Excerpt From My Story, “Savior,” Ch. 53

It’s twilight out, the sky is a graveyard of stars, and a heavy blanket of mist hovers just a few inches above the ground. I am not able to see the hand in front of my face, let alone the path in front of my feet.

There is not a sound to be heard, not a bird singing, nor a cricket chirping. Yet, somehow, this eerie silence is almost deafening. My footsteps echo in the small space, my heavy breaths ring in my ears, and my heart bruises my chest with incessant thumping.

There is a panic in my mind that I cannot place.

All I know is that I am in danger.

My pace quickens, hands reaching out blindly in front of me for fear of running into something, or worse, off of something.

No matter how fast I run or how far I think I go, the fog is endless. Just a heavy white mist encircling me, ominous and infinite - nothing changing or clearing.

As if I am running in circles. Desperate and dazed circles.

“Layla! Layla, where are you?!”

I halt at the voice, the familiar accent that once whispered my name gently now yells it in terror. It is coming from some distance away and I break off into a sprint as soon as he calls out to me again, my stomach churning and heart pounding.

Levi.

I run and I run and I run, but it seems as if I am going nowhere, trapped in this dense fog. His voice only grows more frantic as he calls out for help and as his alarm grows, so does mine.

I am almost choking with it by the time he calls out to me again, his voice just as far away as it was the first time. But, it’s what he calls me that has ice filling my veins and my speed slowing.

“Scarlett, Scarlett! Help me, please! Help!”

My stomach drops for a reason other than the panic in his voice. Almost on instinct, my eyes are trailing down my body with dread, panic crawling up my throat at the once familiar sight, now so foreign to me.

Through the fog I can barely make out the fiery hair that curls against my body. Once chopped short in defiance of the life I left behind in America, now back to its original length brushing my hips. Bile rises in my throat at the sight, but my disdain only grows when I see that I am in the same pair of jeans and white shirt I first came to London in.

Only something is horrifyingly different this time.

My once crisp shirt is stained with dark, fresh blood running down the right side of my body and my jeans are ripped at the knees, revealing the dark purple swelling of my flesh underneath.

Levi’s cries grow in frequency, but now, my feet seem to be glued to the cobblestone in shock and despair. I cannot move if I even wanted to.

I struggle to try and run towards him, to save him, to no avail.

All I can do is stand and listen to his screams… helpless.

Weak and cowardly, I am reverted back to the girl I thought I left behind.

His cries are suddenly strangled short and in one quick blink, the fog is lifted, revealing that I am back in my own apartment in Cheshire. But, it doesn’t fill me with a sense of safety or relief.

No, this scene is much more sinister.

My panic grows when I feel arms slipping around my waist, the horribly familiar aroma of scotch and malice enveloping my every inch. His breath tickles the hairs on my neck as he squeezes me tight, much too tight. Looking down, I see the tattoos confirming what I already knew in my heart all along: the dagger, the rose… my name written in script across his wrist.

Scarlett.

“You thought you could run from me?” His lips graze my neck, arms clutching me so tight I can hardly breathe, can almost hear a rib snap, “I will always find you, Scarlett. Always.”

It’s a different pair of arms that stirs me from my nightmare.

I am screaming, cheeks stained with tears, and chest rising and falling in a panic so fierce I am afraid I may faint from the exertion. Levi’s hands go from jostling me awake, to caressing me gently: my wild hair, my shaky arms, my warm cheeks.

But, I fight him away with every last ounce of strength within me. Still fighting Him in my mind.

The room is dark, but the moonlight from the window basks Levi in an iridescent glow and I can make out the familiar tattoos on his arms. The tattoos so different from His; the dagger and the rose replaced with a heart inside of a cage and a cross on his wrist.

My breathing slows marginally, but I still find myself scooting to the edge of the bed and Levi giving me the space I need to come back down from the images still playing behind my eyes like a horror movie on fast-forward.

His face, though still wary from sleep, is etched in concern. His hand, now idle, runs through his tangled hair and I focus on his face to calm my racing heart.

The dream… It was a dream… But, it felt so, so real. Too real.

I can still feel His stubble against my neck, can still smell His scent all around me. Like it somehow seeped into my pillow, into my pores.

It makes me feel sick, makes my heart race even faster and my skin feel slimy and disgusting. I wipe the tears from my face, but my hands won’t stop shaking and my heart doesn’t slow it’s rapid rhythm.

“Layla, hey, Layla…” Levi slowly reaches for me, but I shake my head in warning, not wanting to hurt him if I end up flinching away, “What happened? You were calling out to me in your sleep… was it a nightmare?”

The answer is obvious and I don’t even have to say anything for him to know who had the starring role. My dreadful expression and trembling body is answer enough.

His countenance is somber, eyes pained, “It’s alright now… You’re safe with me.”

He reaches out for me again, but I stand quickly, my knees wobbly and my head pounding. I try to pretend that I don’t see his shoulders droop at my rejection.

“Can I use your shower?”

I don’t even wait for him to confirm before I am walking towards it and locking the door behind me. No time is wasted between stripping off my clothes from last night and hopping into the scalding hot water.

But, once I am in, I don’t scrub his scent off of me or wash the sweat from my hair. I simply collapse into the tub and let the water wash over me as my heart-rate slows and my panic subsides.

As soon as it does though, another thought encroaches.

That the nightmare felt less like a dream and more like a premonition.

“I will always find you, Scarlett. Always.”