Brie sat in her car, taking a few deep breaths after finishing up with her doctor’s appointment. She was completely taken aback when Bryan was there. He actually remembered that she had a check-up that day. Things were awkward but nonetheless, he proved that he was there for their daughter. She was grateful for that.
As she watched his car pull off, she ran her hand over her bump and sighed “I’m so sorry, little one. I’m so sorry that this is the mess that I’m bringing you into. I’m so sorry that I can’t do better but I can promise you this. I promise that I will love you with ever fiber of my being. I promise that I’ll always be there for anything you need. I promise that you will have the greatest people in the world surrounding you because you deserve it. You deserve the best and I’ll be damned if anyone ever tries to change that. Don’t ever let anyone take your happiness...”
She wiped a few tears from under her eyes and checked her mirrors before starting her car. She took a deep breath as she began to drive and whispered “Let’s go see Mama Bella, huh?”
Word Count: 1,402
Summary: Astrid was sitting by the fire accompanied by Cyrus when they came in to attack. This contained freezing up, screaming, crying-- anything you can think of that someone would do to save the people she cares about. She fought her best, hoping to save everybody but failed.
Trigger Warnings: violence tw, kidnapping tw, blood tw
Five seconds. It was a small moment of weakness. Such a small moment with a bigger meaning and if Astrid could take it back, she would one hundred times over again. If she had known her last moments with Cyrus would be just that, she would have told him everything that she’d been holding on to. God did she ever want to tell him that when he held her hand in comfort it felt like the home she had been searching for, the home she was waiting for. Now she had sunk to her knees, her arms beat and bruised, covered in blood that was not her own and she was overcome by a feeling she tried to forget.
The officials had come in so fast if she would have blinked, she would have missed it. Laying on her bearskin blanket, Astrid’s head perked up at the sound coming from within the trees. Everyone around her had spirits in their hands and their minds intoxicated with soothing liquid to forget what they were really running from, or what they were fighting for. She however opted out, needing a clear mind for the day that was ahead of them.
Yet the more she watched other people around her having fun, the more she wanted to at least try it. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad after all. Astrid fought her urges for so long, refusing to let herself feel her happiness, the things she wanted was something she couldn’t afford to take right now. Just as the thought crossed her mind, a bottle was dropped in front of her and she glanced up, an unfamiliar face egging her on to take a small sip. She had looked at Cyrus, who sat next to her right now, searching for some sort of acceptance to do so. Instead she got a peaceful smile, one that brought comfort to her. Naturally after refusing half a hundred times, Astrid caved and brought the open bottle to her lips. The liquid went down and a burning sensation followed. She scrunched her face up, throwing the bottle away from her.
“I can’t believe out of everything you guys can have to drink, you choose this lousy shit that tastes like piss--” She was cut short by a shriek, the same noise she had heard before, causing Astrid to shoot up from where she was sitting. She grabbed the sword that she recovered from the rebel hide out when she went with Jay earlier today and swung without missing a beat. Her blade hit the white armour of the official that stood before her with a loud clang-- and that’s all it did. He wasn’t winded, wasn’t harmed in any way at all in fact, and was now approaching her faster than she would have liked.
Panic was one thing she thought, but immediately remembered the training she had received from Paul. Her instincts kicked in and she brought the sword back up in front of her to take another swing. She successfully hit a joint between the armour plates, causing blood to spew from the open wound and Astrid got a fair amount on her sleeves. Kicking the official to the ground with force only adrenaline could supply, Astrid began to run towards the screams, her sword swinging violently and yet with such precision that was aimed to hurt, not kill.
This was it. All the hard work that her parents put together to escape, all of it was for nothing. This group had been on the move for years, always keeping one step ahead of the dangers that they faced while outside the walls. Astrid had been told and told again that outside the sectors was much better than being in them. But she watched her friends get slaughtered by men in white, and now she wasn’t sure. All her life she had thought about the inside, what it would have been like to live there. Of course going back would have meant being captured and stuck into tight quartered cages to be poked at and tortured. Her mind went to a dark place, causing her to push harder and fight rougher. Astrid couldn’t risk losing people to these monsters. The true threats right now were mankind, as mankind had always been destroying everything they touch.
