An interruption and an echo of fear
1415 Words
Blakie! Are you here? I called your mom and she said you rode off on the bike thingy!” The high-pitched, saccharine voice of Sam sliced through the thick, humid air, ringing with an unwarranted cheerfulness that was instantly grating.
Blake whirled around, his face a mask of barely contained fury, the earlier venom of his lust replaced by a raw, explosive anger.
“Why, Sam? What brings you here at this f*****g time?” he yelled, his voice rough and laced with true hostility.
Kayla flinched, jumping at the sudden, drastic change in his tone. It was a sharp, dangerous shift that confirmed her deepest fears about his unstable state.
Sam's intrusion was a reprieve, but Blake’s reaction was terrifying. Her mind, seeking refuge from the immediate threat, spiraled backward, landing on a forgotten memory from the day before—a seemingly innocuous event now colored by the knowledge of his dark undercurrent.
“Can I go into the woods and you hunt in Blake’s deer stand?” Kayla had whispered to James, her brother, hoping to claim the quieter, more secluded spot for herself.
“No, you hunt here. I’ll be right out after dark. If you get tired, just walk home,” James had replied, his attention already elsewhere. He then added, pointing across the vast, open field, “Blake said he’d probably hunt right there.”
James then walked off, leaving Kayla alone. Moments later, Blake climbed the deer stand about ten feet from her own spot, settling in with a sigh.
How is this even safe? We're both about ten feet away from each other, she recalled thinking to herself, a sense of unease even then. The closeness felt too deliberate, too exposed.
She had waited, restless and agitated, the silence broken only by the forest sounds. Half an hour later, she heard the unmistakable creaking of the green metal tree deer stand as Blake descended.
“Well, if they were there, they’re gone now,” she’d murmured to no one, disappointed at the noise he’d made.
She remembered the feeling of relief when he finally left. Since the day of the wreck, his presence had become a stifling constant, a smothering demand for her affection.
That memory led to the hospital, the hazy, terrifying aftermath of the crash. That day in the hospital, he took care of her and hugged her, a gesture that had seemed selfless and comforting at the time.
But then, the dark image surfaced. She woke up one night in her hospital bed, the room bathed in dim light, to find him stroking himself while laying beside her.
It was a violation so profound and shocking that she had immediately convinced herself it was a fever-induced nightmare.
She thought she might have dreamt it. So why make a big deal about it? Yet, the seed of doubt, the deep, instinctive revulsion, had been planted. She’s been wary of him ever since, and she still tries to stay as far away as she can from him.
The memory evaporated, leaving her standing under the bridge with the terrifying realization that the current Blake was far worse than the one in her memory.
Sam’s appearance had saved her, for now. Blake shot the unwelcome guest a final, furious glare, but his attention was immediately yanked back to Kayla, the prize he was determined to claim.
She only had a moment to think of the next escape. But then, she trown back into a flash back. the door opens, the sound startlingly loud, and a smiling face appears
—it was Blake's, but a horrifying, predatory version. The flashback had been a deception. The scene was not at the chicken house, but in the deer stand , a memory so repressed it had been disguised. Where was she?
He shuts the door, walking with menacing slowness toward her bed. “It’s about time,” he whispered, his hands suddenly gripping her tightly.
He picks her up, not tenderly, but with a horrifying violence, slamming her into the wall next to the chair she was just in.
A sharp scream tore from her throat, but he muffled it instantly, crudely, with a forced, bruising kiss. Panic flooded her system. She pushes and shoves, fighting with all the strength her weakened body could muster, but it was to no avail.
His weight, his sheer, desperate will, overpowered her. “Blake, please stop!” she choked out, tears of terror streaming down her temples.
He ignored her plea, his mouth moving slowly, deliberately, down her neck to her collarbone.
He seemed to delight in the cruelty, biting her every chance he could, the pain sharp and sickening. Then, with a harsh tug, he pulled her shirt up just enough to expose her breasts.
The cold air of the room instantly made her n*****s poke out, a cruel, automatic physical reaction that Blake seized upon as a signal.
He interpreted the involuntary physical response as desire, twisting the terror into a sickening form of consent.
“So perky,” he muttered, his voice thick with distorted passion, and he popped one in his mouth. Simultaneously, his other hand moved further south, violating her with brutal intimacy.
“I f*****g said stop!” The roar of defiance was not her usual whisper. It was a visceral, raw bellow of fury, a force so potent it seemed to shock them both.
Her tears had instantly dried, and for a split second, her old self—the resilient, fierce clan leader—had violently pushed through.
The moment of reclaimed power, though terrifying, felt so damn good. He recoiled as if struck, dropping her unceremoniously to the floor. He looked down at her with a furious, ugly expression, his eyes burning with rage and humiliation.
“Why!” he roared, his voice cracking with disbelief. “You know you want me! Your body clearly did! It’s not like we haven’t ever kissed before. We used to do it all the time when we were younger!” he reasoned, desperately trying to twist their innocent past into a justification for his heinous actions.
Then the true, ugly root of his obsession surfaced. “It’s him, isn’t it! All because of Austin! I’m here! I’m alive! He’s dead! Get over him and come here to me! He can never love you the way I do!” he shrieked, the jealousy finally breaking through the thin veneer of his care.
He slowly pulled his hand back from the wall. Kayla looked and saw a fist-sized hole punched clean through the drywall.
She had never seen him this angry before. The raw, destructive power was terrifying. Her once close friend was unrecognizable. She didn't know what was going on with her once close friend, but he was a terrifying stranger now.
He then reared his hand back to slap her. Her body shook with fear, braced for the impact that would surely break her. Her body wanted to give out, to simply crumble to the floor in surrender, but the hard wooden floor had bruised her knees when he dropped her, and the pain held her upright.
Then, just as quickly as the rage erupted, it dissolved into a desperate, pathetic pleading. “I… I’m… I’m sorry, Kayla,” he stammered, his eyes welling up with his own self-pity.
“It’s just that I love you, and if you just get over him, you’ll love me too,” he whispered, a broken shadow of his former self.
Kayla eventually made her way back to the main house, the physical assault having been a mental one. She was left alone, reeling from the violation, trying to figure out how to save her friend, or if he was even worth saving.
She did love him, intensely, fiercely, but not the way he wanted her to. The distinction was critical, and dangerous. Night rolls around.
She found herself laying in bed, the sheets suddenly feeling cold and sterile, consumed by nothing but her thoughts. The memories of the attack, the questions of Blake’s sanity, and the vast, aching void left by Austin’s death.
The weight of her new, isolated existence finally dragged her under, and she slowly drifts to sleep, utterly exhausted by the war that had been waged on her body and her heart.
- Writer
