The Mating Run by Leeka

Pain
Pain. It's not a stranger to me.
I've danced with it, embraced it like an old friend. You see, I've never been one to
tiptoe through life. As a kid, I was like a force of nature, a hurricane in sneakers,
always running, always pushing the boundaries that my parents set. “No, Alina,
don't run!” they would say, but I ran anyway. I couldn’t be bothered by the
cautious whispers of adulthood.
I was a boisterous kid, full of life and energy. My laughter echoed like a melody, a
symphony of joy that filled the air. I ran because the world seemed too vast to
walk through, and every step was a promise of adventure. I climbed trees,
scraped my knees, and collected bruises like they were badges of honor. The
pain was a companion, a reminder that I was alive, that I could feel.
My parents worried, of course. They saw me as this bundle of energy, a whirlwind
of chaos that could collide with the sharp edges of reality at any moment. But I
was invincible or so I thought. The world was my playground, and I was
determined to explore every nook and cranny, consequences be damned.
I have scars on my knees and arms to prove it. Each scar tells a story, a tale of
childhood recklessness and the resilience of youth. I can trace the lines with my
fingertips, feel the uneven texture beneath my skin. They are like chapters in a
book, a visual narrative of a time when pain was a constant companion, and I
wore it proudly.
The thing about pain is that it's versatile. It comes in different shapes and sizes,
sometimes a fleeting sting, other times a persistent ache. As a kid, pain was a
rite of passage, a confirmation that I was pushing against the boundaries of what
was deemed safe.
I remember the first time I fell off my bike. It was a rusty old thing, with peeling
paint and wobbly wheels. I insisted on riding it despite my parents’ reservations.
“You'll hurt yourself,” they warned. But I was fearless, or at least, I pretended to
be. The wind in my hair, the rush of speed beneath my wheels-it was
intoxicating.
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Pain
Until it wasn’t.
I hit a pothole, and the world flipped upside down. The pain was immediate, a
sharp jolt that reverberated through my body. I lay there, dazed and bruised, my
once invincible spirit humbled by the asphalt beneath me. But even as tears
welled up in my eyes, there was a strange exhilaration, a realization that pain
was just a temporary visitor.
My parents rushed to my side, their worried faces a blur. “I told you to be careful,”
my mom scolded, but her stern words couldn't mask the concern in her eyes. I
grinned through the tears, feeling the warmth of their embrace. Pain, you see,
was a language we all spoke, a common ground that connected us in the shared
experience of being human.
As the years rolled by, I grew out of my boisterous phase. The scars on my knees
faded, the bruises became distant memories. I traded my running shoes for a
more measured stride, navigating the world with a newfound awareness of its
sharp edges. Adulthood brought its own set of challenges, and I learned that pain
wasn’t always physical.
Heartbreaks, disappointments, the sting of failure-these were the new facets of
pain that I discovered. They didn't leave visible marks, but their impact was just
as profound. The invincible girl who once laughed in the face of scraped knees
now faced the complexities of a world that couldn't be outrun.
Yet, in the midst of these grown-up pains, I found myself looking back at the
reckless girl I used to be. The kid who thought she could conquer the world with
scraped knees and a defiant grin.
I wondered if she had known what lay ahead, would she have run any slower?
Would she have chosen a more cautious path?
Pain. I thought I knew pain, understood its various shades and nuances. Scraped
knees, bruised elbows, the sting of a broken heart-I've danced with these forms
of pain before. They were familiar companions, teachers in the school of life.
But what happened with Victor, that was a different kind of pain.
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08:36 Sat, 9 Mar N
Until it wasn’t.
I hit a pothole, and the world flipped upside down. The pain was immediate, a
sharp jolt that reverberated through my body. I lay there, dazed and bruised, my
once invincible spirit humbled by the asphalt beneath me. But even as tears
welled up in my eyes, there was a strange exhilaration, a realization that pain
was just a temporary visitor.