Astrid saw blonde hair float by her in the midst of the heated battle. She stopped, turning her body with him. She saw people she had traveled with for years getting tossed aside, handcuffs slapping together on their wrists. Her mouth fell open, hoping for a sound, any sound, to come out. Astrid needed a distraction, so her eyes searched the crowd. The more metal cuffs she saw coming out made her heart race faster.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Roman. Scarlet. Darya. Addie.
Her head was pounding harder, causing her blood to course through her body at a faster rate. The world around her was spinning quickly, so much so that Astrid had to drop her sword onto the dirt ground. Finally she settled on the face she was searching for.
Five.
Cyrus.
The face that she had needed to wake her from her paralyzed state. Pushing off with her feet, Astrid ran to him. She hoped to catch him, hold him close and take him far away from here. She needed Cyrus to keep her sane, to keep her safe and free of harm. But the closer she got, the more he would back away. Watching the panic form on his face -- the one she called home -- his lips mouthed words that she couldn’t hear. Not at first. They became clear enough and Astrid recognized it as her name. The noise around her was filtered out by his shrieks of terror before Astrid realized what was happening. The fifth pair of cuffs wrapped around his wrists like chains and it took only seconds before she lost sight of him completely. Astrid was positive she heard her heart snap, the rage she had pent up inside of her from this attack blowing up over the top of her pot.
She screamed.
It was the thing that released her anger, however watching the one person she cared most about in this god awful world being torn away from her kept refilling her steam. She didn’t need a sword anymore. Balling her fists up tightly she swung, blinded by tears and rage Astrid held no aim but was satisfied with every crunch she heard. She felt a pair of arms restrain her from doing any more damage to the group, having not noticed that the officials had gone.
She sunk her head into her hands, her whole body shook with tremors from the tears that fell freely now. Astrid didn’t cry often, but when she did anger was soon to follow. If anything, she was desperate to get those five seconds back so she could save his life. It was their thing, it was a routine that she followed and with the cycle broken she was lost. Astrid had let him down for the first and last time.
The whole camp was surrounding the fire checking for wounds and screaming for the medics attention. All Astrid wanted to do was tell them to shut up. Everything had been stolen from them and they only cared for themselves. Astrid shook her head, her body vibrating from the now falling tears escaping her eyelids, rolling down her cheeks. Clenching and unclenching her fists, she rose up like a phoenix from its ashes, if Cyrus hadn’t just got kidnapped she would have laughed because she had a fire behind her, only adding to her metaphor. Astrid picked up her heavy sword, running her hand across the blade where she had engraved Cyrus’ full name on the side.
“I’m going to get you back. I’m going to get you all back.” She mumbled through clenched teeth.
Five seconds was all it took for her whole world to disappear. And five seconds is all it took for her to kill.
❝— You were given this life because
you’re strong enough to live it ❞
— ¡Por Merlin, Brynja, tenias sólo una cosa que hacer y no pudiste hacerlo! Aunque, ¿qué demonios esperar de ti? Ustedes, mujeres, no sirven para nada. Vuélvete a vestir mocosa, y te juro que si ésta vez destrozas ese vestido, te largas de mi casa y dejas mi apellido. Byron, hijo, ven conmigo —los trozos del vestido rojo vino que había llevado la péquela rubia estaban esparcidos en el suelo, hubiera sido capaz de quemarlo si su hermano no hubiese abierto la puerta, gritándole a su padre lo que la estúpida de Calista había hecho. Había cruzado los brazos, mirado molesta a ambos hombres. ¿Por qué demonios tenía que usar vestido? ¿Por qué le hablaba así a su madre? Valtýr Gibbon nunca parecía estar feliz con lo que su hija menor hacia; y ella no terminaba de acostumbrarse. ¿Por qué era así? Su padre parecía preferir a Byron siempre sobre ella—. Mi preciosa avecita rubia, ¿por qué? Debes hacerle caso a tu padre, es el hombre de la casa. ¿Me quieres contar por qué? —la pequeña acercó, abrazando la cintura de su madre que le acarició la coronilla. Se acercó al gran armario con la pequeña de atrás.
