I don't know where I'm going. All I know is my feet hitting the hard cement, rushing down the stairs, into the light outside. My eyes are blurry with tears and my ears are ringing. My mind is running through possibilities of what Owen could be keeping from me. My body feels exhausted.

I don't know how long I run. All I know is that it makes me feel better. The wind blows into my face. It's crisp and keeps me in reality when I don't want to be. It cuts through me like the words and looks I've been given lately.

Eventually I stop, unable to continue. I put my hands on my knees and take in deep breaths. Even with my hair pulled back, it fall into my eyes. My feet are numb. I don't know if that's because it's getting late and cold or if it's because I've been running a long time.

I finally look around. It's dark now, night having completely taken over the daytime. It looks like a town. Not like one I'm familiar with. Then again, I'm not familiar with much anymore.

There is a gas station across the empty road from me. No cars are in sight. The lights above flicker, adding to the eeriness of all of this. A small restaurant with only two cars parked inside is next to that. I stand in front of what looks to be an old warehouse. Maybe a factory. I don't see any other people.

Maybe I should call Clarin. This place is freaking me out, and I don't even know how I got here. I can't possibly retrace my footsteps. By the looks of it, I must have flat out sprinted for a full hour, with no regard to where I was going.

I must have a habit of leaving my problems and getting myself lost, like I did after school the first time I really 'met' Owen.

Owen.

His name throws a wrench into my gut.

No, don't think of him. Don't think of his words. His mistrust. His desire to have someone he'll never get back. Don't think of it.

I see a flicker of the lights again, and my heart starts to pump harder and faster. My shaky fingers reach down to my pocket where my phone was last. But it isn't there anymore.

I think my heart skips a beat. My head is spinning. I can't feel my feet. My knees go weak. I drop to the sidewalk, and sit, staring at nothing. There is no way for me to contact help.

I could always go inside and ask someone to borrow a phone. Then again, almost nobody seems to be here. And this place might not have the most trustworthy of people.

After about three minutes of contemplating, I decide it's better to go ask someone, anyone, than sit out here in the dark and wait to be kidnapped or murdered.

I stand to my feet and begin walking towards the restaurant that now looks to me like a barbecue house. I open the front doors once I've crossed the street. A little bell jingles once I've entered.

Besides a bearded man working at the counter, holding a bottle of beer, there are only three people inside. Quiet music plays in the background and the people mind their own business, either snacking on food or taking swigs from a bottle.

I don't know who to ask. Two of the customers have their heads turned away from me. By the looks of it, they're both men. For some reason instinct tells me that the woman facing me is my safest option. Perhaps that was something my mom taught me when I was younger, to always trust a woman more than a man in a dangerous situation.

I slowly walk up to her. I notice now, that she holds a book in her hands. Her attention doesn't verge away from it until I'm right in front of her. I clear my throat and she looks up.

"Hello, um, I'm sorry to bother you but I'm lost and forgot my phone... I was wondering if you had one I could borrow," I say. My voice sounds stiff and restricted. Then again, that's how my entire body feels.

"Sure, girl. Don't really know why you'd lose yourself in this area. Here, good luck gettin' home," she says and hands me an old cellphone.

I take a few steps back and flip it open. It isn't until now that I really realize the problem here. My heart sinks in my chest. I have no numbers memorized. I only could call people because they were already in my contacts.

"Everything alright?" The woman asks.

I look up. "Oh... Yes, sorry. I just... Um... Remembered that my boyfriend is picking me up down the road soon. Thank you."

My voice sounds distant. I hand her phone back and take a few steps towards the door. I feel hollow. What am I supposed to do now? There really isn't anything I can do. A part of me wants to go fall asleep somewhere and wait until tomorrow. Another part of me tells me not to let myself sleep because bad things will happen if I do.

Maybe I should wander down from where I came from and hope I get lucky.

So I step one foot in front of the other, going down the sidewalk. I try not to pay attention to the eery noises or the flickering lights. I try not to diverge on the thought of being watched. All I pay attention to are my steps. Right, left, right, left. One foot in front of the other.

It must be about eleven by now. I wonder what my sister is thinking. What my mother is thinking. They must be worried. I wonder if Owen's told them anything. I wonder if they're trying to find me.

I hope they are.

As much as I don't want to see Owen's face at the moment, I want to be rescued right now. He might not want to trust me. He might not want to tell me anything or give me any information because I'm not the same, but I know he cares enough to come after me. To try to find me.

I realize now how childish I must seem, always running from my problems.

And his words, 'How could I let this happen again?' So I had run off once before. That was implied in the statement.

I hear a scraping noise behind me and turn my head quickly to see what it is. I don't find anything. Maybe I'm just paranoid. But here, I have plenty of reason to be paranoid. I keep walking, faster now, and I can feel my heartbeat in my throat.

"Brinley?" A voice calls.

My heart stops. I want it to be Owen. I want it to be my mother, my sister, anyone. But I don't recognize the voice. I turn slowly, my body turned to ice.

