Celeste was back. She was back where she belonged and felt safe. But the place wasn't as familiar as it was when she left. "Of course it's not, you silly, a year has passed since your departure." She smiled at her thoughts. When descending from the airplane she felt the chilly wind press against her bare face. She was advised to dress warmly, so she wasn't cold, but the wind still bothered her. Is this the welcome she gets? She smiled again.
Her family was waiting. She saw them through the glass, separating the luggage reclaim and the waiting lounge. She didn't know what to think. Leave out the thinking, what about feeling? Was this what it feels like being overwhelmed by all the available emotions? She guessed so. Yet, she still couldn't understand what it was that she felt.
Whilst waiting for her bags, she saw others, entering the lounge and greeting their loved ones: kissing them, exchanging warm embraces, some even crying. She felt out of place, even embarrassed, by the fact that she could feel so little. Yes, those were her parents, but what was she meant to feel?
Finally, she saw her bag. Now, she did feel something. It was adrenaline, entering her bloodstream, making her more alert and focused on the one thing she only had one chance of grabbing: THE BAG. Well, ok, you can wait for the bag to circle around the belt once more, but who'd want to do that? There was the bag, moving dangerously closer and closer to here when... She collided with somebody. She was so focused on her bag, that she didn't even see that there was someone in front of her.
"Sorry" she mumbled. Then she lifted her head up, to judge the person's face. You know, if he/she didn't have that "you piece of shite" look on their face by any chance. However, instead she saw a man, equally as baffled as her, probably saying "I'm sorry" too. At that point it didn't really matter, as she saw the last opportunity to grab her bag and save it from the perpetual wheel of luggage.
The bag turned out to be heavier than she expected so she had to literally drag it through the air until it landed on the floor and she could deploy the wheels. As she started walking towards the exit, she involuntarily tilted her head back and found the same man looking at her. Their eyes met for a split second, but she quickly turned around and walked off.
The journey home wasn't going spectacularly well. There was that awkward silence and tension was lingering in the air. So Celeste resorted to looking through the car window. She was quietly admiring the view, no matter how dull it looked in winter. The fields that would be green with meadows in summer were brown now, partially covered in snow and muddy. But Celeste saw through this temporary disguise, and felt the summery meadows with her heart.
Her parents weren't a perfect match. Her father was happy-go-lucky, taking life as it is. Curiously, he did have a bad temper, but so did she, so she couldn't really say anything about it. Except that she'd manage to control herself, and he... Well, most of the time.
Her mother, on the other hand, was ambitious and cold. She liked it when the things were going her way and people acted the way she wanted. She was the one to send Celeste abroad, "To see the world". Celeste didn't really mind it, as she could get out of her mother's controlling grip. And she did. Through the years, she formed a personality of her own. She was a different person, uninfluenced by her mother. Leaving her was a gift, which she used wisely.
"How was the journey?" her father asked. "I hope it wasn't too cold when you stepped out of the plane. The winter has only begun, and we already have freezing temperatures. It's good for the ice, though. The ice fishing season should be starting soon." He rubbed his hands together happily.
His questions brought her back to the flight. The service was decent, and the person sitting next to her wasn't too invasive. Then Celeste remembered the little accident. It wasn't the accident itself, but the man. Only now did she take notice of the way he looked. He was taller and bigger than her, so it was odd that she didn't see him. He wore a brown turtle neck, which she had to acknowledge, fitted his slightly muscular frame perfectly, and jeans, with purple shoes. Purple shoes? That's odd, she thought.
Nevertheless, she delved into more detail. She remembered his blond and ever so playfully unkempt hair. She breathed out, but halted. His eyes were now staring at her, piercing her own ones and boring deep with the same sharpness. She shivered. The features were very familiar, but she couldn't quite place them to a name. Maybe it was only her imagination...
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Her heart rate was quickening, as she was walking faster and faster. She heard the footsteps behind her. They were becoming more and more audible. Someone was approaching her. The panic set on her. It was dark. The street was dimly lit and there wasn't a soul outside. Her leg muscles tautened as she prepared to run. She set off, clutching her bag to her side, inhaling the cold and moist air into her lungs; they were burning.
She heard the footsteps behind her become duller and heavier. Running. She felt someone grab her, pulling her backwards, almost ripping her heavy woollen coat. The stranger's hand suddenly jerked and turned Celeste around to face a masked man. She gasped, but no sound could escape her lips. The fear had taken complete control over her. It was not the man. It was her own mind, fearing the unknown that was impairing her, making it impossible to escape.
"Hey, pretty face" Celeste saw a sick smile appear on his face. "You were running. Now why would you do that? I'm not here to do you any harm" and he pulled her towards his own body. She struggled. Only in her thoughts though. She had completely lost control over her body. It was the unknown that was in control now.