— No me gustan, y me pican. ¿Por qué le debo hacer caso a padre? ¿Puedo usar otra cosa? Mami, ¿por qué dejas que padre te hable así? —había sido una niña inteligente, alguien que había aprendido a leer y hablar rápido. Las esposas de los amigos de sus padres siempre alababan lo avanzada que había sido la niña, y decían lo suertudo de lo que sería su esposo de tener una esposa como ella. Ella nunca quería tener esposo, nunca—. ¿Te pican? Calista, ya te lo dije, es el hombre de la casa, el patriarca. Sí, una falda, ¿quizás? —no era tonta, se había dado cuenta de que su madre había evadido las preguntas. Asintió, una falda no era tan mala y revisó entre sus pequeñas manos la falda blanca circular y la camisa rojo vino. Con el ceño fruncido, se vistió, dejando que su madre arreglara su cabello y colocara la túnica negra sobre sus hombros. Frunciendo el ceño, ambas bajaron la escalera para encontrarse con su padre y Byron, que la ignoraron. Calista hacia demasiadas preguntas, y entendía varias cosas, tenía una mente brillante para una niña de sólo seis años. Había aprendido a hablar en su primer año, y lo había perfeccionado al cumplir los tres, a esa misma edad había empezado a aprender a escribir, todo por si misma pero, a pesar de saber esas cosas, había algo que no sabía. ¿Por qué su padre parecía detestar todo aquello de ella? Aunque, en realidad parecía creer que ella y su madre eran nada.
No era capaz de llevarse con ninguno de los hijos de las amistades de sus padres, todos eran tan… diferentes a ella. Suspirando, se que quedo al lado de Byron que parecía no prestarle atención, aquello era genial pues ella no estaba de humor para que lo hiciera. Había olvidado por completo de quién era aquella mansión, aunque no era como si le importase en realidad. Los más pequeños estaban todos juntos, todos demasiado pulcros, demasiado diferentes a lo que debían ser. La única función de las mujeres es tener hijos y hacernos feliz, no sirven para nada más.
Pero, ¿y si ella no estaba de acuerdo con eso?
No, ella no podía estar de acuerdo con eso, no podía ser así. Siempre había visto como su hermano recibía la atención, los cumplidos, era su hermano a quién su padre llevaba a su despacho para hablarle de grandezas que ella nunca conocería, y eso era injusto. ¡Su hermano era demasiado estúpido! Alzó la vista cuando su madre se acercó a ambos, poniendo una mano en las mejillas de ambos. Byron le dio un manotazo, a lo que ella rodó los ojos. Bestia idiota—. ¿Por qué no van con los demás? Su padre está ocupado y… vayan, ¿sí? —Calista adoraba a su madre, era preciosa y siempre le había dado, quizás era por eso que detestaba que Byron la tratase así, aunque en realidad detestaba a su hermano por el hecho de ser un inútil.— Una estúpida mujer no me dirá que hacer, Merlin —los dos hijos del matrimonio Gibbon tenían bellezas demasiado atrayentes, eran dos copias de sus padres, con todos sus rasgos. Eran muñequitos de porcelana que tenían hilos para moverse al antojo de su padre, aunque Calista ya se había cortado los hilos. Ambos se dirigieron al pequeño grupito con paso elegante sin mirarse, no parecían hermanos más allá del físico.
No le prestó atención al grupo, porque no le interesaban. Las hermanas Black eran simplemente tres niñas que seguían todas las reglas, el menor de los Lestrange parecía sanguijuela pegado a su hermana, los Travers, prefería hacer como si el mayor no existiera, Rosier parecía un adulto amargado en un cuerpo de niño, a los Wilkes era extraño verlos, Mulciber era un idiota, Malfoy aun más, no soportaba como todas miraban a Flint, y ni habar de los Parkinson, aunque en realidad todos ahí eran idiotas para ella prefería ignorarlos, ni siquiera fingir que los escuchaba, aunque lo hacía. Soltó una risita burlona cuando escuchó una vocecita Mis padres dicen que van a empezar a sortera posibles candidatos para casarme con él—. ¿Casarte con él? ¿Tener hijos? Las mujeres sirven más que eso, ¿para qué amarrarse a un hombre toda la vida cuando se es capaz de hacer mucho más? Todos ustedes son tan tontos —con su voz infantil pero decidida se puso de pie, la miraban impresionados. ¿Quién era tan estúpida para no seguir lo que se le decía? Las niñas hicieron gestos de desagrado, empezando a cuchichear entre ellas Ignoró las miradas en su espalda y los gritos de su hermano que la acusaban con decirle a su padre.
