Monday 10th June, 2019
Day 8.
I parked my Mum's car on Monday morning without thinking about it. Using muscle memory.
I hadn't really thought about anything since the night before. The sun shone hotly through the windshield; luck was not with me today. I'd look like a git walking around with a blue turtle neck and jeans on when everyone else was in t-shirts and skirts.
But I had good reason for what I was wearing today.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I left it. Last Friday, someone got hold of my number, and the consequences weren't pretty. Like rumours, phone numbers proved to spread like wildfire, too. The whole school sent in what they thought about me over the weekend.
Yet, that wasn't why I was stuck in my head, holding on by a thread. It wasn't even the fact that Julian tripped me up on Friday and walked away from me, crumpled on the floor. It was something worse.
I floated through school; a cold had gripped me, a cold feeling deep in my bones. Turning my blood to ice, slowing my mind. I couldn't hear the shouts at me in the corridor, couldn't see the hall around me in assembly, couldn't remember stopping at my locker to get books out.
Falling into my seat in first period, I pulled my books out and stared forward. After five minutes, the insults stopped and people left me alone.
In my head, I re-capped Sunday night. . .
I sat in the kitchen, leaving my phone upstairs to get away from it all. It was already dark outside, the white clock on the wall reading 10:15pm. My Mum and Dad were sat in the living room, fixated on the programme. Oblivious to the Hell I was trapped in.
Hungry, I hunted for a certain pasta I was craving, only to find there was none.
"Can I go out?" I asked. "I want to go to the shop."
"At this time?" Mum commented, turning to watch me.
"I'll take my car. Fifteen minutes."
Dad turned. "Julie, she was fine last time. Go, sweetheart."
"Thanks, Dad."
"Take your car. Straight there and back, okay?"
"Gotcha." I smiled, waited for them to turn around. I wasn't such an idiot to go without a weapon nowadays. Opening the drawer, I took out a knife and went to the door, flying to the car.
It seemed too late to see anyone from school, but nerves still fluttered inside my stomach. Looking in the rear-view mirror, I was a mess. My hair was dull, tied up in a messy ponytail. There were dark crescents hanging under my eyes.
Sighing, I pulled into the empty street.
Going to the store where I got the tapes, I was there in ten minutes, parking on the curb. It was the only building on the street, white in the darkness. I rushed inside.
Finding the food aisle, I got pasta and some other ingredients before going to pay. I recognised the young blond boy from last time; his eyes widened in realisation as he saw me.
"Tape girl?" He asked, scanning my things.
"That's me."
"You don't look so hot." He commented, eyeing me.
Was I ever hot in the first place? Laughing, I said "thanks".
"Sure." He bagged it all and handed it over.
Ignoring his comment, I walked to the car quickly. The air was chilly tonight, and my pink t-shirt really wasn't ideal.
Leaping inside, I started it up and turned around.
It was halfway home that the noise began. A low, groaning sound ripping through the car. Alarmed, I slowed down and saw the speedometer fall to nothing; the petrol too.
I steered it to the edge of the road just in time for it to die. "Ugh!" I cried in frustration. "You had to do this now? I need to get home!"
Patting my pockets, I realised my phone was upstairs in my room.
"Shit," I cursed. Looking around, I'd conveniently stopped where there were no houses, just office buildings that were dark now. Sighing to mask the fear, I grabbed the shopping bag and stepped out, locking it.
Then, freezing cold, I started to walk. It wasn't too far to get home, but there was a voice in my head telling me to wait. To not stray any further.
But it was already 10:40pm. Nothing was going to happen.
That was my mantra. I repeated it as I walked, paying no mind to the shady alleys I passed, pushing back memories they brought.
A couple of minutes later, I felt a strange pressure on me. Turning, the road was empty. I could see my yellow Beetle at the very end. A distant dream.
Huffing, I carried on walking, but the feeling never left.
It wasn't until a minute later that I heard it; the footsteps. Turning, my heart pounded, but there was no one there. An uneasy feeling stirred inside me, breaths picking up.
I felt the knife stuck in my waistband and picked up the pace.
The footsteps drew closer - I whipped around, only to freeze.
