reвυιldιng тнe вяσкєи

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Sixx, Jan 10, 2014.

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  1. 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.


    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.
    • Love Love x 1
  2. How unexpected some circumstances could be.

    The last thing that the young man would have expected that night was such a sudden, and seemingly random phone call from one of the closest friends he had. The empty time Zachary's night had to offer would be quickly, ever so abruptly filled with the urgency he would surely feel dwelling in his stomach when he would pick up that phone and hear the voice of the young woman he kept himself so close to. But despite these circumstances creeping up on him before he could know it, Zachary's night had been rather meaningless, stark of activity.

    He had spent a good deal of time just meandering around his home, trying to think of some type of activity to do. The indecisiveness was murderous to his easily shiftable thoughts and moods. He would enter the kitchen, only to change his mind and go into his bedroom, only to wander back out into the living room in doubtfulness, and back again in a vicious cycle of unsuccessful decision-making. He had never been all that fantastic at filling up opened time slots with his hobbies, since what he was feeling up to doing constantly was squirming around and moving from location to location in his mind, but tonight was just dreadful for him. All the while, he'd often catch the sight of his little Nyxie kitten's gaze dancing with his wandering figure in silent curiosity. He felt like a child on a night without schoolwork or responsibility, which was an odd comparison on his part, yet an accurate one all the same.

    After circulating around his apartment for a full half hour in his plight, he finally felt his frustrated mind give way and let himself do a deep sigh, relieving him of his indecisiveness as he finally wandered back into the living room and allowed himself to flop onto his couch wearily. His arms rested limply by his sides, his thick black hair was splayed along the back couch cushions, his shadowed eyes were closed and tilted towards the ceiling. A black phone rested on the mahogany coffee table a couple of feet from his position. If only you weren't such a horrible person at decision-making, Zachary. If only, if only . . .

    He let his chest rise and fall with another sigh. Silence seemed to fill the room, leaving Zachary in his own company as he scrolled mindlessly through his day. Woke up, went to work, came home . . . no, go into more detail, his mind urged as he seemed to find something to occupy himself. There was a particularly rude customer that day that demanded very specific brands of supplies the shop obviously did not have, and no matter what he said to attempt to convince her that the shop's brands were higher quality and generally better, she would continue her ranting and cut him off. He eventually had to call in the manager in fear he'd lose his cool, and was quite relieved that he had someone to pass on his trouble to. Everyone else seemed pretty normal, as far as customers went. That one Anastasia girl returned to buy more pencils and ink. She had come into the shop so many times, he had eventually gotten a name from her and seemed to remember it.

    All while his mind began trailing off into daydreams, the silence continued remaining still and peaceful in the living room. His thoughts were subtly interrupted by the small mew from below, his kitten at his feet, hopping and scrambling up onto the couch to place herself next to his leg lazily.
    Everything was, for the most part, calm as the two settled into their absent-minded, lazy moods and quelled their needs for activity with rest.

    . . .

    That is, until he heard the odd sound coming from the table in front of him.

    His eyes opened slowly. His head, laid back against the cushions of the couch, tilted forward inquisitively. His soundless curiosity was heightened upon seeing the screen of his phone lit, and watching it vibrate against the smooth surface of his coffee table. Hm. Not many called him at the late hour that it was. He carefully leaned up and narrowed his eyes at his cell phone as he reached out one of his hands from his sides to grab it from it's spot, bringing it closer to his face in order to read the caller ID properly.

    Zachary's expression remained in it's suspicious state for only a mere second more before it suddenly shifted into a look of surprise. It was Isabella. Though her caller ID was it's usual nickname that he enjoyed calling her - Bel.

    One eyebrow rose in a questioning manner. Why was she calling so randomly? Normally, she had somewhat of a more orderly set of times in which she called. He had barely, if not ever gotten a phone call at a late hour like this was taking place in.

    Immediately, he felt his instinctive fear-for-the-worst trait kick in, causing his muscles to lock and his body to freeze up. Maybe this wasn't just some urge to chat. It couldn't be; Bel never called unless she thought he'd want to talk, which was, in truth, always a good time - but she wouldn't think that. He knew her better than anyone, and this wasn't normal. He didn't even know why he suddenly felt a bought of anxiety start twisting his stomach. Maybe it was a premonition, maybe it was a coincidence, maybe it was just how he was.

