When You Pray, Move Your Feet
Is it wrong that when you said I should have run faster, I had a mad moment of flashback to that episode of Torchwood where the paedophile was notorious for having said that about the little girl he killed? A coping mechanism I suppose you could call it, one which allowed me for a moment, no matter how fleeting, to see the dark humour in the situation, pretend that it wasn't happening to me, that you were some TV character walked off the screen to give me some private show before you disappeared off back to where you came.
ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod
I heard the whimpering and for a moment didn't realise that it was my own voice panicking, unable to keep quiet when I realised you'd found me, had probably known where I was all the time and had simply toyed with me for your own amusement.
"When you pray, girlie, better make damned sure you move your feet," you snarled as you yanked the cupboard door open and reached in to grab me by the throat. I couldn't help it. I wet myself, making you laugh all the harder. You weren't laughing so much when I kneed you in the groin, managing to escape you once more. You want to see feet move? I'll give you movement.
"You can run, but you can't hide your legs!" you yelled after me, laughing again through the pain. You were quoting the TV show you pretended to love when you found me on the message board, grooming me for your sick little games. And you're probably right - I can't hide from you. You know every inch of this place, every spot that I might try to use to delay the inevitable. But who said anything about hiding? If I'm going down, I'm going down fighting. You wanted games? I'll give you games and play you like you've never been played before.
Because what you didn't realise when you chose me is that I'm very good at giving people exactly what they want. You wanted the frightened little victim, so that's who I was for you. But now you've had your fun and it's my turn. And by the time I'm finished with you, you'll be lucky if they even find your legs...
ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod
I heard the whimpering and for a moment didn't realise that it was my own voice panicking, unable to keep quiet when I realised you'd found me, had probably known where I was all the time and had simply toyed with me for your own amusement.
"When you pray, girlie, better make damned sure you move your feet," you snarled as you yanked the cupboard door open and reached in to grab me by the throat. I couldn't help it. I wet myself, making you laugh all the harder. You weren't laughing so much when I kneed you in the groin, managing to escape you once more. You want to see feet move? I'll give you movement.
"You can run, but you can't hide your legs!" you yelled after me, laughing again through the pain. You were quoting the TV show you pretended to love when you found me on the message board, grooming me for your sick little games. And you're probably right - I can't hide from you. You know every inch of this place, every spot that I might try to use to delay the inevitable. But who said anything about hiding? If I'm going down, I'm going down fighting. You wanted games? I'll give you games and play you like you've never been played before.
Because what you didn't realise when you chose me is that I'm very good at giving people exactly what they want. You wanted the frightened little victim, so that's who I was for you. But now you've had your fun and it's my turn. And by the time I'm finished with you, you'll be lucky if they even find your legs...