now she sleeps with one eye open
Isobel Cartney was a people pleaser. Since birth she had been obedient - doing as she was told without complaint no matter what was asked of her, even if it was something she loathed to do. In her youth, this attracted the wrong sort of crowd, and people who sought to use Izzy’s submissive personality flocked to her. And for all her intelligence, the girl was hopelessly naïve. She saw good in everyone and actively sought it out, hoping her compliance would bring those around her happiness. So she did what she was asked, hoping to please her so-called friends. And then High School came and everyone forgot little Izzy Cartney. She was merely a ghost who sat in the back of the class, silent as those around her chattered animatedly about this and that, the girl who sat alone at lunch, as if in her own personable bubble. No one asked anything of her. No one even acknowledged her presence. She was invisible.
The silence was lonely, as was much of the rest of her life. Some time around her Freshman year of High School, her father ran off with a leggy blonde and she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since. Her mother, a vain woman with straight dun colored hair and sharp features so unlike Isobel’s soft ones, largely blamed her daughter for her husband’s infidelities.
Martha Cartney was an unhappy woman who became only unhappier after her husband’s departure from her life. Truth be told, the marriage was over long before then, but the fact she was made to be a pitiable cuckquean. So she shifted the blame to her daughter so that she may take her anger and hurt out on something - or rather someone else. Isobel never said anything, of course. It wasn’t in her nature to speak up for herself. So she let her mother speak the words she needed to and bore the scars of emotional abuse without protest, because that was what a good daughter did. But over the years Isobel found she started to believe the words, believe the cruel sayings her mother sneered at her over breakfast, or the emotionless stares she received from the one person in the world who was meant to love her most.
It was during this time that Izzy made her escape, and that escape was writing. Journals upon journals were stashed away in her bedroom, under the bed or deep within the confines of her closet. There was no guaranteeing what would happen if her mother found them, so she kept her stories secret. Within them she escaped to far off lands and explored new worlds. She could become a time-traveller, or a pirate queen, or even simply a girl in love. And when the time came and she graduated High School, she knew what she wanted to do with her life. She wanted to devote it to writing. Money from her own pocket was spent and perfect grades were put to good use and she found herself as a Literature major at SUE, a feat more than she could have dreamed.
But, somehow, she still felt empty. Her father had always told her she had a heart that was three sizes too big; he called her his reverse-Grinch, something that always made her giggle and smile when she was a child, but now made her too-big heart ache with sadness. But as she grew, she found his words to ring with truth. She tried desperately to make everyone around her happy, often getting her heart bruised in the process, but that was all the same to her. As long as she was able to make someone smile, her job was done.
The sun toed the horizon, its last rays of light reaching the tops of the buildings and casting long shadows that hinted at the rapidly approaching night. The only figure that appeared to be walking on the darkened street was that of Isobel Cartney, her arms wrapped tightly around several books as her chestnut hair bounced around her face in time with her steps. Her final class of the evening had just ended, a little later than usual, thusly causing her to miss her bus home. It mattered little to her, except that walking home at night made her uncomfortable. One could never be too careful.
Rounding a corner, she walked right into what felt like a wall; a wall of a person. “Woah, there.” Strong hands steadied her shoulders as she gasped. As her eyes darted up her only sight was that of blonde hair and captivating blue eyes. Thoroughly entranced she stared into them, not hearing the words that poured out of the angel’s lips.
“-alright?” Chocolate eyes widening and cheeks blushing bright scarlet, Isobel stepped back slightly, reluctantly. The man smiled lazily at her, his hands dropping back to his sides. “You alright, love?”
His words nearly reeled her back in again, but she simply nodded and pulled her books tighter to her chest. They stood in silence for several moments more, the petite brunette staring at the ground and shuffling her feet slightly, before the stranger spoke again. “No harm done. Best be careful though, love, I might not be there to catch you next time.” With a wink her cheeks were aflame once more and her eyes darted down as he walked past her, hands in his pockets. Resisting the urge to glance back, Isobel tucked her hair behind her ears and began walking once more.
During this encounter, the sun had dipped below the horizon and the streetlights flickered awake, giving little illumination to the darkness of the street. While the coolness of the night had been comforting to before, now her short-sleeved shirt gave little protection against its autumn chill. A chill unrelated to the weather creeped up her spine as she felt a distinctly dark feeling surround her. The street was silent save for her footsteps and the occasional passing cars which were few and far between. But then a second pair of footsteps accompanied her own.