Así que aquello era la razón por la que su padre no la estimaba, por ser una mujer, porque ella no tenía un papel importante. Ella no iba a pasar el apellido como el estúpido de su hermano. ¡Pero ella era muchísimo mejor que él! Apretó sus puños, dándose la vuelta al escuchar un carraspeo. Valtýr Gibbon era bastante imponente— Te escuche, ¿sabes? Y no sé qué hacer contigo, niña buena para nada, ¿cuántas veces se te va a repetir que no eres nada más que una mujer? Los hombres somos los que mantienen generaciones de apellidos vivos, ustedes sólo dan a luz. Grábatelo, niña, mi único heredero es Byron, él es mejor que tú. Demonios, todo esto fue culpa de tu abuelo, te hacía creer que estabas al mismo nivel que el de un hombre, maldito Ebenezer—la estaba mirando como lo había visto mirando una vez a su hermano y luego a ella. La mirada desapareció por completo, dirigiéndole una que no transmitía nada—. Byron es estúpido, ni siquiera sabe leer aun. ¿Por qué no soy capaz? Padre, yo soy… yo soy mejor que él y vas a verlo —intentó que la mano levantada no la asustara, pero no pudo evitar dar un paso hacia atrás. Se irguió, mirándolo con seguridad, girando sobre sus pies.
No iba a dejar que su padre siguiese creyendo eso, no. Ella podía ser todo lo que veía en Byron, e incluso mejor, le demostraría que una mujer era capaz de todo. El mundo no era sólo de los hombres, no, las mujeres lo gobernaban también. Valtýr Gibbon estaría orgulloso de ella.
Comentarios: Un pequeño recuerdo de como Alex se enamoró de Alice <3.
Desde el primer día de la escuela de verano estaba harto, pero la verdad es que si se había quedado, era por ella. Cuando la vio, su cabello castaño y sus ojos hermosos, se quedo prendado en esa chica. Era tutora de verano y Alex solo quería hablar con ella, pero la verdad, sabía que las chicas no se acercaban a él, por su aspecto de chico malo, sobretodo esas chicas que eran niñas buenas, tutoras de los chicos "dificiles" que estaban salvando su año.
Había hecho de todo para captar su atención, y aunque logro sacarle un par de sonrisas a la joven, jamás había hablado con ella. Hasta ese día, quería invitarla a salir, estar con ella, besarla, cosa que no había sentido jamás con nadie, la quería proteger con su vida y ser el héroe de su vida. Se acerco tímidamente y le sonrió a la joven -Hola- murmuró, la chica replico con una sonrisa, antes de ser llamada por sus otras compañeras tutoras, Alex rápidamente tomo su brazo y dejo un papel en ella. La joven se sonrojo y Alex solo atino a guiñarle un ojo.
Ese fue el primer día que pudo acercarse a ella y el día en que se dio cuenta de que aunque jamás habían cruzado un saludo, esa chica, Alice...era la mujer de su vida.
Como cada madrugada, y vistiendo nada más que un par de jeans rasgados, Joey se encerró en el baño con un par de objetos bastante sospechosos escondidos en sus bolsillos y se miró con repudio en el gran espejo alzándose frente a él. Con una camiseta puesta se veía atractivo para la mayoría de las ingenuas jóvenes del instituto y el barrio, pero estando desnudo era posible notar como día a día su cuerpo se iba consumiendo a sí mismo, dándole un aspecto un tanto demacrado y lamentable. Sus músculos apenas tenían consistencia y su piel perdía el color moreno y vivaz que en un pasado más dichoso lució con orgullo. Pero lo peor de todo eran sus ojos. Esos ojos pequeños y marrones que se escondían ante la más mínima sonrisa estaban completamente apagados, llenos de amargura, de decepción y de ira. Reflejaban perfectamente cada latente herida plasmada sobre su alma, cada caída y cada dosis de heroína, cocaína, marihuana, o de cualquier otra droga que pudiese conseguir con el dinero contenido en su bolsillo.
Odiaba sentirse así. Detestaba con todo su ser el detenerse a cuestionar una y otra vez hasta el más insignificante detalle de su persona, le hacía sentir vulnerable, inseguro y como el imbécil más grande pisando la tierra. Era una decepción como hijo, como hermano... y, últimamente, como amigo, o lo que fuese que tuviera con esa adorable muchacha paseándose por los pasillos de su hogar. Valía mierda interpretando todos esos papeles y se merecía vivir drogado y alcoholizado, merecía todo ese montón de desdichas que atravesaba durante cada segundo de su vida y que empeoraban con el transcurso del tiempo. Era un perdedor de pueblo, tal como muchos se habían esmerado en recordarle constantemente.
