Bonnie and Clyde

Chapter Thirty- Nine: The Unknown

Darkness.

Complete and total, suffocating darkness.

Life was so strange at times, and so, so cruel. She'd been so desperate to go home, to his safety and familiarity, out in the open for too long, that she'd trusted the wrong person. She'd been so sure of that open friendliness, the warmth of those soft, baby blue eyes, perhaps the closest thing there was to resemble his older brother.

But the similarities ended there.

If the universe had sent a sign, a tiny whisper into her ear that morning that she would be in the hands of the ones she'd so desperately tried to avoid, she might never have left the safe confines of Dana's house ever again.

And through the terror that racked her frame, the pain of the zip ties which bound her wrists, too tight, all she could do was think about Clyde.

His last look, when she'd pushed past him, was burned into her mind, the regret and remorse, the self loathing and even hope that she might see it, there, too. That she would see it and forgive him, because he knew he'd done wrong.

She wished she could take it all back. Yes, he'd lied, but he blamed himself, hated himself for it enough for the both of them.  He didn't deserve that.

Her voice was raw from screaming, scratchy and husky. She had been dragged from the car and thrown to the ground, the night sky above her whirling. It was like a midnight tapestry dotted with stars, the impression of clouds only evident where blank patches of darkness blotted out those celestial lights.

The moon wasn't quite full, half obscured by rain filled clouds, quiet, complacent and it watched on, quiet and intense.

And Bonnie was praying, picking herself up, on her knees in the wet grass, though praying to the night sky seemed feeble, given that she'd been taken by day, and so easily, too.

One of them had kicked her, a booted foot sharp in her ribs, and she'd cried out, the force and pain of it sending her sprawling again.

There was another there, besides Jordan, roughly unkempt, broken nose and scars covering him. He was much more like Clyde than Jordan was, and she almost found their resemblance funny.

He dragged her back up and pushed her in front of him, forcing her toward a shed, an old, half crumbled building standing alone in an empty pasture, one which might have once housed cattle or sheep.

Now, it was empty, the breeze gusting through it, cold and forlorn.

A spotlight lit up the interior, and Bonnie was forced down into the chair that sat, waiting menacingly.

She'd walked with high dignity, fearless, refusing to let them see how she was falling apart, inside. But the inside of that shed made her falter, stumbling to a halt. She was shoved forward again, and the chair loomed closer and closer with each slow, shuffling step.

At the edge of the light, she caught a shadow bleeding out from the edges, tantalising, and there was Kyle, in all his repellent beauty.

She could feel his gaze on her like a glow, and felt her regal defiance, fragile as it was, crumble as he scrutinised her.

Anger overwhelmed her, and she revelled in it, succumbed to it, aloud it, because the anger was better that the pulse of panic that lay just beneath it, better than the turmoil inside her now.

He strode out into the spotlight, silhouetted, carried himself like he was the lord of some great dwelling, claiming it, possessing it like he did everything else, everything and everyone, including her.

The last person in the world she ever hoped to see.

Not the last, she decided, eyeing him, sensing the other two as they flanked him. That position was reserved entirely for them. 

Kyle she knew, and for all the familiarity was like a horrible weight crushing down on her, the terror of the unknown was much, much worse.

He strode slowly toward her in that gentle, perverted way of his, eyeing her like a ravenous wolf. And she felt exposed, knowing that the other two were just as likely to be staring at her just as hungrily as he.

Contrary to his hard stare, Kyle's touch was gentle in her cheek, a caress that was almost affectionate.

"Hey, Bonnie," he murmured, a tiny smile lifting the corner of his mouth, "I missed you."

He was so careful, the way he'd always been, gentle and loving, and it was those traits that had drawn her in in the first place.

Now, as he trailed his thumb over her bottom lip, it seemed so pervertedly disgusting to her, that he could be this way, with all that malice simmering just underneath.

"Want some privacy?" Jordan sneered, and the second man, the one she was still hurting from, grinned suggestively, eyes still drinking her in.

Kyle nodded, but his expression remained blank, unreadable while the others left.

Bonnie stared back, her teeth clenched, contempt burning like acid as she defiantly held his gaze.

The two left, and she ignored the look Jordan threw her way, not exactly smug, just curious, maybe even a little uncertain.

But then, he was gone, they both were, and she was alone with Kyle.