One Broken Dare, Forever His

Chapter 1 Clara Whitfield tossed and turned under the thin sheets, heaving her chest with each movement. The world surrounding her went blurry and extended into a weird dream world. She could not be safe in her bed any more: she was in a wasteland of shadows. The wind whistled through the dark empty place, shaking walls which she could not see and stinging her ears with their sharp whistles. Why can't I move? The voice within herself shuddered in her head. Each breath she had pulled seemed more than it ought, as though there was another body present, in suspense. The floor she lay on was rough, as though she were on broken glass. She felt an urge to rise and flee, but her limbs were immobilised, as if held in place by the air itself. "I can't breathe..." she whispered. There is a stirring somewhere near. Her arm was touched with a hand, cold and heavy, and moved down. Its course on her body scalded her. She twitched, struggling at whatever was keeping her in place, but nothing yielded. "Stop it... stop..." The tongue was merely dropping the words, half-voiced, half-thought, down the bottomless black. Her side was again gripped by the hand, which crawled upwards until she felt her heart beating in her like a warhammer. She was blinking quickly, in the hope that her eyes would open and that the darkness would dissipate, but it was as tenacious as tar. Who are you? Show yourself! The fist tightened itself into the cloth across her stomach and tore the cloth. The scream came, and it was like the ringing of a bell, and it bounced back to her and seemed to laugh at her with her terror. There was a laugh – long, scratchy, inhuman – and yet no countenance appeared. You no longer belong to yourself. She kicked, but her hands swept vainly in the emptiness. With every pull of the resistance, the chains appeared to cut deeper into her flesh. Hot tears, and not cold tears, ran streaming down her face and made her look more blurred. "What do you want from me?" cried she, cracking her voice. Silence answered. The only answer she received was the wind. Then a whisper grazed her ear: "Mine." Her stomach dropped. That word became as clotted to her as claws. No! This isn't real. Wake up. Please wake up! The dream shifted suddenly. The person who had towered over her disappeared. Clara trembled, and the dampness at her neck made it feel as though he were kissing her. With a kind of waiting to receive another blow, bracing her hand against something invisible, she lay still. Maybe he's gone... A spurt of cold struck her cheek. She gasped and looked around. There was faint light ahead, as of a candle in smog. And now her legs were relaxed, but her muscles wobbled as she attempted to stand. One step. Another. Don't look back. She was urged along by her mind, but she was unable to disregard the creeping idea that she was being followed. Any movement seemed reflected, shadow to shadow. "Who's there?" The question was infamous, desperate. No answer. She spun, fists clenched. Nothing. The agitating cloud is black and smoke-laden. You can not be concealed from me, a voice said—not at your back. The voice resonated within her mind, sending shivers down her spine. Her thoughts fired back. No one owns me. But the earth felt like quicksand in response to her refusal. She fell down on her knees, and her palms were burning against an unseen grit. Another rattle was a banging door--far away, but distinct, a door blazing open and startling her physical frame. Her head snapped up. Shapes were vibrating in the distance. A doorway? A way out? She rolled herself up and galloped towards it, with a heart that beat like a tempest. "Clara!" The darkness broke in her name. The tone of her voice was not that of a monster, but rather a familiar one. The voice was mellow and familiar. She shook her head to and fro. "Emily? Is that you?" Her best friend's laugh echoed from a distance as bright as sunshine. "You're late again! Never on time, are you? Clara's lips trembled. Emily Ashford. Where her voice was, perhaps there was safety in front. She rushed in the direction of the light, and her heartbeatwas a beat of hope. But as she warped nearer, the voice of Emily had a different sound. "He's waiting for you." Clara skidded to a stop. The radiance was no longer golden; it was red, bleeding on the ground. With a closing throat, she stumbled back. No, it's not her. It's him again. Something came out of the red mist, high as the walls. Clara turned away, shaking her head. "Leave me alone!" "Why should I?" the figure growled. "You invited me in." I did not— Her words faded away as she struggled to speak. "Yes, you did. You cover all your fears, bury all your weaknesses, and avoid acknowledging all your thoughts... I am all of it." Her mind roared in opposition to him, and her lips remained silent. The earth seemed limitless as she fled. Her legs were pumping, but she never came close to the boundaries of the dream. Wake up, wake up, wake up-- Her voice was a chanting within her head, a flowing stream getting no rest. The tempest was still more shrill and rattled against her ears until she fell on her knees again. Her hands were clasped over her head, and she was rocking back and forth. "Make it stop. Please make it stop." There was a crack in the sky. Lightning? She gave a jerk, and all at once the picture broke. The desert faded into her tiny dark room. Clara sat up with a heaving breast. Sweat soaked her nightshirt. She raised her trembling hands across her face and laboured to control her breath. The curtains fluttered at the open window and allowed in the cool wind of Manchester. The turmoil in her heart mirrored the storm outside the window. 'It was a mere dream,' she said to herself. Her gaze swept the room. The water glass on her bed table remained unchanged. She went to touch it, and her hand was trembling so that the drops fell all over her blanket. She swallowed, the stimulus being cold on her burnt throat. And yet, even when the room had settled down around her, she continued to sense the phantom fingertips skimming over her. Why did it feel so real? She squeezed her eyes shut, clutching the sheet. Her thoughts spiralled, twisting into questions she couldn’t silence. What does it mean? Why him? Why now? Is it trying to warn me? Her stomach knotted. She wanted to laugh at herself, but the sound stuck, dry in her mouth. “Clara,” she muttered aloud, “you’re losing it.” Yet, deep down, she knew this wasn’t any ordinary nightmare. Something lingered in that shadow. Something waiting. Her breath shook again as she lay back, staring at the ceiling. The storm outside rattled on, refusing to sleep, just like her.