"Deja de pensar, hijo de puta" Pensó para sí mismo, deteniéndose a inspeccionar su rostro y haciendo todo lo contrario a lo que se había ordenado a sí mismo unos pocos instantes atrás. Ya no llevaba esa máscara de orgullo y coquetería encima, ninguna sonrisa presuntuosa o juguetona se veía dibujada en sus labios y una fina capa de sudor cubría su inexpresivas facciones. Además, un par de lágrimas cayeron a través de sus mejillas con rapidez, acoplándose a la humedad derramada sobre su descolorida tez; sin embargo, esas no eran lágrimas de pesar ni de frustración, eran una muestra más de como su cuerpo le pedía a gritos una buena dosis de heroína para satisfacer su infinita adicción, un simple síntoma que aparecía cuando pasaba demasiadas horas sin aquella sustancia navegando a través de sus venas. Ahora que pasaba todo su tiempo en compañía de Melissa, no le daba chance de escaparse por unos segundos para sumergirse en su vicio, por lo tanto, ahora estaba sintiendo de golpe las estúpidas consecuencias que venían en el paquete, como ese punzante dolor quebrando sus músculos y esa desesperante ansiedad retumbando dentro de sus entrañas.
Antes de sacar todo lo que necesitaría para preparar su maligno menjunje, Joey abrió el grifo, bañó su rostro con agua fría, aferró fuertemente sus manos al lavabo e inhaló una enorme bocanada de aire, como si estuviese tragándose un grito, reprimiéndolo para no alterar la paz dentro de la casa. Quizá solo era la abstinencia hablando en forma de furia o quizá eran sus agobiantes problemas aflorando sin filtro, no lo sabía. Pero debía deshacerse de todo ello lo más rápido posible. Se sentó en la taza del baño, sacó con torpeza todos los utensilios que usaría y en unos pocos minutos su jeringa estuvo repleta de una dosis que esfumaría el lío que tenía formado en su cabeza en ese momento. Envolvió su brazo izquierdo con un elástico para buscar su vena, tomó la jeringa, la posicionó sobre la mancha purpúrea y llena de marcas sobre su piel y...
Se detuvo.
El recuerdo de Melissa apareció de la nada frente a sus ojos. Era tan bonita, tan dulce, tan angelical, capaz de mitigar su melancolía con su mero recuerdo. El moreno cerró sus ojos y la imaginó sosteniendo su mano con delicadeza, quitándole la jeringa con la otra, besando su mejilla y susurrándole que había otras salidas mejores, que no le dejaría solo y que le ayudaría a descargar la tonelada de conflictos formando una joroba en su espalda. Y por un momento, la idea de llamarla no pareció tan desquiciada. Unas asfixiantes ganas de correr hacia ella y dejar que le estrechara con sus cándidos brazos comenzaron a taladrar su cabeza y su pecho. No obstante, no tuvo el coraje suficiente como para abandonar su fatal hábito, y sin titubear clavó la aguja directo en su vena. Una vez que la heroína ingresó en su sistema, una oleada de euforia alivio la agonía carcomiendo su interior, sus capacidades mentales se durmieron a tal punto que dejó caer la jeringa al piso, y todo pareció mejorar.
Cut for the following triggers: violence, attempted murder, and mentions of injuries. As well as bloody and gory descriptions.
"Who gave you the right to teach my kid?" A low, husky voice spoke from behind Jackson as he closed and locked the door to the local LGBT hangout he ran called Voices. Jackson froze for a moment, thinking back on where he heard the voice before. It was then that he realized it was Patrick Martyn; a man he had arrested when he just joined the force almost four years prior for grand theft and assault with a deadly weapon - now he was out on parole.
"Who the fuck told you, that you could be around my child teaching him about the dangers of drugs? Huh?" Patrick exclaimed angrily. Finally, Jackson turned back around to face the man. Unfortunately, Jax was not armed and nowhere near his car. It was just him and the man he had arrested; in front of the Voices building.
