Knuckle Dragging My Life Away Novels & Stories

He tried to curl away but I pulled him by his collar. “Don’t move,” I told him. “Don’t make me do worse.” But the truth was, the worse was already inside me, splintering. I grabbed his limb, pulled with all the force I had and dragged him across the gravel. He screamed, high and thin, limbs flailing, then keened when the injured leg hit a broken rock and folded wrong.

I dragged my fingers through the dirt, pulling myself forward an inch at a time, fueled by nothing but the terrifying image of losing my wife forever. I didn't have a direction in mind as I began a slow crawl. I just wanted to keep moving. The damp earth seemed to drink my blood, and the silence of the woods was a heavy shroud. Every inch I dragged myself forward felt like a mile. I grimaced as my trembling fingers hooked into the gnarled roots of an oak, pulling my broken body through the mulch and leaving a thick trail behind. “Please help me,” I prayed, my voice barely a whisper. “Just this once, great mother.”

Fernando said. I gripped my knees, bowing my head to look at my swollen knuckles. My hands were calloused, my knuckles were bleeding, my heart was racing, and darkness was starting to engulf my vision. I knew that no matter how much I plead for them, they wouldn’t help me. And I was just as hopeless as I was before.

I warned him softly. I gently spread the medicinal paste over the cracked and bubbling flesh covering his knuckles. Ajax sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and his fingers twitched against my leg. He did not pull away or tell me to stop. I worked meticulously to coat every single burn with the soothing ointment. I peeled a tiny sliver of melted leather away from his thumb and threw it into the mud. The stark contrast between our two lives felt impossible to ignore in the quiet darkness. I was a lesser noblewoman marked for death in my past life.

He simply threw me away, hoping the freezing mountain air would finish his dirty work for him. I coughed, spitting out the blood that clogged my throat. With broken fingernails, I clawed at the last tree root. I couldn't die here. If I died, Adrian and Sienna would dance upon my family’s headstones. They would inherit Vance Global as the 'grieving couple.' No. I wouldn't let them. Suddenly, a beam of high-intensity headlights sliced through the darkness from a distance. The low, powerful hum of an engine approached. With a surge of strength that felt like a miracle, I crawled out of the brush and collapsed onto the cold asphalt of the secluded road.

My ankle is yanked hard and my body flies to the ground as I’m yanked from the bed, dragged by my leg. My nails dig into the fake linoleum floors, as I cry out in shock. I kick and kick, but they grab hold of me again and yank me through the door. No amount of squirming or fighting gives me a vantage point where I can see them in the dark. They drag me down the cement sidewalk, my skin burning as the smooth concrete scrapes my flesh away with every inch. I can feel how deep the lacerations are becoming as I’m pulled over various sharp pebbles and sticks.

After all, aging had made my bones fragile. A nurse quickly steadied me, looking somewhat surprised. "Dr. Larson, she's not young anymore. Are you really going to make her go through with the test?" "How did you even graduate? What does age have to do with kidney transplantation?" Xavier responded with a sneer. The nurse's face went pale, and she quietly stepped aside. The pain in my elbow spread slowly. Right then, Xavier gripped my shoulder, sending a fresh wave of agony coursing through me. Then, he and Tobias each took hold of my arm as they dragged me toward the testing room. At my age, I didn't have the strength to resist.

I start to military crawl, dragging my legs across the floor. "Leave me alone!" I cried to him a number of times. The shadow stood there watching me struggle to get away. I claw at the floor, trying to get away from the shadow behind me. The shadow walks over to me grabbing my ankles, I try to kick but I'm unable to move. He starts dragging me back to the door, I dig my nails into the floor trying to stop myself, creating scratches in the floor as he pulls me back.

I begged, my voice barely above a whisper. But my words seemed to fuel his anger. He yanked me harder, dragging me across the gravelled floor like I was nothing but dead weight. I stumbled behind him, trying to keep up, but every step felt like a thousand needles stabbing into my ankle. I cried out in pain, but he didn't even glance back. He didn't care. He kicked the door open and flung me inside like I weighed nothing, sending me crashing to the floor. The pain that shot through my body was unbearable, and I curled up, clutching my ankle, my wrists, everything that hurt.

The thought stung, but I clung to the hope that escaping would let me return to my life, to my job, to the family I still wanted to believe needed me. I scanned the chamber, my eyes landing on a rusted nail protruding from the concrete wall near my feet. I stretched my leg, my muscles screaming, and hooked the nail with my shoe, dragging it closer. I kicked it up to my hands, the sharp edge grazing my fingers, and gripped it tightly, ignoring the sting as it dug into my palm.