look around to make sure no ones there, and then run ig? whatever gets you out
ASK 32: IRꙮN OLEANDER ✧˖*°࿐
I'm in the living room now, and I could've sworn I- "Awh, Did I not tie you down well enough?" "That's a shame." I whirl around instinctively. I feel my blood run cold. Twisted stands in the doorway, he smiles at me. "I could've sworn I did a better job." "I was in a hurry, M! You're way more resilient than your supposed to be." He holds a metal rod in his left hand. I jolt backwards when he holds it up. "When I found out you came back, I couldn't help but make sure you stayed! It gets so lonely without you, and you're such a big help with... everything, my little Alexandrite." Twisted reaches for my head with this open hand. He rustles my hair. I let him. "Did you not miss me? Come on, wipe that look of shock off your face." I hold the knife—his knife—in my right hand. I shake the shellshock out of me before I push him away. "AUGH- YOU-" Twisted grunts before swinging at my side. He hits me and I stumble into a bookcase. I grab a book from it, throwing it at him. I scramble too my feet, holding the knife out in-front of me. Twisted dodges the book, running towards me, swinging at my skull. I dodge, in the process knocking over the bookcase as all of the stuff in it flies out with me in tandem. I grab a few more books and start hurling them at Twisted as I try to sit up. I knock off his opal brooch, and it falls onto my bag. I whirl around, forcing it into a pocket, as I slice a deep gash into the flesh of Twisted's ankle. He stumbles, leaning on a nearby wall. His blood gets everywhere the floor and on me. It leaks into my bag and stains my notebook. "YOU DUMB☆SS B☆TCH!" Twisted hisses in pain as I get up onto my feet. I have a clear shot of his throat. I run past him, slicing a cut into his throat as gain enough momentum to slam myself into the door, forcing the old, decaying wood open and making a mad dash into the night's rain. I can't bring myself to kill him. Why can't I bring myself to kill him? I collapse into the wet grass after what felt like hours of running. I curl into myself, crying my eyes out in silent, crimson agony. I couldn't bring myself to kill him. I should be ashamed. And nothing burns the soul quite as bitterly as shame.