    But for whatever reason, Zachary swallowed and pushed the button on his screen to answer, bringing the cell phone up to his ear as he pushed up from the couch with a stiffness to his movements. He let himself pause for a small beat before finding his voice and speaking into the phone with a questioning tone:

    " . . . Bel? What's up, i-is there something you need?"

    Offering his efforts was a normal thing for Zachary to do, and on a casual basis, she'd most likely either accept the offer to vent for comfort or just chat. But this phrase held the sliver of anxiety that his mind doubted was even necessary to be feeling as he waited for a response from her on the other end of the line.
    • Love Love x 1
  3. One couldn’t deny the bitter cold residing close to the ground on this particular night, not to mention the bone-chilling winds gasping plastic bags through the air. The moon’s rays were hardly visible, no thanks to the thick clouds which indicated a rather soggy day tomorrow, and the artificial lightings making the entire city glow from a distance. It was odd to think that somewhere in this very city, a couple had said their vows, multiple women were experiencing the miracle of life, and others slept cold on the cement. Isabella? Crouched beside a large garbage bin, helplessly laying her life out on the line for a simply phone call she oughtn’t to be making.

    Instinctively removing her sleeve for her cheek, she cringed upon witness the dark crimson seep into the fabric. Disliking the cold nipping at her open wound, she brought her cover over her wound and left it there, watching her frozen breath disappear beneath the streetlight’s glow. Perhaps Zachary wasn’t going to answer, which wouldn’t come as a surprise, not at all. The dreaded notion of possibly waking him up had the guilt not only gnaw from the inside out, but weigh down on her shoulders.

    When the silence of a picked up line echoed in her eardrum, her heart skipped a beat. Then his voice spoke over the receiver, and an immediate sense of calm washed through her. He didn’t sound angry, but she knew all too well how easy it was for someone to pretend over the phone, but this was Zachary; he wasn’t that type of man. He was a good man. A man she felt that keeping around was extremely selfish on her part. There were better humans to associate with than herself, and yet, here she was, hardly able to utter a single word.

    “I. . . I’m sorry. I-I shouldn’t have called. I-”

    Her voice quivered heavily, almost raspy from the still fear and recent shame; all of this had been a terrible idea. What was she supposed to say? Why had she called without knowing what it was she wanted to tell him? The abundance of mixed emotions and newfound stress of having to communicate where she was and why caused her to break. A soft sob escaped her lips, her eyes shut tightly as her small frame trembled in a failing attempt to keep herself together. What to say? What to do? How to talk? How to stop crying? How? Why? “I’m sorry.” She found herself murmuring a few times into the phone between distressing weeps.

    She quickly came to realize that deep intakes of air provoked a sharp pain in the lungs; something she grew fearful of. Broken rib? Damaged lung? Adrenaline? Something else? Isabella sniffled, making one final, desperate, attempt to pick herself up in order to manage speaking a coherent sentence. One phrase that would explain everything he perhaps already knew, perhaps he didn’t. She sighed unsteadily, figuring that if worst came to worst, right here didn’t seem like the most horrible of places to spend a night or two.

    “I. . . I can’t go back.” The intonations were wired with a broken, sobbing voice. “ I just can’t. He. . .a-and I. . .” The inbuilt beep in her phone which indicated a caller on another line made her stop even her breathing for a few seconds. She didn’t have to look to know. She just knew, simple as that. It grew to be something she referred to as a sixth sense.

    Finally, her body refused to keep her crouched on her feet, and instead leaned against the metal garbage bin and fell on the asphalt. A small wave of relief temporarily soothed her legs as she sat against the brick wall, one hand covering her wound and the other gripping the phone as if her life depended on it. The beeping stopped, but only resumed seconds after; images of an enraged Rob tearing the streets in search of her had Bel in a weak state of fear paralysis.

    What if he found her?
  4. There was silence on the other end as Zachary waited in a tense silence that seemed to shift the calm of the quiet drastically, making his heart feel heavy with the emotion. After a few seconds of complete quiet, he blinked when he heard her voice suddenly come through. Though the young man should have felt relieved to hear her voice, he felt something much, much different as he listened to the trembling tone, her stammering voice as she attempted to speak, the raspy texture. She stammered out that she shouldn't have called, and cut herself off near the end. All the while, Zachary's horror felt it's way through his body. It froze him into silence. It traveled to his hands and made them start to shake. It made it's way to his mind and slowly took it over with a chilling cold that shot down into his heart.

