midnightwhumps

[midnightwhumps]

Home Sweet Home

I woke up, cold to my bones, groggy and with a skull-splitting headache. With dread. Looking around, I realized we were driving through the forest, panic settling once again in my stomach. 

My wrists were handcuffed together, hooked to a metal bar at my feet by silver chain. My ankles were cuffed too, attached to the same bar. I jerked at them, receiving nothing but a searing pain. Sawyer and Deven were seated in the front, whereas I had been placed in the vans middle seat. Two thick, leather straps had been pulled over my shoulder, coming together at my front, buckled between my thighs, a a makeshift carseat, as if I were a fucking child. I’d been immobilized. 

Irritation burned through my veins and I slammed my head against the cushioned seat. Deven glanced over his shoulder, lips twisting in a wicked grin when he noticed I had woken. “We’ll be home soon, Amara,” he said, turning back around. 

“That place isn’t my home,” I shouted, nostrils flaring. 

He gave a half shrug. “Okay, maybe not ... but it’s where you belong,” he said, “and you won’t be escaping this time.” 

I rolled my eyes. “We’ll see.” 

He chuckled and checked his watch. “I’ll radio in, tell them we’re fifteen minutes out,” he said, turning to Sawyer. Instead, I watched out the window, admiring the beautiful autumn trees as they blurred past, and breathed in the crisp air from the window rolled down about an inch. I didn’t know when I’d ever see the sky again, if I ever would see the sky again. 

Soon, Sawyer began to slow, turning left onto a long, paved road. Either side filled with pine trees. He stopped at an iron gate, two guards appearing with automatic rifles draped over their shoulders. He flashed them his ID, saying “We have Amara Van Winkle in the back.” 

The guards let him pass through without another word. We drove another two minutes and reached a series of buildings, concrete and windowless. Sawyer parked the van in front the main building, where two more handlers were situated behind the gate, likely to assist with me. And behind them, a man in a suit stood, his expression unreadable, his eyes black as night, lips pursed in a straight line. My father, Dr. Orion Van Winkle. 

Home Sweet Home. 

#no.2 #defiant whumpee #hospitalwhump

[midnightwhumps]

Taken

Wrapping the plaid scarf tight around my neck, I stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind me. 

A hand grabbed it, forcing it back open. “Don’t forget the chocolate,” Mack yelled, leaning out the door of our apartment, before being pulled back inside by his shirt collar. I shook my head, lips twitching in a slight grin. “Carmel and Hazelnut, Amara! Don’t fecking forget!” 

“Get the heck inside, man, before someone hears you” Nicolai grumbled at my twin the door slamming shut. I shook my head, jogging down the staircase to the ground floor. Outside, the autumn breeze caught my hair, whipping strands around my face. 

Despite the coldness, I embraced the sweet smell of rain, the crunch of fallen leaves under my boots. Mack and I decided the small town of Wolfville had a good ... atmosphere, as Mack declared. We, our small group of runaways, wanted somewhere quiet and rural to settle. If only for a little while. 

And it had been good, so far. 

Locals didn’t question us, assuming we were university students from campus a few miles away, and welcomed us with open arms. Just yesterday, the three of us had been in town, adventuring, like we did every Saturday morning.

Mack joked with a few older women, while Nicolai questioned a man an incident at the shipyard. I had enjoyed the coziness of the little bakery, huddled up with a doggy-eared book, occasionally casting curious looks when the bell dinged and customers flooded in and out.

“Would you like a refill, dear?” Dorthy asked, the owner of the store, gesturing to my empty cup of coffee. 

I offered a small smile. “I’m about to head out, actually,” I said, “a few more errands to run.” Don’t forget the chocolate, Mack’s voice echoed in my head. How wonderful it was to worry about something so small, so simple, when the last year had been nothing but harrowing. 

“I’ll meet you at the cash -” 

The sharp jingle of the bell above the bakery door cut her off. We both looked up and I sucked in a deep breath. 

The two men in white stepped in. They both sported pristine white scrubs, each with a taser and radio at their hips. Handlers. 

These two know how to make an entrance, I thought, shrinking into my seat. Most of the customers gave them an odd look of wonder, turning to their cups of espresso and company without a second thought. They were both young, dark hair, probably mid twenties. The tall one, with piercing hazel eyes, stepped forward, cautious as he searched the faces around him. 

Red, the second handler, stayed by the entrance, blocking a potential escape attempt. No one seemed bothered by their presence, yet a cold shiver made its way up my spine. 

My heart thumped, blood curdling in my veins. Keep quiet, don’t move, I thought, maybe that glanced around the cafe, eyes blank and calculating. Maybe, they will look right past me, not recognize my bleached hair and weathered clothes. Maybe -  

“Ms. Van Winkle,” hazel eyes called, staring directly at me. 

Nope, I’m a goner. 

“Do not move,” he warned, charging forward. “I am -”

I bolted, heaving the scalding coffee in the direction of the handler, hoping it’ll burn him. I gave two craps what he had to say, what he wanted. I sprinted for the back exit, the cashier gasping when I shoved her aside. 

“Get the van. I can handle her.” I heard one of them call. 

I scoffed, throwing open the heavy door at the back, bounding into the chilly wind once more. Hazel eyes was on my heels, refusing to let me get away. Panicked, I headed for the park, hoping to lose the handlers. The park had woods I could disappear into, to hide, to survive - anything but capture. 

Capture meant a certain death. 

Things were a blur as I dashed for the park, crossing streets, vehicles nearly taking me out. Drivers honked as I continued, shouts of anger falling on deaf ears. 

In a slow whirl, I had slammed to the wet grass and a tangle of arms made my heart race, blood pounding in my ears. I couldn’t help but focus on the hands grabbing my waist, flashes of white over my head, the tinge of peppermint filling my nostrils. 

“Don’t make this harder on yourself,” Hazel eyes warned, flipping me onto my back. He straddled my waist, using his weight hold me down as he reached behind him, baring a pair of handcuffs. 

I fought him, thrashed and spit and swore, but it was no use. When he managed to encircle the metal around my wrists with a triumphant hmm, hauling me up to stand, I knew I’d made a mistake. 

“You can run, but you can’t hide,” he sang, his hot breath tickling my neck. I lifted my lips in a sneer, spitting on his shoes. His calm, nonchalant demeanour faltered, but only for a second. “I’m Deven, your new handler.” 

“I don’t care what your name is, dipshit” I shouted, struggling in his hold. He let out a low, irritated breath, glancing up. The second handler rushed forward, seeming uncertain and flustered. Must be new to the game.

“Sawyer, let’s get her secured in the van and radio into headquarters,” Deven said, with a sickly sweet smile in my direction. “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you, Amara.”

I kicked out my leg, catching Deven in the shin. He groaned yet his hold never loosened. Sawyer took my forearm, jerking me forward. “Well, ain’t she a defiant little one,” he muttered, shoving me into the side of the vehicle, the back of my head bouncing off the metal. 

The tall man stepped forward and smirked, a flash of hunger sweeping over his expression. “Mhm,” he said, winking, and reached out to stroke my cheek, “and the most fun to break.”

#whumptober2020 #no.1 #restraint #capture #kidnapping #fic #shackled #taser #manhandling