Written In The Stars

Chapter Twenty Three

"If you're going through hell,
keep going"
-Winston Churchill

Alice

My heart was racing so quickly I thought he might hear it pounding in my chest. I had to get out of here. I couldn't allow myself to relive the torture I went through when I was fifteen.

"I said come out little bitch!" His fist smashed into the cement wall. "Come out and I might go easy on you." The malice was clear in his voice. This man was more monster than I could have ever imagined.

The cardboard boxes that sheltered me were flung aside with one furious sweep from his arm. "There you are," Sawyers face contorted in a wicked sneer. "You're not getting away from me this time."

My head snapped up to meet his glower, what I saw in his eyes was evil. There was no other way I could think to describe it.

A meaty hand snapped out and collided with my cheek.

And suddenly I was fifteen again. Trapped, weak and helpless in a basement, waiting for someone to rescue me. All the old fear and pain and memories tried to suffocate me as I cradled my stinging cheek.

A boot-clad foot came down onto my stomach.

But the thing was..

I wasn't fifteen anymore.

Fists rained down on me, reaching nearly every inch of me.

The pain from two years prior had faded. The fear shrank. The memories were just that: memories.

I collapsed to the ground. A great pain consumed me. Familiar and sinister.

Two years ago I would have been praying for someone to rescue me. I would have wished for my knight in shining armor.

Bloodstained fingers gripped my hair, pulling my limp body up to stand.

But my knight isn't coming. That much is clear. No one is going to save me.

He spat onto my face.

I guess the damsel is going to have to rescue herself this time.

With whatever meager strength I had left I swung the plank of wood. It hit Sawyer in the temple, knocking him off balance, his grip on me loosened. I kicked my heal back into his shin, hearing a satisfying crack and his groan of pain. He dropped to his knees, releasing me completely. I swung again.

My makeshift weapon caught him in the side of the face. He fell to his side on the dusty cement floor. Maybe my body had a life of its own when my right foot caught him in the jewels. Or maybe I wanted him to feel half the pain I felt two years ago.

He groaned and rolled over uselessly on the ground. I brought the wood down on his head once more. His eyes rolled back in his head. He was still. At that moment I didn't care if Sawyer was dead or alive, I just had to get out of there.

My bare feet moved clumsily over the cement floor and up the wooden steps. The house, or shack I guess, was small and disorganized. The ceiling was too low and the entire place smelled funny. I spun around, not really knowing what I was looking for.

A small candle burned on the wooded windowsill, letting off the aroma of smoke and fire. The shack was empty. Sawyer was alone. That's all I need to know.

I dashed out the front door and into the winter air. I thought I heard something clang against the wooden floor as I slammed the door shut.

I didn't care that I wasn't wearing shoes or a coat. I just needed to get away. Nothing else mattered right then.

~~~

All I could see was white. It covered the ground and the trees like a great blanket. It was beautiful. But it was so cold.

My feet came tumbling to a halt, nearly sending me sprawling into the whiteness. My fingers clutched onto the frozen bark of a tree to help steady myself. My breath came and went too quickly, creating puffs of white in the December air.

I had been running for hours. The sun wound halfway across the sky and had finally sunk down below the horizon. My land of white had turned to gray.

I willed my feet to move forward, one toe-numbing step at a time. The feeling had left my feet long ago. My hands grew numb soon after. My bare fingers and toes were red and cracked. Ribbons of blood from my feet were left on the otherwise pristine snow.

My movements were sluggish, the freezing snow and icy wind were taking their toll on me. There was nothing in this forest but the sound of my labored breathing and the slow thump of my heartbeat.

I kept moving, I knew that if I stopped I would sleep. And if I went to sleep in the snowy forest with no one around I would die. I couldn't stop. But I was so tired.

One foot caught on the other and I went tumbling down, landing face-first in the snow. I needed to get up, to keep going. But I couldn't.

My limbs refused to move. I was so tired, I just wanted to sleep. The snow didn't feel so cold anymore. It had actually grown warm, hot even.

I took in shallow breaths and allowed sleep to seep through me. A dreamland greeted me behind closed eyelids.

There was howling in my dreams.