    He had always feared that her Robert would take it too far.

    And just as suddenly, he blinked again, slowly, and snapped back into the moment. He heard a soft sob come from the other end that gripped his heart and shifted around the icicles pierced through it painfully. His head started to swivel around quickly. Why was he just standing here? What was he even doing? An instinct suddenly kicked in, one he could have sworn he had never felt before. A mix of desperation and vigilance. One hand ran through his hair as his mind went from stopped dead to hundreds of miles an hour.

    Nyxie stared at him confusedly as he suddenly started to tear through his house looking for his car keys, listening closely to the phone in his trembling hand. She spoke again as he went, her tone stuttering and verging towards sobs more closely than before. It pained him hearing her cry. It truly did. He burst into his bedroom and started going through things around it, speaking through again once she had cut herself off once more, "Don't go anywhere. I'm coming, Bel, I'm getting my car keys. J-just stay where you are - and don't hang up, stay on the line with me." His breathing was accelerating with his heart as he suddenly turned around and caught a familiar shape on his bedside table. With a deep exhale, he strode quickly over and snatched them from their spot, then proceeding to storm out and call to his kitten, "Don't cause trouble, Nyxie!"

    As he flung open his door, he was greeted with a chilling burst of cold air. It definitely was not safe with Bel being out on this night on her own. And if the Robert guy knew she had left, he'd probably be looking for her. That thought alone suddenly pushed aside the intense anxiety to make room for a bought of what he classified to be anger. How dare he? How dare he would look for her after what he had done to her? How dare he do anything like that to Isabella? The anger pushed him forward, the anxiety coming to help, and he let the door shut with a tremble of it's frame. He locked it, then proceeded to take the stairs down three steps at a time down onto the concrete. He scanned the parking lot for his car, and was relieved to see the glint of a black pick-up amongst the cars.

    "It's okay, Bel, don't cry. I'm coming to help you." He spoke with a tone of promise lined with his inner anger with the demon that hurt her as he started his way to his truck.

    He went at a run and unlocked the truck as he went, practically flinging the door open and jumping inside. He slammed the door shut and slipped the keys into the ignition as he started the truck up with a roar of the engine, and backed from his spot before weaving out of the lot and getting onto the road. And that's when he went as fast as he could on the gas, heading towards the area in which Bel lived out of memory. As he did, he said in a concentrated tone of voice, "Okay, I need you to tell me where you are, alright? I'm coming to pick you up." He narrowed his eyes as a stop light slowed him. Dammit, hurry, his mind thought in irritation. He was determined to get wherever she was before that monster could, and the environment seemed intent on slowing him down. He huffed frustratedly.
  5. It was as if her mind had blocked out what had happened back in the apartment, and her body was only reacting due to the adrenaline pulsing through her veins. She could hardly recall the last five minutes in the current state she was in. It was almost as if her legs had already known that running was their best bet and that hiding was what she needed to do. If she were to calm down, she knew everything would come back to her and things would feel worse.

    It was as if her mind had blocked out what had happened back in the apartment, and her body was only reacting due to the adrenaline pulsing through her veins. She could hardly recall the last five minutes in the current state she was in. It was almost as if her legs had already known that running was their best bet and that hiding was what she needed to do. If she were to calm down, she knew everything would come back to her and things would be worse than they were now, if such were even possible. Already now, she could feel the rush of energy begin to fade, filling her with immediate regret about having left.

    How stupid of a decision it had been. He already knew she wasn’t in the apartment anymore, he was probably walking around. She could picture him all too clearly; dark hair, brown, angry eyes glaring everywhere, his scruff making him seem older than he was. He was supposed to wear glasses, but he only wore them when it had been just her in the same room. She wondered if he was wearing the same shirt, or had he changed after his shower? But above all, Isabella wondered if he was sorry. Maybe . . . just maybe he was calling to say he was sorry, that he loved her and hadn’t meant to make her bleed. Maybe he was shedding tears, just like she was. Maybe he was afraid of losing her like she was afraid of losing herself. Maybe…

    Maybe you should stop with the maybes and listen. The rationalized part of her mind urged upon realizing that Zachary’s voice had broken through the receiver. His voice urging her to remain where she was, that he was coming to get her. What? No. No, no, no. He couldn’t come and get her. He shouldn’t have to. God, what an idiot she had been thinking that he wouldn’t have tried to pull a stunt like this one. Zachary was too much of a good man not to do something like that. Though what got to her was how quick he was speaking, almost frantic, and if she listened close enough, she could hear the sound his footsteps walking through his apartment.

