The Mating Run by Leeka (Alina and Zeek) -
The Mating Run by Leeka Chapter 45
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 fl*pped upside down. The pain was immediate, a sharp jolt that reverberated through my b*dy. 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 fl*pped upside down. The pain was immediate, a sharp jolt that reverberated through my b*dy. 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
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 n*eck, 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 n*eck, a gasp escaped my l*ps, 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
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core of my being. I could taste the metallic tang of blood, feel the warmth trickling down my n*eck. 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.
“F***!”
Victor finally released his grip, and I staggered backward, clutching my throbbing n*eck. 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 d*rty, 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 n*eck 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.
l
The stories, the myths, they all talked about this mystical bond that forms when someone claims you. I imagined it would be like feeling 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.
illusions
As Victor bit into my n*eck, 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 n*eck, 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 n*eck.
ווו
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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,”
As Zeke’s hand pressed against my n*eck, I couldn’t help but compare his 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.
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
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And in that moment, a laugh bubbles up from within me. A laugh that’s equal parts incredulity and 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 moments of happiness. No, it’s a laugh born out of irony, a bitter acknowledgment of the unpredictability of life.
And then, as if the laughter wasn’t enough, I do something equally unexpected. I fl*p Victor off.
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