The lines are blurred between what is real and what isn't, the darkness that was once a place I feared was now a place of safety. If I stayed in the darkness, the hellish reality of what was truly happening no longer seemed real.
But I was about to be pulled out from under the consuming blanket of dark shadows, and plunged into the murky depths of my past. I was about to be shown my demons and all it's evil sides, all of it's pain and grief. I could only hope I survive it.
What happens when the world you once knew crumbles and falls at your feet?
Who will find me? Who will save me from my demons?
My dark prince or my white knight...
And will I find myself in the process.
And I'm dying. I'm fucking dying, She has been put into a position where she is having to beg. Time and time again she is forced to beg, just so she can damn well live. All she wants, all she craves is just to be normal. She just wants her past to be just that, the past. Hearing her voice awakens everything inside me, but hearing her panic and pain awakens every protective fiber in my body.
"Logan! Logan, answer me."
Tate's panicked voice pulls me out of my mindless pissing contest. But my muscles are throbbing with familiar adrenaline. I need to get to her.
"What?!" I spit.
My own desperation is taking over. I can't hear anything but my own heartbeat which has now lodged itself in my throat.
"Logan, what the hell is going on?!" Tate yells.
His faced is laced with concern as he moves out from the seat of the truck. I don't think I can speak, I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I am completely speechless. I don't know what to do. So, I thrust the phone into Tate's hands, watching as he puts it to his ear and listens. Seconds pass as I watch Tate's face morph from concern to sheer panic, matching my own.
S.K. Hartley is a mother, wife and a writer. Based in the not so sunny North West of England you can find her either glued to her computer desk, in the public library (Yes, they do still exist!) or floating around her favourite authors books signings.
S.K. Hartley has an unhealthy obsession with coffee, chocolate and retro computer games and a healthy obsession of stalking indie authors.
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