"Hey, look, I didn't know your kid was in my class. I'm sorry," Jax responded, trying to sound calm as he stood with his back against the blue wooden door. "I really didn't know. I'm just trying to do some good for the community, sir." Jax continued. The bald, heavy-set redhead let out a hearty yet dark laugh as he pulled his gun out from his coat pocket then aimed for Jax. The twenty-two year old's eyes widened; he knew what was about to happen.
"Save it, Jackson. If this goes well - he'll never see you again and pigs like you will be off the street," Patrick retorted, his eyes going dark as he aimed the small hand gun at Jax before quickly pulling the trigger - aiming for his chest and then one of his legs. Jackson was knocked to the ground by the force of the shot to his leg as he cried out in a scream of pain. Patrick ran off, while Jackson laid there feeling the burning of metal that had just left his body in two different areas. The first, the calf of his leg and the other in his lower back - just missing his hip.
"HELP!" Jackson tried to scream, though he couldn't shout too loud. The world around him was spinning as he looked up at the surroundings around him. He was so dizzy, so helpless, and there was nothing - absolutely nothing - he could do to help himself now. The burning continued, it made him feel sick to his stomach as hot tears poured down his face. All he did was arrest that guy yet the guy thought that Jackson was the scum on the street. But Jackson did his best, he continued to fight as he laid there on the ground, his hand shaking as it pulled his phone from his pocket so he could dial 9-1-1. With trembling fingers, the call was made and he told the dispatcher his exact location and what had happen. Also, who to arrest once the police in his division found out.
Now, all he could do was stay on the line until the ambulance got there - unless someone else got to him first.
Comentarios: *se va a esconder* no murió, i swear.
Caminaba desanimado hasta la calle que daba a la salida del internado, mis padres pasaría por mí, les había pedido que me sacaran de ese lugar, había visto a esa mujer y de seguro se las arreglaría para entrar a verme. Estaba algo cansado de esta imposición de quedarme en ese lugar pero sabía que era lo mejor, aunque ya no me sentía seguro. Me quede parado esperando a que llegarán pero... ella apareció en la acera del frente, otra vez, su cabello rubio y suelto sobre sus hombros, esa sonrisa cruel, un vestido elegante. Estaba del brazo de un hombre mayor, sonriendo como estúpida. Me sentí asqueado y mire hacia otro lado. Pero en eso ella había cruzado y estaba frente a mí, con los brazos cruzados y sonriendo. -Alexander- murmuró y trato de tocarme, la esquive. -¿Qué quieres?- dije asquedo de verla, el solo hecho de tenerla cerca me ponía enfermo. -Te están criando muy mal- dijo intentando tocarme otra vez, esta vez tome su muñeca en el aire -¿Te olvidas de quien soy?- murmuró sonriendo. -Dejame en paz, ya no soy un niño pequeño- sentía la rabia brotar en cada palabra, vi una mueca de dolor en su cara y aprete con más fuerza su muñeca -Alexander, me haces daño, hijo- dijo tratando de sonar lastimera pero yo reí amargamente y la solté -Eres una mierda y te odio, Marie Anne- escupí su nombre entre dientes y rogue porque mis padres aparecieran. Ella acarició mi rostro en mi descuido quite su mano con fuerza -¿Me odias? pero si yo era la única que te cuidaba cuando llorabas como un bebé ¿Lo olvidas?- me miro con fingida ternura -Cuando te decían maricon, la que te consolaba era yo- dijo, maldita... ella sabía todo de mí, sabía como destruirme, sonrió sadicamente -Sabes que mamá siempre va a cuidarte, sea como sea- toco mi cabello, casi no me podía mover, el dolor era como un veneno que paralizaba mi cuerpo -Estás tan guapo, Alexander- suspiro -pero ten en claro que nadie te va a amar como yo- me miro intensamente, yo baje la mirada, odiaba sentirme debil, pequeño, vulnerable a sus malditos ataques -Sabes que nadie te puede amar- murmuró acariciando mi mejilla, sentía las lagrimas luchando por salir -¿Entiendes eso? N-a-d-i-e, eres mio hijo y -sonrió -Todo lo que toques, lo arruinarás- se acerco aun más -No sabes amar, no sabes querer, no sabes sentir nada que no sean cosas malas- puso su rostro cerca y me susurro -Sabes que si alguien sabe de tú pasado correrán de tú lado, estás solo en este mundo, soy lo único que has querido, Alexander- iba a besar mis labios pero la empuje con fuerza, cayó al piso, aun con una sonrisa -Soy lo único que tienes Alexander, acéptalo todos esos que tienes ahora, no conocen el monstruo que eres- dijo levantándose y caminando de vuelta a su auto. Me quede estatico, cerré los ojos y me senté en la acera. Las lagrimas corrían por mis mejillas. Esa mujer era, ella era, a quien debía llamar mi "madre". Me quede ahí, llorando en la calle. La odiaba, todos esos demonios que trataba de mantener escondidos salían a atormentarme. Me levante como pude, me puse mi casco y salí en mi moto. La velocidad ayudaba cuando me sentía mal, quizás por eso no vi el auto que venía de frente, trate de esquivarlo pero ya era demasiado tarde.
