Trigger Warning: There is a violent scene at the end of this chapter, and non-graphic mentions of sexual assault. Please be mindful and look after yourself <3
The gap was only just big enough for you to fit your frame through, but you made it work. Mortal terror made the rough chafing of brick and metal against your sides worth it. After a minute long struggle, you were tumbling to the ground on the other side of the wall. Thankfully, the ground consisted of grass and not concrete. You still fell on your side though, elbow taking the brunt of the fall. It hurt like a bitch, the impact knocking the wind out of you. The splintered end of a sharp stick prodded harshly into the squishy part of your side, drawing blood. You grunted as you levered it out of your flesh. There was now a hole in your newly bloodstained shirt, great.
Clambering to your feet, you gulped down the fresh springtime air. It was only warmish right now, but you knew that the day would heat up and you'd be sweltering by the afternoon - summer was right around the corner, after all. You got your bearings, you had landed in the park behind the library. All you knew right now was that you had to get off campus, in the opposite direction from whence you came. Straight ahead it was, then.
You pondered your next move as you power walked down the path ahead. You didn't have enough money for a hotel, and your street smarts were lacking. Going to crash on the couch of a friend would endanger whoever you chose, and you refused to do that. You didn't know the location of any homeless shelters in the area, and you couldn't go to any sort of authority. It looked like your best bet, when night fell, would be to find some secluded hideout in the concrete jungle around you and pray you survived to the end of the night. You didn't know what the man would do to you if he found you - was making a break for it going to piss him off? A part of you hoped so. Fuck that guy.
Nightfall was still hours away, though - it was barely nine thirty in the morning, though the day felt like it had already dragged on for a million hours longer. For now, wandering around a mall or someplace big and sheltered would be both entertaining and keep you in public. As long as you kept moving, right?
The subway was only a block away from the edge of campus. After only fifteen minutes of a light jog, you were bouncing down the stairs below the street. It wasn't as crowded as peak hour, but there were plenty of people milling around. You felt like you were going mad, but none of them spared you a second glance.
Psychology 101: even if you had been in more obvious distress, it was unlikely that help would come your way in a public space such as this one. Social conformity - a victim's worst friend. You had done a social experiment on the topic a few months ago for a class - the results were disappointing at best. You were truly on your own, relying on the kindness of random strangers almost never panned out favourably.
The neon lights in the subway stations of this city had always grossed you out. If someone was going to be axe murdered anywhere in the world, it would be in these tunnels. Not a very reassuring thought, considering you were on the run. You made your way toward one of the directories, scanning the table for the first train that could take you to a far away district. There appeared to be one coming in eight minutes, you could work with that. You rushed to the platform right away, unable to keep yourself still for longer than you had to be.
The wait was antagonising. You scanned the face of every passerby, trusting no-one. None of them looked back at you with any malice or even an ounce of interest. None of them noticed the panic in your eyes or the blood on your shirt - an innocent injury with a sinister cause.
After nine minutes of fleeting paranoia, your desired train came to a halt in front of you and the unaware commuters with a deafening screech. You beelined for the sliding doors as fast as your legs could carry you. In your haste, you didn't mind the gap; tumbling forward as the toe of your left sneaker got caught on the edge of the train's floor. Pain shot through your ankle as you hit the filthy floor, tits first. You let out a screech as you tried to wrench your foot out of the gap, writhing around like a giant, panicked worm on the train floor. The passengers around you only stopped and stared, one even shimmied onto the train by sidestepping you. Dick.
After an indecent struggle, you finally managed to wriggle your way beyond the sliding doors just as they shut. Your ankle was throbbing, definitely twisted, and one look at the faces of the people above you told you that you were simply some zoo animal to be guffawed at. They probably all thought you were on crack, the assholes. You thought you'd contained yourself quite well, barely swearing - as if they'd never stubbed a toe and had a screaming fit before.
After absorbing the impact from falling on your front twice in the span of half an hour, your elbow was jarred and aching. Not a good morning for the joints. You limped your way to a vacant seat, people beginning to turn their heads when they realised the show was over. You slumped in the seat, no longer giving a fuck about their already ruined opinions of you.
The humiliation of the whole ordeal was making you so fucking angry. Not just the fall, but also what you had seen on the computer back at the library. The way the masked man had been taunting you, with his coded words (at least, the ones you had managed to decipher), and the creepy ass fucking videos. The fact that he had not only waltzed right in through the front door, which in hindsight you now realised you had skipped over when you checked the locks last night, but he had walked right past you while you slept. So close that, had you been awake, you could have stuck a leg out and tripped his stupid ass.
If only.
—
Forty minutes you spent on that train, thoughts meandering in circles. You ended up at the final stop, in the heart of a district whose name you had never cared to take note of before. The important part was that it was as far as you could get from your own home, while remaining within the city limits.
You stumbled up into an unfamiliar street, lined with commercial stores. There was an entrance to a crowded looking mall across the street, perfect for your needs. You made your miserable way across the pedestrian crossing to the open doors. You were moving like a slug, cradling your injured elbow in one hand and only lightly stepping on your left foot, ankle tender and swollen. A driver honked repeatedly at you for taking too long to cross. God, why were people such assholes today?
