ROWLING, sawyer hudson

what a change in scenery. you can easily recall where you had been because it was a routine, which, since running, had become a huge part of your life. you had been walking the same route to head to the flower shop to pick up willow. it’s what you did every single day, the same path each and it’s been that way since you had moved to this city. you didn’t want to come here, you wanted to stay in seattle but your companion had not done as she was meant to and curiosity got ahold of her. you liked seattle, the sea breeze, the large city that made it easy to blend in—you don’t understand why willow could not keep her mouth shut sometimes. but then you can never stay mad at her. those doe eyes melted your ice soul, her pout was the one way ticket to your grave. you were two minutes and fifty two seconds away from the shop’s door, passing by the alley that always had you tense up. it was not uncommon for you to get that feeling but that made have been the paranoia creeping on you again. really, you did not want to leave another city. you were tired of it, being on the run. you did not have a lot going for you back in your hometown not too far from here. you should have just moved here first but instead, you picked seattle and then a small town in oregon and then briefly a stay in california but it was just pit stops to return back you home state. now look where it left you? someone grabbing you out of the shadows and doing a bit of a number to your face, now that you awake, you are feeling it. the shiner was forming, your face feels denser as it swells up. you don’t fight, there is no point and you learned that the first time. this is not the same circumstances and you are not even sure if it’s the same reasoning. but the binds, the blindfold, all of that feels the same. so you sit there with a bruise developing under your eye, making your vision blurry on one side though you can’t see anything anyway.

you hear the steps first. it sounds like a death march to you but you ignore it. the first thing that you look for is willow. you need to be sure that she is not here that she is safe. that is always your objective, no matter where you go. you don't see her but you do inhale deeply to that observation and intake a large quanity of colonge. you nearly gag on the smell and the steps are louder but no one has appeared to you yet. you know someone is watching and your eyes flit while your head is stationary. the dots in your vision are beginning to clear and you see the room that you are. it looks like a ...garage. there was a car only a couple of feet away from him and there was someone standing by a door that must lead into the house. you keep your head up, though it feels weak and you feel tired. you need to know that willow is safe.

the sound of the someone's voice causes your head to turn quickly and it hurts. the pain ran down the length of your neck and burned into the middle of your shoulder. you did need an aspirin but you did not reply, you just stared with a deep, uninterested gaze.

your eye was officially swollen though, if you had any doubt before—which you really didn’t. you knew but now it was felt as you were forced to be face to face with this bastard. curse words flew around in your head, things you could say to him, things you want to do include bashing his head into the metal chair that you could see you were strapped to. he asked for the details of…you. fuck that. you were not going to give anything away, nothing that would give clues to who you once were, who you cared most about—nothing. your eyebrow just raised defiantly, and his eyes narrowed at you. then you felt it, it was the most intense pain that you have ever received. you had been punched, kicked, even sliced with a knife but that was all external. you felt this deep beneath your skin, the jolt and it started off slow but your continued silence fuelled him to keep going. the intensity increased and finally through breaths that were uneven, the shock hitting your most vital organs and just sparking them to twitch—”sawyer..hudson rowling..”,you grit out while trying to fix your posture. you were not weak, you were strong but that was too much for you to take, ”construction worker…eighteen…” and that was all that you could remember. did your brain turn to mush? was that even possible? you were still breathing though that was all uneven, so yes...you were alive, though you felt exhausted now. lesson was fully learned.

your teeth are grinding together, flakes of enamel were starting to fill your mouth as the pressure on your shoulder grows more intense. you are thankful for that but you are not about to express your gratitude to your kidnapper. "didn't tell you that.", you say swiftly, not really thinking and regretting it. you see the fist coming at your face and you can't do anything but flinch. it hurts, the blow to the face feels ten times worse with the already set wounds on your face. you gave your head a shake to try and wipe away the pain but it did nothing, it was still resonating in your cheek bones, muscle and even the tissues. you knew plenty of people that could put you in this situation but none that you personally knew. you could remember a few of their names - james, david, harry. but this could not be about them. you have kept your nose clean, you have done everything possible to keep willow safe and that was not going to stop now. you refused to die now, not until you knew that she was safe.

now you flinch to the hit. you don’t like to talk about yourself this much, you are not used to it. this is not routine, this is so far from the normal quiet life that you live that you might be struck momentarily mute. is that possible? it could be, you could blame in on the shocks if anything. ”i’m…”, but then you stop explaining, you can’t even name the traits that you are because all you are is what willow wants you to be. you are a father, a friend, a source of comfort for her—but you are nothing to anyone else. you don’t get close to anyone else, you live quite robotically. your routine is your best friend. getting up, going to the construction site, returning home, waiting around, then going to get willow—that’s it. that’s what you do, that’s who you are. you are dense, you are complex and hard to get to know because you don’t trust anyone and you don’t even let anyone get into your head, you are strong but you are weak when it comes to that stupid girl. sometimes you hate her, sometimes you just want to leave her because she never listens but then you are pulled back by that smile, those eyes, the stutter that occasionally appears when she is nervous. when she curls into your side when you are sleeping after the twenty minutes of whimpering keep your eyes open. you are worried and tense, constantly. nothing quells your fear of being captured again, nothing stops you from being paranoid—you are nothing. you are no one to anyone but her. you are everything to her, ”planned…”. if that makes any sense. you are not empathetic to anything or anyone, you just go through life until the past inevitably catches up to you and when that time comes, willow will live and you will die. that’s the plan.

