In this moment, Isabella had long crossed the point of no return. It was much too late to turn around, drop her head in submission and make her way back to the place she so-reluctantly called her home. Truth be told, she could go back and chances would be, he wouldn’t notice; he was probably still in the shower, rinsing off the stains he swore was her fault for not having moved out of the way fast enough. He might have been right, but, as said, it was much too late to dare step back home. The quicker she walked, the tighter her grip on the strap of the bag got and the more her left eye grew blurry in sight. Despite this, she kept on walking. She couldn’t turn back, in spite of every fiber in her body screaming that this was the worst decision she had yet to make. He’d find her, bring her back and give her exactly what she deserved for having broken one of his rules. The third rule, to be exact; not to leave night without letting him know where she was off to, in case he preferred to accompany her. Every passing car had her cowering toward the shadows, each and every headlight reflecting their luminosity against the asphalt had Bel’s heart slamming painfully against her chest out of fear that it was him. Every shadow rounding a corner had her lowering her head to the point one would miss the deep gash on her cheek and the swelling eye; the rest was expertly camouflaged with the help of a purple checkered scarf, her everyday jacket and a pair of newer jeans. For a reason unbeknownst to her, Isabella soon took off in a hasty run. She figured that if she could put more distance between herself and him, the safer she would be, the less of a trace she'd leave and perhaps if she ran far enough, she could run right out of his life. The notion that she was technically running away didn't occur to Bel, she considered the term 'running away' as a childish escape from a problem which could easily be fixed. In this case, the brunette was the predicament. The humiliation, the embarrassment, it was all her. Come to think of it, everything had always come down to her reason of being. Soon, her running steps grew into a steady walk once more, labored breathing a being the major cause. The woman felt her body throb with pain from all corners, pleading for rest; however, the option simply wasn’t a possibility in times like this one. An all too familiar vibrating in the back of her pocket made Isabella’s blood turn cold. Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. Regardless of her overprotective mind, her fingers clumsily reached behind and slipped the electronic device in her hand, the name sending shivers of sheer terror down her spine. Robby. God, when had been the last time she called him that? Was there even a Robby anymore? Her eyes stared through unclear sight at the lit up screen. If she stared long enough, would his hand reach through the monitor, grab her by the throat as he had done countless times and bring her back with him? The simple thought had her jump at the sound of a screeching motor roaring in the distance. It had to be him. The car pulling up around the corner had to be him. The person walking on the other side of the sidewalk had to be him. He was everywhere. She saw him everywhere. Everywhere but one place. Before guilt could gnaw deep enough in her bones and change her mind, Isabella dialed the one number she had purposely memorized. With how bad her hands were trembling, she had to redial twice before finally brining her cell phone to her ear, just now noticing blood deriving from her gash dropping onto the sidewalk. Immediately, she brought her jacket’s sleeve to her face in an attempt to meekly coagulate the wound as she waited – prayed – that he would answer. Then again, maybe she should hang up now; surely he was doing something better than answering her petty phone call she was growing uncertain of making. Sheepishness piled onto the mountain of emotions her body was containing, and the threat of breaking down on this very sidewalk grew more of a possibility which every breath. Already, she could feel a familiar pressure press behind her lids, stinging her eyes with poisoned intentions. Fear of detection had her slipping into one of the back alleys, close to a green garbage bin. Her sleeve still pressed against herself and hidden within the guilty shadows, a mere blink had salty tears streaming down the sides of her countenance as the dull ringing continued to mock the one plea for help she was quickly growing to regret.