The air conditioning was too cold in the mall, sending goosebumps up both your arms. The mall was smaller than you had expected, three levels with a handful of stores in each from the look of the directory. It wouldn't be wise to stay here for more than a few hours; you'd need to keep moving by nightfall, at the very latest. You still didn't know where you were going to go in the long run, but you'd work it out. You always did, somehow.
For now, though, you stopped to think about what you'd actually need. It was cold, so another layer was probably necessary. You weren't much of a survivalist, but you figured that if there was any chance that you'd be spending the night on a park bench, you'd need something to keep you warm.
So, you hobbled your way over to a cheap clothing store by the entrance, the kind of greedy fast fashion that mostly catered to broke and desperate teens. You weren't a teen any longer, but you were about to be broke and you were very desperate, by most accounts.
The fifteen year old girl behind the counter looked you up and down disgustedly as you limped into the store. You understood that working retail wasn't fun and games, but she really didn't make any attempt to hide her distaste for you. Ugh, grow up.
You trudged over to a rack of clothes, checking the price tag of the first sweatshirt you laid your eyes on. Twenty five dollars - less than ideal, but it'd have to do. The colour was dark (f/c), muted and unassuming. The shirt you had worn to the library today was a distinctive light green - hopefully the switch in colours would camouflage you tonight, and if you were discovered (though you were determined not to be), the man would have a harder time identifying you.
You bought the sweatshirt, glaring indignantly back at the cashier as she met your gaze patronisingly over the counter. You were not having it today. Then, you went in search of the drugstore once you had the new item on. You had purposefully bought it a few sizes too big, so it fell down to your mid thigh and disguised most of your frame.
It didn't take you long to find the drugstore, located on the ground floor. You knew you needed some sort of strapping tape to help keep your ankle steady, or you wouldn't stand a chance if it came down to a chase.
Now that you thought about it, you doubted the man just took public transport. The thought of the masked fuck sitting on a crowded, stinky bus almost brought a smile to your face as you perused the aisles of the drug store. No, he probably had a car - how else would he have made it from Walmart back to your home last night? True, you and Harry had sat in that cafe eating cereal for a while - but you still thought it unlikely that he was getting around any other way. That meant that, for tonight, you should avoid empty streets as much as possible, stick to parks and nature strips. Were you being overly careful? Quite probably - but you weren't taking any chances.
The cheapest tape you were able to find was ten dollars. You picked up a packet of band-aids, too, paying wordlessly and making your way to the closest bathroom.
You stared yourself down in the mirror, wide-eyed and frazzled. There was dirt in your hair and on your jaw from your tumble out the window, and your eyes were bloodshot and puffy, but aside from that you could've looked far worse. You pulled your hair back from your face, running a still-quivering hand through your locks.
Then, you grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser and hoisted up the layers of clothing around your torso, wiping blood and dirt from the cut under your rib cage. Though the wound was small, there was a lot more blood than you had expected - okay, maybe the bitchy cashier from the store did have a point. You patched yourself up with two band-aids, then did the same for the grazes on your elbows. Finally, you sat on one of the toilet seats and messily strapped your ankle up.
The times you had sprained something in the past, Harry or one of your parents had done this part. You were never super athletic or injury-prone, after all. You couldn't get as much pressure as you wanted, and you didn't know where on your leg you were meant to start or finish the tape. By the time you were done, you had used almost half the roll. It looked more like you were trying to mummify your own leg than anything. Good enough, you put your sneakers back on.
—
It's true what they say, that the more you dread something the faster it arrives. After you sloppily patched yourself up, the next few hours passed by in an anxious blur. You were milling around, just waiting for night to fall as much as you were dreading it. You could have left the tiny mall if you really wanted to, but in all honesty you were scared of what was waiting for you on the other side of these walls.
At what you guessed was around five p.m., you knew you couldn't put your inevitable departure off any longer. You had been sitting on a bench outside an ice cream place for the last three hours, resting your ankle and falling into a thought spiral of doom and gloom. You even fell asleep at one point, but only for twenty odd minutes (at least, that was how long it felt to you). A while beforehand, you had bought yourself lunch from the sorry excuse for a food court; you were almost out of money now.
You pushed yourself up from your spot after much mental procrastination. Now or never - you needed to stay on the move and find somewhere to sleep. Hopefully, without a phone, your stalker was having a hard time keeping tabs on you as it was. You hoped he had been pulling his hair out all day.
The exit was nearby. You were glad for the overpriced sweatshirt as you stepped out into the golden afternoon light - the temperature was finally starting to drop. You had come out through a different door to the one you entered, the street before you now was a lot quieter than the one on the other side of the building.
Sweet music graced your ears as your eyes landed on a busker. She looked not much older than you, and a lot worse for wear; bruises littered her cheeks and and collarbone, and the hands strumming her guitar were far too bony. You gave her the rest of your money, because she looked like she needed it and you fucking could. It felt nice to do something out of kindness rather than desperation, for once today. She smiled sweetly at you as you handed her the cash, and your heart just about broke.
