You Can't Run From The Dark

{Part 1}

~Dessa~

Dessa woke up panting and slick with sweat, to her alarm ringing. What the fuck was that?!  Was she losing her last remnants of sanity? The faeries in her dreams were supposed to be horrifying, ugly monsters. So why was that one different? Did a part of her that wanted to be touched and kissed so desperately bleed into her subconscious dream-state, and twist the non-reality into some sick fantasy? Dessa slammed her hand down on her alarm to shut it up. She must have fallen back asleep, because it was half past 4 p.m. and the alarm was set to remind her to get ready for her job interview. 

Faeries aren't real, Dessa told herself. You are going crazy. Her aunt's faerytales had just warped her over time, that's all. She'd been too young to hear those dark stories, and maybe, she was traumatized a little by them. Maybe she should look into some sleeping medication - not that she could afford any. She brushed her teeth, and got dressed, trying to shake the dream off. She had more important things to worry about. She had to nail the job interview - she really needed the money. She literally  couldn't afford to be late. 

The job offer had been unexpected. Dessa had put in applications all over the city and she was losing hope when not a single place bothered to call her in for an interview. She had no work experience, and that looked bad to her potential employers, she guessed. Thanks to her overprotective aunt, she'd hardly been able to leave the house, even after she'd finished school. Her aunt was raving mad - always warning her that the faeries could get her. When Dessa was little, she believed her, but as she got older, she realized her aunt was just trying to scare her into behaving, into preserving her safety. So she'd been far too sheltered to be allowed to pick up odd jobs like the other teenagers had started to do. 

But now that her aunt had passed away, Dessa was hardly able to survive, because of her aunt's coddling. She was starving most of the time, because her stipends barely covered the bills and the rent. Her aunt's life insurance policy had only managed to put a dent in the debt that woman had left behind. Apparently, her aunt had owed more than seemed humanly possible - more than Dessa could ever hope to pay off - perhaps, when she was old and grey, if then. Dessa loved her aunt, despite all her faults, but she felt like she had set her up for failure. She didn't know how to do anything on her own, and she'd never worked a day in her life. 

When all of Dessa's attempts to find a job had shown to be fruitless, and she was facing the very real possibility losing her aunt's house and becoming homeless, a job offer suddenly showed up on her doorstep. Strangely enough, it came in the form of a letter with a wax seal. People did everything electronically these days, so she worried that the letter was some sort of malicious joke. But the pay-rate promised was too good to pass up - if it was  someone's idea of a prank, she had to take that risk. 

The job was a waitress position at a Bar & Grill called "The Den." It sounded doable enough, until she searched the place on her laptop for directions, and nearly had a heart attack. The Den was located in the most dangerous district in the city - the place teenagers had often referred to as the "Killing Grounds." Everyone had seen the news reports and heard the stories of all the grisly murders that happened in the area, nearly every week. The images of the mangled bodies - that looked like they'd been torn apart by wild animals - flashed in Dessa's mind, as she hurried out the door. Her heart was in her throat, and she had to swallow it down. She couldn't believe that she was actually considering taking a job that could put her life at risk. Her aunt was surely rolling in her grave at the idea, after all the years she'd spent brainwashing Dessa to stay safe.

But Dessa's stomach growled, almost aching from the emptiness from not eating a proper meal in weeks - maybe months, now - and she knew that she was more hungry than she was scared. She didn't have a choice, one way or the other - she had to make money, had to get something to eat, and she was almost certain that she'd prefer being murdered by some psycho over starving to death, slowly. She already knew that the cabs wouldn't take her to the "Killing Grounds," that much was common knowledge. Even if they would, she didn't have a nickel to her name, so she'd left an hour early to walk there.