My parents rushed to my side, their worried faces a blur. “I told you to be careful,”
my mom scolded, but her stern words couldn't mask the concern in her eyes. I
grinned through the tears, feeling the warmth of their embrace. Pain, you see,
was a language we all spoke, a common ground that connected us in the shared
experience of being human.
As the years rolled by, I grew out of my boisterous phase. The scars on my knees
faded, the bruises became distant memories. I traded my running shoes for a
more measured stride, navigating the world with a newfound awareness of its
sharp edges. Adulthood brought its own set of challenges, and I learned that pain
wasn’t always physical.
Heartbreaks, disappointments, the sting of failure-these were the new facets of
pain that I discovered. They didn't leave visible marks, but their impact was just
as profound. The invincible girl who once laughed in the face of scraped knees
now. faced the complexities of a world that couldn't be outrun.
Yet, in the midst of these grown-up pains, I found myself looking back at the
reckless girl I used to be. The kid who thought she could conquer the world with
scraped knees and a defiant grin.
I wondered if she had known what lay ahead, would she have run any slower?
Would she have chosen a more cautious path?
Pain. I thought I knew pain, understood its various shades and nuances. Scraped
knees, bruised elbows, the sting of a broken heart-I've danced with these forms
of pain before. They were familiar companions, teachers in the school of life.
But what happened with Victor, that was a different kind of pain.
2/6
08:36 Sat, 9 Mar
Pain
A pain that tore through my defenses, leaving me breathless and shattered.
“No... no! What did you do?!”
I never asked for this. I never asked to be claimed, to
be marked as if I were some territory to be conquered. Victor, with his primal
instincts and possessive desires, didn't bother with consent. He sank his teeth
into the vulnerable skin of my neck, claiming me in a way that made my soul
recoil. It wasn't a dance; it was an
assault, a violation that left me reeling.
“Shit!”
“Just shut up and take it.”
The pain was immediate, a searing agony that engulfed my senses. It was so
intense that it made me tear up, my vision blurred by the darkness creeping at
the edges. If it weren't for Victor holding me up, I would have crumbled to the
ground, at fragile vessel shattered by an act of possession I never consented to.
It's a different kind of pain when it comes from someone you trusted, someone
you let into the intimate spaces of your life. Victor wasn't a stranger; he was a
familiar face, a presence that had become woven into the fabric of my existence.
And yet, in that moment, he became a source of anguish, a perpetrator of a pain
that felt like a betrayal.
The physical pain was accompanied by an emotional one, a sense of violation.
that ran deep. I never wanted this, never asked for his claim on me. But there I
was, bearing the physical and emotional weight of an act that left me feeling
stripped of agency, robbed of the choice to say no.
As I felt his teeth sink into my neck, a gasp escaped my lips, and I tried to push
him away. But Victor's grip was like a vise, unyielding and possessive. I felt his
hot breath on my skin, heard the low growl that reverberated through the air. In
that moment, I wasn’t Alina anymore; I was an object, a possession to be marked
and claimed.
The pain intensified, radiating from the point where his teeth dug into my flesh. It
was a sharp, stabbing sensation, as if he was carving his ownership into the very
L
2/6
core of my being. I could taste the metallic tang of blood, feel the warmth trickling
down my neck. It was a violation of the highest order, an act that left me feeling
exposed and vulnerable.
I tried to summon the strength to resist, to fight back against the invasion of my
personal space. But the pain was overwhelming, a tidal wave that threatened to
drown me. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the triumphant glint in Victor's
eyes as he claimed his prize. I was helpless, a puppet in the hands of a
puppeteer who reveled in his control.
The tears came unbidden, silent witnesses to the pain that tore through me. I
never thought I would cry in the face of pain. I was the girl who ran with scraped
knees, laughed in the face of adversity. But this was different. This was a
violation that went beyond the physical realm, a breach of trust that left me
feeling exposed and fragile.
“Fuck!”
Victor finally released his grip, and I staggered backward, clutching my throbbing
neck. The tears blurred my vision, and I felt the weight of the darkness lifting. If it
weren't for the anger simmering within me, I would have crumpled to the ground,
a mere shell of the girl who thought she knew pain.