clenching your teeth hurts so you have to unset your jaw even though you just want to keep it locked. you need to keep yourself quiet because you don't know what this is about. you have no idea who this is. you don't really want to know. all you want to know is that willow is safe. you just nod. though no one knew you, you don't even know you. who are you? a robot. a creation by a situation that you could never take back. you lost who you were and you lost anyone who knew who you were. but what people say about you now, your co-workers, but you don't have friends. you don't have anyone. you hardly have yourself. you are all about willow and you needed to know that she was okay. you want to ask but you don't, you are logical like that and you need to stay focused and concious. your head is throbbing and the room is starting to spin but you stay upright, not willing to surrender to the darkness.

”wonder..why..”, your words as you tried to lick at your dry lips. the shocks and hits did a number on you. was your skin burning? possible. but you were look to the man as he speaks, your eyebrow dropping as he asks about your past. ”no..”, though you were not even sure where here was, for all you knew, you were not even in los angeles anymore. this was so far out of your daily routine that you really had no idea of what to say, but you figure that saying no was the safest bet. you were not born in this garage, you had a sweet little town that you called your own with a mother and you did have a father and a little brother for a lot of your life but now all you had was willow. you were not really complaining. you cared deeply for her, she had been apart of your life since you could remember but then again, you did not expect to have her at your hip for the rest of your life. ”summerlin.” was where you were born. you could name that place, especially in your sleep. you talk a lot in your sleep, you say names of peoples and places as they flash in vivid images. but you don’t want to talk about your childhood, you have not really thought too much of it since you were forced onto the run with willow. it did not really matter anymore.

but now, you are thinking about. you are forced to relive it as no one had asked to talk about your beautiful mother, the only person in the that town that you miss. even after the accident, she still dedicated her life to her family and you left her. you are a horrible son. but you wrote to her, explaining why you left and even though she is a policewoman, it did not make a difference. she was the one that put up the lost posters when you did not come home that evening. it was her worst nightmare coming true, losing her entire family. you felt horrible while you were sitting in the chair, ropes wrapped around your wrists and ankles, keeping you held down to the chair. you thought about a lot at that time. your childhood included. you had such a glorious, simple life. everything was done for you and you were happy. you actually smiled, not like now, that was a rare if not, unthinkable action. you don’t show happiness in fear it will be ripped away from you again. but you had a father, he was always strict with you. you were the oldest sibling after, born three years before little greg. you remember the car flipping when you were fourteen, you pulled yourself from the wreckage and could only save one. so you saved none. you could not get the glass out of the way to get your little brother in the backseat and your father said not to save him. he told you to go away, to run. you didn’t. you stayed, you watched them died. it still haunts you. your mother was so happy to have you still. you are a horrible son. ”no..”, you mutter under your breath, your voice is weaker than it was before. you are tired and worn down, mentally and physically. you have no strength to speak but you always have strength to defy what is asked of you. you expect that jolt of electricity but instead, you get something far more lasting, but not as pain filled. it’s another punch, to the same spot, just blackening the skin as the vessels under the skin burst. you wince, you can’t stop that kind of reaction. and then you finally say, ”fine. it was tragic..it was horrible, it was love filled and now it’s gone..”, you told, you explained, you are done.

the blood trickled down but you are too weak to lick it away. you just feel it, sliding down your bruised skin and dropping onto your jeans. your brows furrow though. that was something that you were always uncomfortable with. sure, when you were a young, happy boy, you had your first kiss with a random girl in a game of spin the bottle. you got your hand under a girl’s shirt when you were sixteen but that’s it. you never amounted to really anything else in the love department. you had a life partner but it was not love, it was protection and dedication, it was being there for her since you were the only one she trusted and vice versa—”nope.”

your heart begins to thump against your ribcage, not able to keep up with the beats, your fight begins and you narrow your eyes, your nostrils flare. ”don’t fucking touch her! i swear to fucking god, i will rip you limb from limb and…i’ll fucking kill you!”, your wrists are bleeding more to the point that you are feeling dizzy but you still fight, you will fight for willow until your last breath. when you’re free, you don’t hesitate to take that leap across the room to the man that had been questioning you. you grab his collar, you get him close but then you are pulled from him. you are forced into the arms of another and then a third man joins, pushing something into your skin. you fight it, you try so hard to fight that drug and the adrenaline helps but eventually, you can’t overcome it, your eyes begin to close but you mutter, ”wil…low..”, just before the fight is knocked out of you and sleep takes over.