A boy who looks to be about Owen's age stands in front of me. He has blonde hair and such dark eyes it looks like they're completely black. He tilts his head to the side, inspecting me. He takes a few steps towards me, a wicked smile playing on his lips.

"Brinley," he repeats. "What are you doing here?"

My throat constricts, and the only sound that escapes is a mangled moan. I'm drowning in terror. I should run, but my feet are glued in place.

How does he know me?

He comes further towards me. I stop breathing altogether.

"What are you doing down here?" He asks, voice deep.

As close as he is in this darkness, I now see how strong he really is, muscular everywhere. He could probably crush me in his hand.

"You never come downtown," he repeats.

I finally can take a step backwards.

"I don't... I don't know you," I croak, finally finding my voice.

"Don't play this game with me, Brinley," the man says, coming towards me again. He's only two feet away now.

I feel tears prickling behind my eyes, terror filling me head to toe. How can he possibly know me?

"Come on, I'll take care of you," he says to me, reaching a hand out to touch my shoulder. My entire being is repulsed by him. I take another step back, and his arm drops to his side. "Like I used to."

I sprint. I can't stand it anymore. I can physically feel the adrenaline rushing through me as my legs drive me away so quickly I can't even feel my feet touch the ground.

"Don't run! I need to talk to you about-" I try to drown out his voice with my own breathing. I try to pretend he isn't on my heels trying to catch up to me.

Whoever he is, I don't like the way he looks at me. I don't like that he knows who I am, I don't like that-

He grabs my wrist and pulls me towards him. I stop abruptly, hitting my head into his collarbone. He doesn't even wince.

"How's that pretty little boyfriend, Brinley?" He asks, and I try to squirm out of his grasp. He holds onto my arm his one hand, so tightly that I believe my circulation is being cut off. The other hand slides up my arm and rests on my cheek. He gets closer and I can smell his minty breath. "Still as beautiful as I remember, aren't you."

I want to run. I want his hand off me. I want to leave. But his grip is so strong and he won't let me go. I'm small. In frail. I can't fight him off.

"It's a shame you chose him," he says, hand moving to my neck. My skin feels icy cold. I feel nothing but pure terror.

His eyes search me in a way I don't like. He starts pulling me in the opposite direction, against my will. I don't know where he's planning to take me, but I know I don't want to go.

I let out a small shriek and try to plant my feet in place. He keeps dragging me along with him, hand now covering my mouth so I can't release any more sounds. I try to kick at him but he isn't phased.

"Stop fighting against me, Brinley, we both know you can't win," he says, voice raspy.

Let me go, I want to say. But I can't.

"Always so stubborn, you are," he says, continuing to drag me along.

I feel to hopeless. There is nothing I can do about it. He's taking me away. He's going kidnap me. He's going to hurt me.

And he stops. Turns me around. Looks at me for a long time, hand still over my mouth. I'm having trouble breathing.

"I can't believe I finally found you again."

Suddenly a car pulls up and before I know what's happening, someone jumps out. I can't help myself from bursting out crying. His friends are here. They're going to kidnap me. They're going to do horrible, horrible things to me. The tears run down my face with the man's hands still on me. I try to let out a scream, but it comes out as a straggled croak.

And then his hands are gone. I collapse to the ground, under my own fear. I pull my hands to my face and sob into them. They're going to put me in that car. They're going to kill me. They're going to do all sorts of terrible things to me. And I'm helpless.

I hear a grunt. Something slams into the ground next to me. An angry mutter and the sound of bone meeting concrete. I try to clear my tears enough to see what's happening in front of me.

Whoever got out of that car is on the ground above the man who held me captive. He throws a punch at his nose, then gets thrown off by the other man. I don't understand this. I don't know what's happening. I put my head back in my hands and the tears keep coming.

How did I possibly get myself into this horrible situation? My hands shake, and it moves into my arms and legs until my whole body is taken over by shudders.

A gentle hand touches my shoulder. This time I actually do scream, and throw a fist at whoever is trying to pull me towards the car. Whoever want to kidnap me, to hurt me.

"Brinley, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you," the voice is gentle. My shoulders shake as more tears come.

The hand touches my shoulder again. The touch reminds me of the man's hand on me, sliding up my arms and I wretch forward, head in my hands.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the voice says again. "Brinley, it's okay."

I recognize the voice now. I know that voice. It's Owen. He somehow found me.

It can't be true, can it? I want so desperately for it to be true.

I look up slowly from my hands, and through my tears, I see Owen squatting down beside me.

His face, his presence here throws such relief over me. I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out. Instead I throw my arms around him. He immediately takes me in, holding my carefully as I cry in to his shirt, hands around his neck, clasping to his shirt collar and not letting go.

I can't believe he found me. I can't believe he saved me.

Owen whispers soft words into my ear, gently running his fingers through my hair. I listen to his heartbeat and eventually it calms me down.

Owen stands picking me up with him. He carries me to he car, leaving the man on the ground behind us.