Still, you pressed on. Your earlier thoughts in mind, you avoided the streets and began to walk along the paths between the commercial buildings in the hopes they would thin out to residential areas and parks. Your prayers were answered after a while; as the sky began to fade into a quaint display of pink and orange, you found yourself limping (though considerably faster than this morning) through a series of paved paths between townhouses.
The area wasn't an inviting one, a lot of the windows were boarded up, but you hadn't seen more than one pedestrian in the last half hour. Thank God for that, if you saw a hooded man out here all by yourself you'd probably lose your mind. You really wished you could call Harry right now, just to feel a little safer. He had probably tried calling you a few times by now. His poor soul would be getting nervous as night fell, you knew, but there wasn't anything you could do about it now. You felt guilty for running with no warning, but his life was potentially in danger if you stayed. Still, you missed the dude.
To be honest, by now the whole running-away-and-jumping-out-a-window thing was starting to feel irrational. Emotional exhaustion and disorientation was setting in, all you wanted right now was your familiar bed. You wondered what would have happened if you had gone to class anyway this morning, ignoring the masked man like the worthless flea that you were sure he was. No, (y/n). Don't be stupid. He pulled a gun on your brother.
You were snapped out of your thoughts by an obnoxious whistle, chills running down your spine at the sound.
"Hey, chickaaaaa! What's your name?"
Heavy footsteps from the alleyway to your right. Uh-oh.
You didn't look, increasing your pace. You were suddenly aware of how quickly the sky had blackened, you guessed it would be completely dark in less than ten minutes.
"Whoaaaa, nice ass!"
He was definitely drunk. You rolled your eyes involuntarily - the dickhead couldn't even see your ass, your new sweatshirt was too long. Like most girls, you had been encountering men like these since you were twelve. That didn't make this encounter any less fucking mortifying. What were you gonna do, call the police?
"Hey, slut! I'm fucking talking to you!"
The footsteps increased in pace. You hoped the perv was so drunk he'd randomly topple over, but by the sounds of things behind you, that wasn't going to happen. Shit.
You picked up your own pace, refusing to turn around. You winced as your badly strapped ankle screamed in protest, pain tying your stomach in knots. You probably recreated the injury as you began to jog, but it seemed to be the lesser evil right now.
His footsteps increased with yours. Your heart began to pound as the slimy man drew closer. You had no keys, no pepper spray, nothing to defend yourself with. Idiot! Why hadn't you thought to grab a weapon?
You gasped as a chunky foot landed on the back of your left sneaker, pain ripping through your ankle as you hurtled towards the ground for the third time today. You twisted around, injured foot held down to the pavement by the man's own. You landed badly on your side, trying to catch yourself with your right arm.
A loud crack. You screamed as agonising heat coursed down your lower arm. You wriggled on the ground, trying to leverage your own weight off of the broken bone and get away from the assailant who had just flat-tired you, causing a double-whammy of injuries.
Your foot slipped out of your sneaker, barely pushing yourself up in time as the sleazy man made a grab for your sweatshirt. You had to get away, had to run. The only problem was, your ankle was having none of it. Finally caving, a brief glance over your shoulder told you that he was middle aged, short, and built like a miniature Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson. Brilliant.
He was on you in no time, grabbing you by the back of your clothing and chucking you against the jagged fence to your right. You felt splinters dig into your back, a trickle of hot blood. Your ankle didn't quite snap at the impact, but gave out as you desperately tried to steady yourself. You toppled lopsidedly to the grass on the side of the pavement, unable to catch your own torso this time. You accidentally whacked your head against one side of the fence, hard enough that your ears began to ring. This beefy dickhead hardly had to do anything, your own body seemed to be betraying you today. You should have taken Harry up on his offers of a gym discount.
"Now look here, bitch-"
You screamed at the top of your lungs, voice box straining, as you felt the man's hands on your body. No, no, no. Anything but this. Someone had to have heard you screaming, right? Looked out their window and saw him push you? Someone was coming to save you, anyone, they had to be.
BANG!
You wheezed as a heavy weight fell on top of your already immobilised form, squishing your lungs as you spluttered pathetically. You couldn't breathe. Then, the sound of a metallic grunt as the weight was rolled off of you. As panicked as you were, you couldn't see beyond the hot tears clouding your vision, couldn't roll yourself over and off of your mangled arm.
Everything had gone eerily silent all at once, beyond your heaving sobs. Then, a black boot came into your view. You strained your neck, red faced and wheezing, as you looked up.
Red eyes glared back into your traumatised soul. Yellow hoodie speckled lightly with cobwebs of blood, gun in one hand - it glinted in the light of a streetlamp, just as it had in the first ever video. In his other hand, your sparkly (f/c) phone case.
The man squatted slowly down in front of you, looming ominously in the darkness. His frowning mask tilted to one side.
One final tear rolled down your cheek as the hand holding the gun came up, then slammed back down into the side of your head.
Pain. Everything went black.