Fat Girl Running

She couldn't breathe, her hands pushed at the weight of the sand that was pouring down upon her body. It was rapidly filling the pit she had been thrown into. As she opened her mouth to scream, sand poured in choking any sound she tried to make. She spat out what she could and closed her mouth tight, gagging on the rest caught in her throat. She knew breathing would soon become impossible. She could only clear away so much from her nose before the weight of sand made it impossible. The feeling of doom tore through her body. Her legs were crushed under the dense weight. Soon she would not have the use of her hands to fight her way out as they too would become trapped by the volume of sand dragging her under. This was the end. She knew it and yet she wouldn't allow death to take her so easy. She would fight death's grip to the end.
She struck out once more, connecting this time not with sand but with human flesh. Who was doing this to her? Why? She sunk her fingernails deep in the skin of the hands that held her. My enemy. Who are they? She raked her nails down, pleased when she heard a bark of pain.
"Lowry!"
She knew that voice. It was as familiar to her as her own. But it couldn't be him. There had to be a mistake. She thought he loved her. Hands slapped away hers and lifted her up, crushing her against a warm, male body. "Leave me alone!" She roared, trying to pull away but his hold was too firm. "Get away from me!" Once more she dug her nails into his skin, this time his arm. She was pleased when he yelped in pain and swore.
"Stop it, Lowry!"
She wasn't about to do any such thing. This was her life she was fighting for. Once more nails sunk into the man's flesh.
"Lowry!" The man pulled back and slapped her.
Lowry Proctor cried out in surprise more than in pain, blinking back tears as her bleary gaze settled on Edward Bain. Edward? "You slapped me." She was shocked. He had never lifted a hand to her before. Her face was on fire from the blow. She pushed back from him taking in the short, ash blond hair and denim blue of his eyes. He looked worried.
"You scratched me."
Her gaze dropped to the ragged, bloody scrapes on his flesh then back into his eyes. Oh, right. Jeez, that had to hurt. "Sorry, I, um—" Lowry shook her head as if to clear it. "How did you get in here?" She looked around. There was no sand. She was in her own bedroom.
"I have a spare key, remember?"
Yes, she did. It was to be used in an emergency. “I thought I was being buried in sand." That would be an emergency.