Take My Hand And Don't Look Back
Closer To Hell
Frank's POV
"Come on."
I feel my father kick my back, and I yelp in pain. He grabs me by the collar of my shirt, and yanks me up to my feet. My head's consistent pounding is making it hard to hear the multiple men surrounding me laugh at my pathetic self, which I'm thankful for.
"Your spot is to the left, and behind the building. Walk down the path a bit, then there should be a little cabin. It's all yours."
"Great. See you boys later."
I'm grabbed by the arm, and sent forward as a signal to walk. I stumble slightly, and graciously regain my balance in thoughts of being yelled at for being clumsy.
In almost no time, I'm stopped abruptly. I assume we've arrived at the cabin when I hear a loud squeal of hinges to a door a few feet ahead. I'm then taken hold of once again, and led up onto a platform; a porch? Then take a few steps further, preceding another squeal of the hinges. I'm led further through the building, not sure how big the structure is.
"So Frank, how've you been? Or should I say how's your fiancé? Is she a nice lady?"
The bag is taken off my head, revealing a concrete room with an electric chair and a table containing weapons used for torture. My heart stops in the time of my cheek stinging.
"Answer me or I'll use something on that table."
I spit in his face.
"Bad move. You're lucky I'm going to be nice. Now answer. What's her name?"
"His, dickhead. I'm getting married to a him."
Another strike to my cheek, and harder.
"Is that why that little girl ratted you out to me? Ex, maybe? Obsessive crush? Which is it, fag boy?"
I tense at the name he calls me, then analyze the rest of the sentence.
That bitch. Jamia. She told my dad where I was. I'm going to kill her, that is if I don't die first.
"Ex. Why do you care about my life? All you did was strive to make it a living hell when you were around."
He gives a deep laugh, sending chills up my spine. He walks over to the table, and picks up a small kitchen knife. He stalks back over, only inches away from my face.
"That's where you're wrong, son. I didn't strive to make your life a living hell; just to make mine more enjoyable."
In that moment, he picks the knife up to my cheek, gliding the blade across the raw flesh. I feel the blood trail down my cheek to my jaw, then down my neck.
"But this, Frank, will be closer to hell than you've ever imagined."
"Come on."
I feel my father kick my back, and I yelp in pain. He grabs me by the collar of my shirt, and yanks me up to my feet. My head's consistent pounding is making it hard to hear the multiple men surrounding me laugh at my pathetic self, which I'm thankful for.
"Your spot is to the left, and behind the building. Walk down the path a bit, then there should be a little cabin. It's all yours."
"Great. See you boys later."
I'm grabbed by the arm, and sent forward as a signal to walk. I stumble slightly, and graciously regain my balance in thoughts of being yelled at for being clumsy.
In almost no time, I'm stopped abruptly. I assume we've arrived at the cabin when I hear a loud squeal of hinges to a door a few feet ahead. I'm then taken hold of once again, and led up onto a platform; a porch? Then take a few steps further, preceding another squeal of the hinges. I'm led further through the building, not sure how big the structure is.
"So Frank, how've you been? Or should I say how's your fiancé? Is she a nice lady?"
The bag is taken off my head, revealing a concrete room with an electric chair and a table containing weapons used for torture. My heart stops in the time of my cheek stinging.
"Answer me or I'll use something on that table."
I spit in his face.
"Bad move. You're lucky I'm going to be nice. Now answer. What's her name?"
"His, dickhead. I'm getting married to a him."
Another strike to my cheek, and harder.
"Is that why that little girl ratted you out to me? Ex, maybe? Obsessive crush? Which is it, fag boy?"
I tense at the name he calls me, then analyze the rest of the sentence.
That bitch. Jamia. She told my dad where I was. I'm going to kill her, that is if I don't die first.
"Ex. Why do you care about my life? All you did was strive to make it a living hell when you were around."
He gives a deep laugh, sending chills up my spine. He walks over to the table, and picks up a small kitchen knife. He stalks back over, only inches away from my face.
"That's where you're wrong, son. I didn't strive to make your life a living hell; just to make mine more enjoyable."
In that moment, he picks the knife up to my cheek, gliding the blade across the raw flesh. I feel the blood trail down my cheek to my jaw, then down my neck.
"But this, Frank, will be closer to hell than you've ever imagined."
Notes
KILL ME I HAVEN'T POSTED IN AGES AHHHHH I'M SO SORRY GUYS!!!!
I'll try to update a lot more I'm sososososoooooooo sorry!! Love you all so much!
Please comment & yell at me if I don't update in over a week- it'll remind me xD
THANK YOU ALL FOR STAYING WITH ME!
-Ava xx
ATTENTION ANYONE WHO HAPPENS TO READ THIS!
I'm the author of this story- I lost my account after stupidly deleting my Tumblr which is connected to this specific account that I wrote the story on. I finally decided to get my act together and start the sequel today, March 15th, 2016. Please forgive me for my terribly late start on this. Nothing is posted but hopefully will be soon. Glad to be back everyone :)
3/15/16