    “Zachary . . . you shouldn’t.” She managed to tell him quietly, her gaze focused on a nearby shadow dancing against the wall opposite of her, removing her sleeve from her cheek and using the fabric on her forearm to brush a few tears away. This time, she used her fingers to gently feel around the gash, wondering how it looked because the last she had dared a look in the mirror had been at least three days ago. She deliberately avoided any reflective surfaces, in fear of catching the glance of the stranger always looking back at her. Hearing him warn Nyxie to be good was yet another trigger of calming familiarity. Both the words and his voice unknowingly began to stabilize her hands, the storm inside of her slowly withering into a pile of dust and broken everything. It made her remorse grow thick in her heart. What time was it anyway? Surely late enough for him to have been sleeping, if he did sleep, that is. “S-seriously . . . I was stupid to call, i-it’s not a big deal.” If she could manage some way to convince him that it really wasn’t that bad, then Isabella knew it would be enough to convince her as well. The more she thought about it, the less she enjoyed the idea of having walked out of the flat.

    Upon his request about her current coordinates, Bel shook her head, aware that he couldn’t see. “Zach,” She mumbled, looking at her scraped fingers intently, the tip of them bloodied from having touched her wound. “You don’t have to do this . . .” If he didn’t have to do this, why was she finding the strength to clumsily rise to her feet, willing herself not to grimace at the pain that was starting to settle in rather comfortably.

    “Traverse Street.” She ended up mumbling anyway, already recognizing the green house near the end of the road. She didn’t know who lived there, but she knew this was Traverse Street when she saw the green house. She sniffled and once more used the unstained forearm part of the sleeve to wipe her nose. She stepped out onto the sidewalk, keeping her one strapped bag tucked against her side tightly, almost afraid that if she were to let go, out would pop out Robert. What would Zachary do when he saw her in this state? That was yet another worry; he didn’t need to see her like this. Sure, he knew almost every little thing he’d done to her, but it wasn’t as if she showed him the bruises on her body like some display. Picturing his reaction scared her almost as much as Robert finding her.
  6. No matter what Zachary heard her say to him, no matter how much his mind was urging to stop and turn his car around, and agree with Bel that she'd be fine, he kept going. He'd simply shake his head whenever he heard her try to convince him. He knew, that just by the tone of her voice and the fright that had come in her first words, that she wasn't alright. She was always a naturally rather timid, polite young woman, over-polite, in fact, and that's how he knew that she did need help. He was so glad that he knew this, that he just knew her deeply enough to know this. He was sure he'd turn back and give in eventually if he didn't. When he asked her for where she was, his eyes narrowed expectantly as she tried to resist again, but after a moment of expectant silence thick enough to be communicated over the phone, she spoke again, mumbling 'Traverse Street' quietly.

    He nodded, his mind now having a destination as he went down on the gas as fast as he could possibly go without getting the attention of pesky cops. He responded to her in a softer tone, "Thank you." He was glad that she had decided to tell him at all, since she could have very well just let him start going on a hunt instead of a simpler pick-up for her. He began letting his concentrated gaze dance about from sign to sign, recognizing the names of each street as he drove his way over to Traverse Street.

    Only a few minutes passed until Zachary finally got a view of the name that sent relief washing over him - there it said, 'Traverse St.', right there. He turned his car around the bend and had to slow himself down a little, his gaze swiveling about as that small little flare of desperation kicked in momentarily again. He spoke into the phone, "I'm here, can you see my - " He suddenly spotted a small figure standing in a stiff position on one of the sidewalks, and from the light of his headlights, could recognize the figure and realized that was her. He let his shoulders relax in relief. Good, she was still there. "There you are." He allowed the phone to lower and hang up.

    As he slowed to a stop just a couple of feet from her spot, he put the car in brake and opened his door to step out. He had to pause for a moment and take a breath or two before he began a slow walk around to get a better view of her, saying in a quiet tone, " . . . Bel? Are you al-"

    He stopped.

