You're bleeding angel, I'll carry you to the bathroom." I don't have time to argue before he lifts me, bridal style, into his arms. I wrap my arms around his neck to keep myself study. I really rather be anywhere else then in his arms but at the moment I really don't have an option.

He walks out of the bedroom and I finally get a glimpse at the house. The hallway is dim and right across the room I was in is the bathroom. There's one other door at the end of the hall and I assume that it's his.

The bathroom is covered in an ugly blue flowered wallpaper. He sets me down on the counter and starts rummaging through the drawers underneath the sink.

"You're a clumsy angel." He tells me while taking out some rubbing alcohol and a bandage wrap.

"I think you should take me to a hospital. I might need stitches." I hope that my comment will get past him but, unluckily for me, he's not stupid.

"I'm sure it won't be fatal, angel."

"Can you please stop calling me that? I'm not an angel."

He simply ignores my comment and applies the rubbing alcohol to a wash cloth. "This is going to hurt so we'll just talk through it, okay?"

I only nod before he places it on the wound. Immediately I feel the burning sting and cringe. I feel his fingers interlace with mine as he looks deeply into my eyes. He tries to comfort me but I keep thinking about the pain. The pain he caused me, Kate and the fact that he used his hands, the ones I was holding now, to murder my best friend.