Cut me down, But it's you who'll have further to fall | Self-para
Ghost town and haunted love
Raise your voice, sticks and stones may break my bones
I'm talking loud not saying much
Zayn paused the movie in front of himself. He just felt the need for a smoke, something was bothering him and he really didn’t know what it was. Zayn made his way over to the closet and opened the door to it before searching for the hidden lighter and fags. After finding them, he threw on a hoodie and hid the things in his pocket. The boy also placed his phone and room key within his pockets. The boy placed on his NIKE air forces before leaving the bedroom. Upon putting on the shoes, he walked out of the room silently. He didn’t want anyone to know that he was going to go smoke because he had promised to not do it, but he secretly did it anyways. He looked around, the hallway was clear of people and he tiptoed down the stairs. He walked into the big foyer and opened the front door. The boy closed the door behind him after exiting the house and walked out onto the wooden porch. He moved his brown eyes around, taking in the features he’s seen before. The night had already fallen, the stars were out and shining bright in the darken sky. Zayn pushed his foot down onto the first step and then made his way fully down the long wooden foot stairs, pressing his feet down onto the soft sand. Then he began to walk away from the mansion, away from any focal point that anyone was able to see him out of.
He pulled out the fag from his pocket, along with the lighter that sat next to it. Zayn brought it up to his plump lips and light it with the lighter. After he saw the trail of smoke coming off of the fag, he moved his hand away from the wheel that started the spark to make it light. Then he placed it back into his pocket. Zayn took a long hit from the fag and then blow the smoke out of his mouth. What Zayn didn’t know what so ever, was that someone was following him. Someone he didn’t know someone who wanted to go after him and try to get rid of him because this person wanted to break up One Direction, or get rid one of them. This time, it was after Zayn. Was he really that good of a target, was it because he had a bad struggle or something? These however, was not Zayn’s thoughts this was probably the strange man’s asking himself as too why he choose to go after the raven haired male.
Zayn took another long drag from the fag that was in between his index and middle finger. The smoke escaped his lip and then something entered him. It was a sharp object that was hit into his lower back, near his hip area. The world seemed to turn into slow motion as he felt the knife go inside of his lower hip area. He couldn’t make a sound, or move or anything else like that. The fag that was in between his two fingers fell down to the sand. The sharp object was pulled away from his body and Zayn fell down to his knees. He was there for a couple of seconds; the boy was able to fall over before a booted foot slammed into his right side temple of his head. The boy instantly got thrown to the ground from the kick. The olive skinned boy could feel the blood from his body and he still had the pain of the knife going into him. Zayn saw the very person step over him, the person was wearing all black and was masked, so you couldn’t see his face or make it out. The bloody knife was in the man’s hand and the man quickly ran over to the water. Running it through the ocean water to clean all of the boy’s blood off of it, it was weird that all the person did was stab the boy. He didn’t take anything and all he did was that.
The blood began to stain the once pale colored sand. Zayn’s eyes grew heavy and he started to see the darkness of his eye lids. Some tears had slipped down his cheek out of how scared for his life he was. He didn’t want to die, he couldn’t die. Zayn still needed to keep going with his dream and be with his best mates. He couldn’t let Liam lose him, Zayn loved Liam with all of his heart and didn’t want to let go. The boy wanted to be with Liam forever, start a family and everything else that he could do. But, if he was going to be a goner none of that wasn’t going to happen, not going towards completing his dream or growing old with the boy he loved more that he loved himself. One last tear fell down Zayn’s face before the darkness fell into his sight. There was no movement he could make or speak. Hopefully someone would find him, before it was way too late.
