The fluorescent light of the breakroom ceiling hummed, a sound Jenna usually filtered out, like the persistent static of her own anxiety. She was staring at her lukewarm coffee, trying to remember what her manager, who stood ten feet away, had just asked her.​"Jenna? Did you catch that?" The manager's voice was a low rumble, but in the silence of Jenna's mind, it felt like a gunshot.​Just say yes. Just be normal. Just—​A sharp, almost physical pain bloomedbehind her eyes, the exact spot where her constant headache usually settled. It wasn't a headache this time; it was a sudden, violent yank.​The coffee mug in her hands turned from cheap ceramic to thick, heavy glass. The scent of burnt popcorn and stale air was instantly replaced by the clean, sharp smell of antiseptic and ozone. The dull, muffled sounds of the office vanished, replaced by the deafening, rhythmic pounding of rain against glass.Jenna blinked. ​She was standing in a minimalist, impeccably ordered apartment. The walls were painted a severe, calming charcoal gray, and every piece of furniture—a low-slung black leather couch, a chrome floor lamp—was arranged with military precision. The windows, vast sheets of tempered glass, covered an entire wall.​The world outside was a monochrome blur of wind and water. It wasn't just raining; it was a tempest. Lightning cracked, illuminating the angry, churning gray sky for a split second.​Where am I? This isn't my apartment. This isn't my…​A sensation of ice-cold clarity flooded her. Her posture snapped upright. Her hands, which usually trembled slightly, were now steady and clenched into fists at her sides. Her eyes scanned the room, not with fear, but with a terrifying, professional assessment.​The latch on the window is secure. The deadbolt is engaged. The kitchen knives are properly stowed.​This wasn't her anxiety; this was something stronger, something that weaponized anxiety into pure, actionable vigilance. She moved to the window, her steps silent on the polished concrete floor, and peered out at the torrential downpour.​A surge of righteous anger rose in her chest. The storm wasn't just weather; it was a physical manifestation of threat. The outside world was a wild, dangerous place, constantly seeking a weak point. And she—or whoever this was—was the immovable, unbreakable force standing guard.​"Don't look weak," a voice, clear and cold, echoed in the stillness of the room, though no one else was there. "The moment they smell fear, they move in."​Jenna recognized the voice, though she had never heard it speak in a full sentence before. It was Alex.​She tried to speak, to call out her own name, but her throat felt tight, constrained by a refusal to show weakness. Her hand lifted, tracing the perfectly straight horizontal blinds, and a deep, visceral terror shot through her when she realized the blinds were open.​Alex’s first, most fundamental rule: Never let them see inside.​A wave of panic, sharp and immediate, nearly brought her to her knees. She lunged for the chain, pulling them down with a metallic CLANG that sounded louder than the thunder outside, sealing the room off from the threatening gray expanse.

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9 large_4324.jpg

medium_4324.jpg

small_4324.jpg

thumbnail_4324.jpg

4324.jpg

What Awaits Me

large_4495.jpg

medium_4495.jpg

small_4495.jpg

thumbnail_4495.jpg

4495.jpg

Try Premium

Try Premium

What Awaits Me

Becky9684

Rebecca Beatty

Share

Synopsis

Chapters

Word Count

Read Time

Publish Date

Story Updates

This story has no updates.

Reviews

This story has not been rated yet. Login to review this story.

Advertisement

About Author

Rebecca Beatty

Advertisement

Other stories by Becky9684

What Awaits Me

Browse