I had to keep on running, running and running because if I stopped my brain would catch up with me and I would remember.
I would remember his sweaty grip on my waist, and his breath, dominated my alcohol, that left a cloud in my hair. I would remember how I walked away, just as I'd been taught by my boss, behind the bar. I would remember how he was persistent, grabbed my wrist, brought my head across the sodden wood. How he tried to kiss me, how my head lunged back and I felt a slight crack as I hit the beam overhead.
How I got angry.
How later when I had left and he had found me and cornered me in the alley and tugged at my clothes and ripped my top. And how I had just attacked him and left him there and ran.
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, it made me feel worthless and hideous and like death had died. But I had felt the need to do it. It had been right.
I had to keep on running to avoid the bloodlust. I was...I don't know. Or maybe I did. Maybe there had always been a part of me who knew I was only part human. But I needed it otherwise.