The Last September (The Wolves of the Fallen)
Description
A prequel to "The Long Winter", "The Last September" is a Short Story of Dakota Milo. Dakota's life was never simple, never sunshine and rainbows. As life went on though, she thought that maybe things would get better. She would gain a part of herself back... The night that she was bitten, all hopes of being someone other than a fallen girl goes out the window...
"I stared down at the cigarette in my hand and took a long drag. I started my mantra in my head, the one that kept me sane when memories roared at the back of my psyche.
I am Dakota Milo. I am an orphan. I hate cabbage. I love potatoes. My husband is Mitchell. His badge is 2411.
I recited my mantra of truths, things that kept me sane, kept me grounded when I felt I was losing myself.
Yep. Exciting. But it wasn’t supposed to be. Only truths. Only me.
I don’t think I ever heard him. I don’t think that it really ever registered that he was there, not until my head was against the cement of my porch. Maybe not until even the cigarette started burning my wrist where my arm had crushed it.
His fist slammed into my temple and my vision went into starbursts. I knew it was a him in the pit of my stomach. I could smell the maleness of him this close, the only one of my senses not dulled by the hard concrete against my skull. I didn’t have a moment to breathe, to contemplate a way to protect myself before he was on me, twisting my arms behind my back and pressing them up towards my head in a bone breaking angle. I heard the creaking of bone about to break radiating through my body.
Years of learning to fight do nothing for you if you are caught off guard and outweighed by what felt like over a hundred pounds. My life in foster homes had taught me how to fight men who were much bigger and who wanted more from me than a ‘daughter’, but in that instant all I could feel was the ratcheting pain as my shoulders slid and I heard creaks as if they were about to be ripped from their socket. So I screamed. Louder than I thought possible, I screamed my soul and cried out for anyone to hear."
"I stared down at the cigarette in my hand and took a long drag. I started my mantra in my head, the one that kept me sane when memories roared at the back of my psyche.
I am Dakota Milo. I am an orphan. I hate cabbage. I love potatoes. My husband is Mitchell. His badge is 2411.
I recited my mantra of truths, things that kept me sane, kept me grounded when I felt I was losing myself.
Yep. Exciting. But it wasn’t supposed to be. Only truths. Only me.
I don’t think I ever heard him. I don’t think that it really ever registered that he was there, not until my head was against the cement of my porch. Maybe not until even the cigarette started burning my wrist where my arm had crushed it.
His fist slammed into my temple and my vision went into starbursts. I knew it was a him in the pit of my stomach. I could smell the maleness of him this close, the only one of my senses not dulled by the hard concrete against my skull. I didn’t have a moment to breathe, to contemplate a way to protect myself before he was on me, twisting my arms behind my back and pressing them up towards my head in a bone breaking angle. I heard the creaking of bone about to break radiating through my body.
Years of learning to fight do nothing for you if you are caught off guard and outweighed by what felt like over a hundred pounds. My life in foster homes had taught me how to fight men who were much bigger and who wanted more from me than a ‘daughter’, but in that instant all I could feel was the ratcheting pain as my shoulders slid and I heard creaks as if they were about to be ripped from their socket. So I screamed. Louder than I thought possible, I screamed my soul and cried out for anyone to hear."