Cold, white fear grabbed Isobel in its’ clutches, her breathing halting and her heart skipping a beat. Eyes wide and ears ringing, she picked up her pace, hoping the figure several yards behind her was merely a coincidence. But when she turned a corner and heard the footsteps following, she felt the sinking dread in the pit of her stomach that said it wasn’t so.
Her mind sent thoughts in rapid fire in an attempt to find an escape, anywhere, anything to free her from this situation. And then she noticed a change; the footsteps were gone. Not daring to turn around, she slowed slightly, ears straining to listen.
She had no time to scream before she was jerked to the side, into an alleyway. Thrown against a brick wall, a large hand was slapped over her mouth, the other in a vice-like grip against her arm. Panic exploded within the young woman and she tried to scream against the restraint, kicking her legs and pushing against the large figure with her weak fists. Tears pricked her eyes and she shook uncontrollably, continuing to scream against the rough hand.
The figure drew her towards him by the front of her shirt before slamming her against the wall. Her head smacked against it with a sickening thwack and she saw stars. Her screams turning to loud sobbing.
“Shut the fuck up, bitch.” the gravelly voice spat. And just like that, she could summon no more noise. Tears continued to stream down her now, dirty cheeks and onto her assailant’s hand as her body was wracked with violent but silent sobs. She had no time to be confused by her unwilling compliance as he removed her hand to reach behind himself. Her had no features in the darkness of the night, only a dark shadow. “That’s a good girl. You be good, now, it’ll be over real quick.” he mumbled, only increasing her terror.
Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, but they repeated over and over ‘get away, get away, get away’. She wished to flee, to fly away from this danger, but she was no bird and if she was then she was one with broken wings. Light caught on the object in her attacker’s hand and when she caught the glint of a blade she felt a surge of panic. Desperation filled her and she wriggled in his hold before biting down on the arm that held her shirt. Curses exploded from his lips and she tasted blood before she was sent flying to the ground, left side of her cheek erupting in pain and stars dancing in her vision. Her own blood mingled with his and she rolled onto her back, a silent groan resonating in her chest.
“Now you’re gonna get it, you little bitch.” The snarl came from above her and she wanted to whimper in both pain and fear of what was to come. “I was gonna make it quick, but no, now you gone and made me angry.”
The brunette struggled to drag herself across the filthy pavement towards the light of the street lamps, hearing a car approaching. She got no further than a few inches before a crushing grip around her ankle dragged her back, over rocks and what felt like broken glass. Isobel gasped, clutching her side and wanting to scream in pain.
The motor was approaching and Isobel tried to scream, tried to yell, tried to make any sound, but it was useless. It was as if the ability to speak was taken from her, her voice locked up tight within her. Hopelessness began to taint her thoughts as she felt herself approaching her fate.
She was roughly turned onto her back and the gleaming wink of the knife came back into view, menacing and mocking. Big, fat tears rolled down her cheeks. It seemed as if she wasn’t the only one to notice the approaching vehicle, for the man looked towards the mouth of the alleyway before cursing and grabbing Isobel by the shirt collar and pulling her up slightly. Her body ached and blood dribbled down her chin, and all she saw were the beady black eyes set deep into the shadow of the man.
“You’re lucky, little bitch.” he mumbled absently, bringing the knife up. “I was going to make you suffer.”
Isobel doubled over, mouth open in a silent scream as the blade was plunged into her stomach. The pain was unbearable and she distantly felt herself slide to the floor, the knife gone but the blinding pain remaining. Fat footsteps retreated down the dark alley and the hopelessness that had only tainted her thoughts now seeped into her body, weighing her down as she lay in a heap on the filthy ground.
Time was meaningless in the pain, but a voice in the back of her mind screamed at her to move, to get up, to be seen. So she pulled her arms out from under her and dragged her body forward, silently sobbing as each movement only worsened her wound. The lamp’s ring of light was nearly in reach when she could move no more, the tips of her fingers just reaching it’s yellow light. Her vision darkened and all strength left her body gradually, until she had nothing left but her distant thoughts; the last of which was that the motor was not a car at all, but a motorcycle speeding past her, leaving her in the alleyway unseen, unheard, unnoticed.
theartofmadeline
vaporwave
kianamaiart
romaincrisis
