Page 29 of Thorns Laced In Blood

Bear lay on the floor, his button eyes fixed on me.

“Move or die,” he seemed to say, but that could be the pills.

I carefully slithered off the bed, my bare stomach and breasts scraping against the mattress edge. The pain from the knife was sharp and grounding. I paused, but Master's breathing didn't change.

Death had always hovered over me, a breath against the back of my neck, but tonight, I would outrun it.

Fuck him. Fuck my mother. Fuck the years I’d spent counting cracks in the walls like they were stars.

I grabbed Bear, the knife, and the shirt that reeked of him, the one he’d left crumpled on the table like a second skin. The fabric slithered against my arms as I pulled it on, the sleeves swallowing my hands whole.

The door groaned as I pressed against it, my fingers memorising the exact pressure point where the hinges stayed silent. For seven years, this door had been my world. Now, it was nothing. It was simply wood and metal, but I never wanted tohear the lock click again. I paused before it opened, not knowing what to expect once it opened.

I left the door ajar so there would be no sound, and I bolted up the stairs, taking care not to slap my feet against the stone staircase. There was another door, but when I tried the handle, it opened.

I was free.

The garage was a tomb of shadows and oil stains. Moonlight bled through the grimy windows, painting the concrete in streaks of silver. My bare feet slapped against the cold floor, sending echoes bouncing off the walls.

Too loud. Too loud. Fuck.Too loud. Too loud.

Another door, and then there was real air. I sucked it in, flooding my lungs and senses with the sharp pine and damp earth scent. The dark sky yawned above me, endless and uncaring. The clouds slithered across the moon, but it was enough. Enough to see the outline of the main house, its windows dark. Enough to run.

I didn’t look back, but I cursed the devil. I wasn’t worthy to reside beneath his home. He had me in an outbuilding, locked away to use and abuse. I wasn’t sure if it was hallucinations, drugs or my dad in the stars watching over me as I found the courage, but I moved.

Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him.

With each movement, that was my mantra. The rage and adrenaline forced me to run as fast as I could, with twigs biting into my feet and stones tearing at my soles. The pain was beautiful, and I felt alive. Each step sent fire up my legs, but I welcomed it. The wall loomed ahead, its bricks rough under my palms as I hauled myself over. For the first time in years, I moved.

That’s when I heard it. A dull thud of a door slamming.

A voice, raw with rage, splitting the night. “I’m going to fucking kill you, he howled.

I ran faster.

Fuck him.

???

My legs burned, my lungs screaming for air as I crashed through the undergrowth. The knife was slick in my grip, the handle biting into my palm like a living thing. I couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when his voice slithered through the trees, closer with every second.

“I see you, doll,” he taunted, trying to get under my skin.

The flashlight beam cut through the darkness, painting the forest in jagged stripes of light and shadow. I ducked behind a thick oak, pressing my back against the bark. My breath came in ragged gasps, my heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it.

Crack.

A branch snapped under my foot. The sound was a gunshot in the silence.

His laughter was a blade against my spine. “I’m going to fucking amputate your feet. You won’t be able to run on stumps, you fucking cunt,” he bellowed with fury vibrating in his voice.

His footsteps thundered behind me, closer, but I ran for my life.

The trees blurred. My bare feet continued to tear against roots and rocks, but the pain was nothing compared to the terrorclawing up my throat. He was gaining. I could feel him, his breath hot on my neck, his fingers itching to drag me back.

The knife trembled in my hand.

I wouldn’t go back. I couldn’t.

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