I knew the man behind me. A memory flashed through my mind - someone emerging from the forest; red-mouthed, pale-faced.
The same man was behind me now, only a couple of metres away.
I turned back around, faced the street ahead. His eyes had looked normal, but what did that even mean?
Fast-walking now, I tried to calm my racing heart. To think straight.
When I heard the footsteps quicken, I looked behind to see him even closer than before. Our eyes met, and he smiled. . .
"Shit," I gasped, and suddenly I was running. I couldn't hear anything over the rushing in my ears.
That's why I didn't see it coming. After a few seconds of sprinting, something yanked my hair. It was so short, he lost grip, and I slipped away.
A scream tore from my throat, shrill and afraid, but a white hand clapped over my mouth in time to stifle it. "Stop," a voice hissed in my ear, Russian accent thick.
Terror gripped me, and I remembered the last time this happened. My jaw opened, and I bit down on his hand. Blood flooded my mouth, choking me. So bitter.
Kicking around, I thrashed against him, but he had my hands bound as he dragged me into an alley, hands metal vices. My glasses fell, and the world was blurry.
I was going crazy with scenarios in my head. Screaming was useless, but I still tried.
"Stop." The man ordered, and pushed me to the floor. Wooden fences were on either side, a lamppost in the centre of the alley where I sat in a pool of white light.
Shaking, I looked up at him. His eyes were completely black, but somehow I knew he was staring at me.
"L-let me g-go." I stuttered.
"I can't do that."
"W-why not?" I scrambled onto my knees. "W-what do y-you want?"
A wide, chilling grin stretched across his face. It was in shadow, white light on his bald head. My eyes scanned for exits, but this man was big and muscly. I was sure it wouldn't take much to block me.
"I want you." He hissed, and when his mouth opened again, the teeth were pointed and razor-sharp.
I screamed, utterly terrified.
"Stop that!"
Blindingly fast, he was over me, hand around my throat. I couldn't track his movements; they were blurs.
"S-s-s. . ." I tried to speak, but he was lifting me up by my throat. His fingers were as tight as ropes, the air cut off easily. I clawed at his hands, but they were stuck.
I looked down at him as pain burst behind my eyes. "I told you not to scream."
I could feel the air running out, the burn starting in my lungs. My feet were off the ground, head against the fence.
In his all-black eyes, I could see my reflection, face going blue. And in that moment, I thought that must have been what it was like for Julian, to see that struggle in my face. It surprised me briefly, that he was the first person to come to mind.
But no one was saving me now.
The fingers tightened around my neck as black dots danced around my vision. Eyes rolling into the back of my head, a thought flashed in my oxygen-starved mind.
With what energy I had left, my hand reached behind my back, feeling for the hard object in my waistband.
I couldn't see as I tugged it out and blindly stabbed forward. Bile rose inside me as it struck home, and I pushed until I felt the rough material of his jumper around the handle, hard flesh beneath.
The hands released me. I fell, crumpled on the floor. Blood rushed painfully to my head and I gasped, desperate for air.
Opening my eyes, the large man - was he even a man? - was curled over, and to my utter horror, slowly pulling the knife out of his chest.
Crying out, I lurched to my feet, seeing stars.
"Get. . . back here. . ." Came a strained voice, and a hand wrapped around my ankle, yanking.
I fell to the floor hard. Scrambling away, I watched as he stopped pulling out the knife and crawled toward me.
I was fast, but not fast enough. His clawed hands raked down my shin, tearing through denim and into skin like nails.
I screamed in agony, and pulled my leg out of his grip. Then, ignoring the shouts of protest from behind, I limped away.
Picking up my glasses and the shopping bag at the mouth of the alley simultaneously, I ran and left whatever had fallen out.
By the time I got home, my eyes were dry after sobbing, jean leg soaked with blood, and I was pretty certain my heart was about to jump out of my throat.
"I'm back," I said quietly to my parents.
"Why are you late?" Dad called over.
"Car broke down." I was fighting to keep it together.
"Okay, sweetie," he said, not turning. "I'll call a tow truck. Take your mother's car tomorrow."
"Okay." I murmured. None of them looked as I dragged my leg up the stairs.