Corrin screamed again as Shaylese’s fingers wrapped around her throat. Corrin choked and screamed for Marc, tears flowing down her cheeks, along with Shaylese’s blood.

            “Shaylese!” Corrin sobbed, her breathing cutting off and a dark coldness washing over her—which she interpreted to be an oncoming death.

            Suddenly, Shaylese’s hands disappeared and Corrin collapsed onto the ground, and a sickening thud came from the wall opposite the beds. Corrin struggled for the air and relished it as if she had been in the Sahara for many years without water and had found the freshest, coldest water in the world.

            She couldn’t see, for her eyes were watery, but she heard Marc’s voice and she instantly reached for it, wanting him near her, fear and pain clutching her insides.

            “Corrin?” Marc’s voice seemed a thousand miles away, though she had found his shaking hands. One suddenly disappeared from her grip and wiped Corrin’s eyes free of the tears hurriedly. Corrin stared into his beautiful green eyes and felt warmth spread throughout her body, though her throat was still yearning for refreshing air; she gulped in a lungful and exhaled, before murmuring, “Marc...” running her hands along his face and making sure she wasn’t dead and imagining him. Marc pulled Corrin to his chest, cooing to her, murmuring comforting words that did not comfort her, for she was staring at Shaylese staggering to her feet a shard of window glass in her left hand.

            Corrin screamed as Shaylese charged forward with it and wished desperately to be elsewhere and...

            There was a sensation of falling and she ended up on a burgundy couch, facing a fireplace and a TV on the floor a couple yards away. She sobbed as she looked around, completely confused. Marc was still clinging to her and then he looked up at her.

            His eyes were wide with something that resembled shock, fear...surprise.

            “M-Marc...?” Corrin stammered, frightened beyond comfort. “What’s going on?”

            “I...I have no idea, Corrin.” Marc whispered and, as she said the next few words, Corrin realized she was also.

“How did we get here?”

            “I think...I think you...” But Marc just trailed off, staring, horror-stricken, at Corrin. She winced, whipping around to see if Shaylese was there, the image of her sandy brown hair stained with blood that also dripped down her arms and flowed down her freckled face, a shard of glass in her hand...

            “Corrin...” Marc murmured when Corrin had turned back around, feeling foolish for thinking that Shaylese had been able to follow them.

            “Marc, wh-what’s going on?” Corrin murmured, pulling him up with her and looking down at her bloodstained clothes, scrunching up her nose in disgust at the metallic-and-salt smell and what looked to be a Bloody Mary spilled all down her shirt.

            She bit her lip and winced again, looking at Marc, seeing that he was now covered in blood also.

            “Corrin, I think you...”

            “What, Marc, what?!” Corrin was becoming severely agitated.

            “I think you teleported out of there.”

            Corrin stared, gaping, at Marc, skepticism making her want to slap her boyfriend for playing like that after what they had just gone through.

            “Marc, I’m serious here.” Corrin failed miserably at keeping her voice steady.

            “How would you explain ending up here then?” Marc yelled now. Corrin flinched backwards and fell back onto the couch. Fresh tears spilled over.

            “I-I’m sorry, Corrin.” Marc  scrambled for an apology and Corrin stood up and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

            She didn’t want to ever let go—for sleep, for food, for anything. She wanted to hold on to him forever and never leave because that would mean suffering and more crying and fear, but she knew that she would always go through such things.

            Corrin sobbed once more before trailing upstairs, leading Marc with her outstretched right hand, into her room with her bed and dresser.

            She changed into a clean shirt and sweatpants and curled up on her bed, waiting for Marc to finish up. He came into her room wearing oversized sweats and one of her ex-godfather’s shirts. She would’ve laughed, but she wasn’t in any mood for laughing.

            She curled up tighter onto the bed and Marc curled around her, holding an arm around her protectively and she sobbed, uncontrollably, to sleep.

The End

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