His eyes were piercing her own ones, trying to read the fear. Instead, he saw nothing - she was empty. He felt frustration growing in him. Why isn't she afraid? Why, for fuck's sake, is this woman not trembling like she ought to? He pulled out a knife. That'll teach her strength. That'll teach her how to be a heroine.
She saw it. She saw the glistening, silvery blade come out of his pocket. She looked at the blurred reflection on the gloss and focused on it. She was following the gleam as it came closer to her face, ultimately caressing her chin, with no sympathy or remorse. She watched it, frozen, still unable to move, even as it reached her cheek. It was sensing her skin, sending shivers through her body with every brush of its dead smooth surface.
"How 'bout now, eh? Do you like my friend? He can be very nasty, you know" he spoke, smirking. He was pleased, as he felt her trembling reverberating through the weapon. Then he looked into her eyes. They were as cold as the asphalt they were standing on.
His frustration grew, wiping the smirk off his face. This was replaced with grinding of his teeth as his face furrowed with anger. Powerfully, he pushed her to a wall of a tall building, making her bang her head against the concrete.
It hurt badly, Celeste even thought she could feel blood trickling down her hair and dripping onto the pavement. She imagined the crimson drops being pulled by the gravity and splattering on the ground, forming a pool of her own blood. Celeste gulped back her disgust only to be met by his eyes once again.
"You bitch, you're not afraid, are you?" she heard irritation in his voice. She was screaming inside, calling for help and struggling. But again, her body failed to respond. "Answer to me, you whore! He slapped her across her face. She felt the strike and prepared herself for the pain. Her eyes slightly narrowed, but before she could do or feel anything else, another blow came. This time, the pain was even more intense, and she felt blood streaming down her cheek.
"Now look at what you made me do? I told you that I wouldn't hurt you, didn't I? Look at what you make me do!" with these words he touched his own face with the knife and ran it across his jaw. Then he looked at Celeste's chest, rising and falling, as she tried to catch her breath in vain. He quickly cut off the coat buttons, opening the coat and having a good look at her figure. He smiled hungrily, admiring Celeste's curves. He raised his knife again, holding it on a level with her face.
Celeste thought that this was the end of it: he was going to stab her, leaving her scared for the rest of her life. She froze, but in a miracle of the moment, her eyelids slid down, covering her eyes from the horror. Instead, she felt strong thrusts at her blazer, each of them leaving it more and more open. She heard the buttons falling to the ground, the distinctive sound of plastic meeting hard asphalt, testing one's hearing ability, as it caused the highest and the quietest noise around her.
Nevertheless, she listened to the sound, remembering it in her mind, playing it again and again. With that, she began fidgeting, like she used to at school, when she was nervous: moving her fingers as if she was playing.
The man saw her fidgeting; it put a big, victorious smile on his face. "Ah, so now we're afraid, aren't we? What's with all that finger business, eh?" he spoke, mindlessly, as he focused on her breasts, merely hidden by the flimsy vest Celeste wore. With every breath they'd rise, as if showing themselves off, and then fall, only to rise again.
The fidgeting brought back memories of music she used to listen to. She remembered one tune, though she couldn't quite make out the words. Yet, her vocal chords seemed to have involuntarily switched on, displaying their capabilities with reservations in quietude.
Humming? What the hell? He grabbed her wrist fiercely, but her humming only intensified. "This is not funny, I'm telling ya. Will you stop the racket? Eh?" He tightened his grip around her wrist, almost constricting the flow of blood. Yet, she kept going at it. She hummed relentlessly, repeating the same tune over and over again. Tirelessly, she was recycling it, in her first physical attempt to defy her attacker. "Will you shut the fuck up? You stupid bitch!" he slapped her, getting blood on his palm. Then, cupping her jaw in his hand, he shouted: "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" and slapped her again.
She felt a wave of pain travel through her face, the smack deepening an already sizeable wound. But she wouldn't be shut up. She couldn't stop anyhow.
"You're not content, are you? You want more, eh? Is this how you like it? You like pain, you perverted slut?" she felt another blow. Gasp.
Celeste woke up.
She touched her chest, then her stomach. She was drenched in sweat, gasping for air in desperate attempts to overthrow her panic attack. "I'm in control, I'm in control" She kept repeating, tears streaming down her face. She blindly searched for a bottle on her nightstand.
She gulped down a pill, washing it with water. Her trembling hands put the bottle of water back on the nightstand and she slipped back into her bed, holding a spare pillow in between her arms, pulling it tightly to her chest. The drill was becoming all too familiar. It frightened her.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