    He stopped everything the second he laid eyes on her. He stopped breathing, he stopped moving, he stopped talking. A numb shock momentarily fell over his body like a veil. She was in a worse condition than he had thought. Her cheek was running red with a cut on her cheek, her left eye becoming purple and swollen. He had never once seen Robert's treatment turn up with a black eye, or a cut. The numb shock remained as his expression shifted, staying there in a cold silence surrounding him. After a few moments, he realized that it was starting to fade into something much, much worse. He took it way too far. Far enough that Zachary actually felt a little violent somewhere in that anger of his. He had never wanted to hurt another person more than he did now. How dare he ever bring a knife, or anything like that, even such a harsh hand, to Isabella? One of his eyes did a small twitch as he held back many words that threatened to come out.

    For Bel's sake, he blinked and recomposed himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath with another trembling exhale. He couldn't be angry right now. Bel needed help. He was sure he could get some home remedies for her injuries, both the currently visible and possibly obscured ones. He could be angry later. Keep yourself relatively calm, Zachary, you can do it. His eyes opened again as he said, "Okay. Okay, you're definitely getting in the car." He completed the bend to the other side of his truck and got the door open, waotong for her to come over and get in or help her if she couldn't.

    You could tell by looking into his eyes that he wouldn't take no for an answer. That was obvious. After seeing those injuries, it would be obvious.
  7. As the minutes faded into wasted seconds, Isabella was given the time to remember what had been the cause of her running away. In a feeble attempt to drown the flashbacks away, she clutched her phone more tightly and attempted to think of something else, but her efforts were futile. She could vividly recall having been sitting down on the couch, reading a book she now wished she would've brought with her as well. It had started out normally, she knew Robert would either show up during the early hours or not come in at all, in which case she'd begin to worry about whether or not his rather big mouth had gotten him in a trouble of the sorts. Luckily – or unluckily, depending on how you viewed the situation – the man barged through the door, the words coming out of his mouth able to put a sailor to shame. This had startled Bel, but nothing out of the usual.

    It was the look he'd given her that had indicated something was off. Never had he given her such a dark look. Thinking back, she could only title that glare the look of murder. Yes, murder.

    Not able to think of any of that anymore, Isabella focused on the oncoming headlights at the end of both streets, each time hoping it was Zachary and dreading it being Robert. To some degree, Bel felt as the two could be compared to her angel and her demon. One was much too good for her, and the other was evil, and yet she managed to forgive him for reasons she was starting to forget. It came as a habit now; the sooner she forgave, the earlier he left her alone in the apartment, allowing the time to dwell in her own pit of broken misery. It was a cycle she was convinced would never break. She still loved Robert, she truly did, but sometimes the line between love and fear grew too obscure for even Bel to recognize.

    Suddenly, a pair of headlights turned into the street and her heart began thrashing in her chest, her mind slowly seeping into panic mode until Zachary's words broke in through the receiver. There you are. Simultaneously, the car seemed to slow down and soon the sound of the line cutting off was heard, making her drop her phone from her ear. This . . . he'd really come to pick her up. Despite having indirectly asked for him to do this, she'd never thought he'd truly do it. Not for someone like her, of al people. She watched the shape step out of the car, his face and body a mere shadow due to the how the headlights played with her currently blurry vision. Once he cut himself off, the young woman froze, a sudden weight of self-conscious crashing down upon her shoulders, making her legs weak. It was almost a reaction worst than what her imagination had fed her. Her heart clenched uncomfortably, wishing for the hundredth time that she hadn't called Zachary. Just so she could avoid this.

    His somewhat authoritative tone wasn't one Bel was used to hearing, especially from him. Though it didn't sound nothing like Robert's venomous slithers, it still managed to make her shudder beneath her jacket. Without uttering a word of defiance, she simply ducked her head a little and walked over to the passenger door, where he had it held open for her. Just that had her feeling terrible. Once more, he was too nice to her. “Thank you.” She managed to murmur quietly, so quietly, she wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't heard her. She managed to climb in the truck, immediately reaching for the seat-belt in order to strap herself in, placing her bag on her lap, holding it tightly with both of her hands in an attempt to stop the trembling.

    When Zachary got in his side of the truck, the immediate need to say something gnawed itself out of her mouth. “I'm so sorry, Zachary.” She murmured softly, ashamed she had actually dared call him at this late hour. “You didn't need to. . . come and get me.” Biting back tears was growing excruciatingly hard as the warmth of the truck began to thaw her chilly fingers, the exterior bitterness fading away, leaving her lost within her own self.
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