“No, no, no, no,”
I wanted to scream, to lash out at Victor for what he had done. But the words.
caught in my throat, suffocated by the weight of the violation I had just
experienced. I never wanted this, never wanted to be marked like some
possession. And the fact that it came from someone I had let into my life,
someone I considered a confidant, made it hurt all the more.
The pain lingered, a persistent ache that pulsed with each beat of my heart. It
wasn't just the physical wounds; it was the emotional scars that cut deeper. I felt
dirty, tainted by an act that I never consented to. The darkness threatened to
engulf me, and I fought against it, determined not to let Victor's actions define
me.
I stumbled away from him, trying to put distance between us. The air felt heavy
with the weight of what had just transpired. I could taste the bitterness of
betrayal,
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08:36 Sat, 9 Mar
Pam
a bitter pill that I struggled to swallow. Victor looked at me with a mixture of
satisfaction and possessiveness, as if he had just accomplished something
monumental.
But it was funny... I thought there would be a bond.
A connection that transcended words and actions. When Victor claimed me, bit
into my neck as if marking his territory, I expected more than just pain. I thought.
there would be this link, this inexplicable understanding of each other's emotions.
But there was none of that. Only searing pain, a rawness that lingered long after
the physical wounds began to heal.
It's funny, in a twisted way.
I
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The stories, the myths, they all talked
about this mystical bond that forms
when someone claims you. I
imagined it would be like feeling
8 ’ 9
Victor's emotions, a strange
intertwining of our souls. But reality
had a different script. Instead of a
bond, there was pain—a kind of pain
that cut through the and left me
wondering if I had been naive to
expect anything else. The content is
on Novelxo.org! Read the latest
chapter there!
illusions
As Victor bit into my neck, claiming me with a possessiveness that sent shivers.
down my spine, I waited for that connection, that inexplicable link that would
make us understand each other in ways words never could.
But it never came.
Victor, too, looked perplexed. I could see it in his eyes, a mixture of confusion
and frustration. It was as if he expected something more from the claiming bite,
something beyond the physical act of possession. But there was nothing. Just a
girl, wounded and reeling from an act that left her questioning everything she
thought
she knew.
“Alina! NO!”
And then there was Zeke. He grabbed me, his hand pressing against the wound
on my neck, a look of worry etched across his face. It was a stark contrast to
Victor's possessiveness. Zeke’s touch was gentle, concerned, as if he could
somehow ease the pain that radiated from the mark on my neck.
in
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08:36 Sat, Mar N
Pain
I felt a strange mix of emotions in that moment-confusion, pain, and a flicker of
something else. Zeke’s concern felt genuine, a stark contrast to the possessive
act that had just transpired.
“Are you okay? What hurts? Tell me. Tell me what I can do to help,”
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) .
As Zeke's hand pressed against my
” 5
neck, I couldn't help but compare his
: f a .
touch to Victor's claiming bite. One
was a gesture of concern, an attempt
to heal and soothe. The other was an
act of possession, a marking that left
me feeling exposed and violated. It
made me question the nature of
bonds and connections, the
expectations we carry, and the reality
that unfolds. The content is on
Novelxo.org! Read the latest
chapter there!
I looked at Victor, his confusion mirroring my own. He claimed me, marked met
as if I belonged to him, and yet, there was no bond, no shared understanding. It
left. me feeling adrift, like a boat without a compass, navigating the turbulent
waters of
reality that refused to conform to my expectation
a
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And in that moment, a laugh bubbles
RT ’
up from within me. A laugh that's
equal parts incredulity and
¢ = ) a
resignation. I can't help it; the
absurdity of the situation is too
much. The laugh surprises me, and I
feel it echo in the heavy silence that
: ; ’ - .
hangs in the air. It's not a joyous
laugh, not the kind that bursts forth in
. a
moments of happiness. No, it's a
laugh born out of irony, a bitter
acknowledgment of the
unpredictability of life. The content is
on Novelxo.org! Read the latest
chapter there!
And then, as if the laughter wasn't enough, I do something equally unexpected. I
flip Victor off.
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