Read Online Women Scorned by Angela Alsaleem - Free Book Online Page B

running down her legs, leaving red footprints in her wake. Her body shuddered with each breath, each labored step. Her limp arms hung at her sides, smacking against her legs. The last thing she remembered was going into the hospital for help. She needed help. And here she was, naked and alone. And someone was following her. She could feel it, could hear the person back there. Was it the same person who had kidnapped her or did it even matter? People might not stop for a beat up woman with no clothes on… well, there was obviously something wrong there, something that offended the laws of nature and would need to be addressed.
    She had no idea where she was or where she wanted to go. She needed medical attention. She needed clothes. She needed to get away from whoever was following her.
    The trees swayed in the wind. Her hair clung to her head, smoothing out around her face. “Help,” she moaned. “Someone, help me.” She looked around and could almost see the stillness permeating the air.
    A twig snapped behind her. She stopped, turned slowly, saw the faintest glimpse of red that vanished behind some bushes. She widened her eyes, turned, and walked faster. The blood, cold and slippery between her thighs, continued its unending flow.
    She cried but no tears fell. Her skin felt tingly and warm as if her entire body had gone to sleep. As she stumbled along the dirt path, she stole glances over her shoulder, into the trees, trying to see her follower without being noticed. Though she felt warm, her flesh was cold to the touch, growing slightly rigid, making it more and more difficult for her to continue.
    “Help,” she cried, almost inaudible. “Help me, please. Help me.” This went on as she meandered along. Her blood was crusting in the dry places and clumping in the wet ones. She felt between her legs again, bringing her red fingers into view. Why was she still bleeding? She looked down at the crimson footprints stretching out behind her and saw a small dog fly backwards into some brush.
    “Fuck.” The word came out in a whimper. “I’m an artist,” she insisted. “I’m supposed to be in San Francisco dammit!” Her voice rose in a high whine. She cringed at the sound, hands clenched at her sides. Then she sighed and muttered under her breath, “I’m not supposed to be here, wherever the fuck here is.” She thought about the art school she’d applied to, the school that told her to come on down, ‘be an artist, we think you’ve got talent, kid’. And then the cop had pulled her over, had asked her to step out of her car… she didn’t want to remember.
    “Shit.” She continued on, eventually coming to a road with mailboxes lined up across from a driveway. She looked left. The road disappeared into the trees going uphill. She looked right. The road disappeared into the trees going downhill. She turned right, downhill being the easier path, and shuffled along, looking back up the graveled country road from which she’d just emerged.
    A redheaded woman stood off to the side, staring with a shocked expression. She had the little black dog on a leash. Her followers. Just a couple of gawkers it seemed. But why the hell didn’t the redhead help? And if she was the one who’d brought her here, why didn’t she come and get her back? Nothing made sense. Camilla looked down at herself and continued around the corner, not waiting to see if the girl would dart into the bushes again. She ran her hands over her naked body and chuckled, a mirthless sound in the early morning.
    Her follower was afraid. Camilla hated the mess her body was in. She hated the bruises that didn’t hurt, the blood that wouldn’t stop flowing. She no longer cared about the woman and her squeak toy masquerading as a pet. If she was going to do something, she would have done it already.
     
    *  *  *
     
    Aludra heard sobs and cries for help. She pulled the shirt from her face and blinked in the dim lighting, still far too bright for