Charlie lay on the grimy floor, broken. Her eyes rested on the body nearby, hating him. She hated dead Jonny because he was dead and she wasn't. She was still breathing, still feeling that creep all over her. Her skin burned like acid where he'd touched. Her head was full of the horrors of everything he just did. Everything he was going to do.

He was too strong. She couldn't fight him and at one point she had stopped trying, because her ribs had snapped, then something in her hip cracked and the pain had taken over.

Finally, that despicable thing stopped.

She knew what was next. Now was the part where he cut her, but she doubted it would be worse than what he'd just done. Her stomach contracted as she thought of the possibility that he might rape her again after cutting her--or maybe even during. She vomited without moving from the cold, musty floor. It puddled out beside her face and mingled with the dampness of the concrete. Her filthy face, covered in bruises, mascara, blood, tears, sweat. Her eyes were dull, void of the spark of fear and adrenaline. Her muscles were exhausted as sure as her mind. Her heart, and a few bones were surely broken. A few ribs for sure. Possibly her pelvis.

Just let it be over, she pleaded. The aching was constant.

He was standing back at the table with his gadgets. He held up a claw hammer and stared at it adoringly. A new surge of fear hit Charlie. He came closer, stopped right above her. She looked up through tears. The hammer looked like a silhouette with the pale light behind it. His face loomed over her, completely in shadow.

This is it, she thought, the last sight I will ever see...I'm sorry, Shay. I love you, mom.

Her body relaxed. There was no pain in that moment. Only eternity. She waited for the blow, but it didn't come.

"I've got something to take care of," he said. "You won't go anywhere will you? Didn't think so."

Charlie heard his progress down the hall as the heavy footfalls carried him away. Where was he going? What was more important than ending her misery? She wasn't proud of those first thoughts, but she had suffered the most horrible thing. A thing she couldn't even imagine. She knew if she lived, she would have to live with those memories for the rest of her life.

But she would have a life.

It'll haunt me forever, she thought grimly.

Now was the moment. It felt like ages passed as she thought of it, trying to will herself into an action. She knew she really should try to get away. If for nothing else than to tell people what happened to her best friend in the whole world. To tell them he came back. She needed to lead them here. They could get his DNA off of her and maybe find out who he really is once and for all.

She moved and oh, God, there was unimaginable pain. It was like Roman candles shooting into her hip, exploding and spraying into surrounding body parts. She cried aloud and fell back into a laying position.

Deep breaths made her feel like a butcher knife was being jammed into her side. She saw it all the time in movies, read it all the time in books: the girl gets wounded and can't walk. She always thought, screw that! I don't care how much pain I was in, if I could get out of there I would.

Easier said than done.

This wasn't like a tooth ache or a sprained ankle. Her body literally would not function properly. She could barely twitch her right leg without feeling like molten lava was being poured over it. She growled out of frustration. Then had to hold her side.

She didn't have forever to lay there in pain and she knew it. Wherever he went, he wouldn't be gone long. She held her breath and pulled her body with her arms. The flame in her hip was white-hot. It was the devil reaching out of hell and grabbing her by the waist. It was a broken piece of the sun, slamming into her. But she pulled.

Sweat poured from her forehead by the time she reached the work table. She grabbed the table leg, grasping it as if it was the only thing keeping her from plummeting down with the devil into his fiery realm. She cried salty tears that stung her scraped cheek. The table was sturdy, but she shook as she used it to pull herself up. All of her weight was on her left foot, and if she kept very still the volcano in her hip wouldn't erupt.

A hunting knife lay on the table. She could see her eye reflecting in it with a look she'd never seen on anyone in her entire life.

That's me, she thought, and her heart broke a little more. That terrified girl...is me.

It made her angry. It made her furious.

She grabbed the knife, lost her balance, and bumped her hip into the table. She screamed.

"Charlie? Charlie, is that you?"

The voice, slightly muffled with distance, floated into the room. Charlie couldn't believe it. Her breath caught and she listened hard. Was that her imagination?

"Charlie! Where are you?"

The voice down the hall...it was real!

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A/N: I said there wouldn't be a rape scene. I won't write one out either, because there's no need to. I think the idea that the horrible thing happened is bad enough, and this story isn't rated mature. But these things do happen, and I want to stay true to reality. But who has found Charlie? Thanks for reading and don't forget how important your wonderful votes are! XO, Sam ❤️