Speechless.

She was running as fast as her legs would carry her, she ran until her lungs screamed and then she ran harder. The cavern was dark and damp and her naked feet pounded against the cold grey ground, the sound echoing all around her. Her pursuer’s feet pounded heavily against the ground, nearly drowning out her own steps. Thud, thud, thud, He was closer than before, gaining speed, his prey within reach.

He’d kill her, she knew. She’d broken Law, defied the monsters in the dark, and embarrassed the one who chased her now. She tried to run harder but her bare feet were already bleeding and abused and could not take the abuse of running faster.

His dirty meaty hand clamped hard around her hair jerking her backward and nearly knocking her off her feet. A scream tore through her lips as he held her by the pony tail. They heard her screams, she knew, but they would never come. Yet she could not bring herself to blame them. She’d brought this on herself, any interference would just cause more harm in the end.

“You are mine,” His voice was gruff and throaty and it made her tremble with fear. “You do as I say. I forbid you and you defied me! What makes you any better than the rest?” he demanded furiously. She was numb, her body had shut down, it did not wish to torture her with a prolonged death. “What is the matter, Mi chillón.”

She was no coward, she did not fear her captor, she feared the things she would miss when he’d finish with her. She regretted never telling Matt how much she loved him, how she thought the world of him growing up. She never told Jack that he was the best friend anyone anywhere could ever have. She never sent Alex her condolences. Dazed, she wondered if she would see Logan when all this was over.

Defiant and brave to the end, she spit in his face. Everyone feared him but she never would.
He roared with rage and suddenly his hands were around her throat…

“Amelia! Amelia! Wake up, Mia!” Amelia gasped and jerked into an up right position, clutching her throat. John had both hands clamped on her shoulders, staring at her wide eyed. “You were screaming,” He stated shocked, watching her pant, and trying desperately to catch her breath as though she had just run a mile. “You were asleep but you were screaming bloody murder.” Amelia’s eyes darted around wildly before her mind comprehend that she was on the Warped Tour, on The Maine’s tour bus, and that John O’ Callaghan was the only one here with her.

She was trembling uncontrollably and she couldn’t stop the tears of fright and relief that suddenly flowed like rivers from her startled eyes. She was a blubbering mess and she couldn’t control herself.

“J-John,” She stuttered, unable to shake the nightmare from her mind.

John left his place beside the bunk and ducked his head down into the spaces until he was sitting beside her. He pulled her into his lap as she sobbed uncontrollably into his neck. When Amelia thought about it she could almost feel those hands around her throat, squeezing, crushing, and tightening.

“Please,” He begged his voice no louder than a whisper. “Tell me what happened.” He knew better than to tell Amelia that it was a dream, nothing more. He knew better than to tell her that everything was okay, she was okay. Both would be a lie and the two knew it.

“I can’t.” She cried, her tears slowed but she still clung to John all the same, like a scared child hiding in the arms of their parents. She wanted to feel that protection, she wanted to feel like John could shield her from the pain, protect her from the danger. But Amelia had felt that pain, known the danger first hand—she knew in heart that John could not protect her from this.

“Why not?” He questioned, frustration laced in his words that sprang from care.

“You won’t like what you hear. No one will. Any scenario my brother has thought up of me is much kinder than the reality. I can’t be who I was.” Her voice rasped. “It was ugly—it makes me ugly.”

“Amelia,” He began stunned.

She rested her head against his shoulder so she would not have to look at him. Amelia didn’t want anyone to look at her to closely. They would not like what they saw.

“Mia,” His hand cupped her cheek, forcing her to look up at him. The action caused her heart to race in ways she did not understand, her nerves surging to life. “You are not ugly Mia. You could never be—it’s impossible.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

John pursed his lips and stared at her for a moment. “When people hurt you, when things happen in your life that are out of your control…it isn’t your fault. You know that right?” He questioned his eyes the color of sea glass.

The sea…Amelia missed it. She missed the way sand would squish between her toes, the salty breeze against her skin, the warmth of the sun, the startling cold of the sea, the sound of waves breaking. It was something that Amelia didn’t realize she missed until she looked into his eyes, the color of sea glass, and remembered just how badly she longed for the beach a place she hadn’t been for years. It amazed Amelia then that even in the aftershock of her nightmare, comforted in the arms of John that she could think of something as pointless as the sea.

His hand slipped from her cheek and grazed her neck. Amelia’s breathing hitched but she did not flinch away from his touch as her eyes flickered to him. He drew circles into the side of her neck with his thumb, his eyes studying her throat as though it held all the answers he sought.

“I know what happened,” John whispered nonchalantly, his gaze fixated on where his hand met her flesh. “I know why you can’t speak.” When his eyes met hers again, he was startled to see her looking at him with apprehensive and curious eyes that shimmered with stray tears. “Someone strangled you, didn’t they?” John had slowly put the pieces together; a theory that had formed in the hours Amelia had been asleep. Her abrupt screaming and clawing at her throat only solidified the theory in his mind.

Amelia didn’t move, she didn’t breath. Her eyes no longer held curiosity and apprehension, her eyes held…nothing. Yet a strange sense of liberation washed through her body. Somebody knew the truth and suddenly she felt lighter. John’s face twisted up in pain as he touched her throat gingerly at the revelation.

“Jesus Christ,” a frown slipped onto Amelia’s chapped lips. “Who could do that to you? Who could harm someone so beautiful?”

Amelia ducked her head and looked away. “I’m not beautiful and girls have been abused, killed even, for less than what I was punished for.”

“Punished?” He spat in disgust. “You think you were punished?”

“If I had just listened,” She whispered. “None of it would have ever happened.”

“Listened to what? To who?” He demanded. Amelia bit her lip and looked away.

“I better go,” She mumbled rising from the bunk, but John snatched her wrist. Her head snapped in his direction. The girl John saw then was not the one he had just spoken to only moments ago; this one was defensive, angry. She acted like a cornered wild animal. This person would purposely hurt her friends in order to push them away, to be left alone. “Let me go John.”

He stared up at her, his mouth set into a thin line. John did not like this, he did not like the way Amelia said she had been punished, he didn’t like that he couldn’t ask her more questions and get a full understanding of what was going on. He didn’t like that he couldn’t do anything about it.

She pulled her wrist from his warm hand and fled the bus, disappearing into the night leaving John alone, conflicted on the bus he had to call home.