One Deception

Chapter Nine

Written by Kay (TheCrazySide)

Chapter Nine
Miranda

There was absolutely no way to describe what I was feeling.

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cheer. I wanted to die.

On the good side, Rosalie had escaped. She had actually done it, what I feared would be just plain impossible. She’d managed to leave this God-awful place behind, and I could tell from the stomps upstairs that they hadn’t found her, and likely wouldn’t.

On the other side… she’d also left me behind. Admittedly, I understood. I mean, she didn’t really have a choice. The minute I felt Liam grab my ankle, I knew I was done for. She would either get away, or they’d take and punish us both.

I could hear the shouting from upstairs, the absolute pure rage and panic crashing through the five boys. Though I wanted to feel pleased and satisfied about that, I couldn’t quite bring myself to, especially when I thought about how they’d channel that anger and frustration.

Through violence… on me.

When Zayn had grabbed Liam earlier, he had actually looked scared, terrified even. Liam was always stoic, always collected, and he looked at Zayn in that moment like he was looking at death itself.

Then when he had tied me to the worktable after Zayn’s orders, his hands were actually shaking. I repeat: his hands were shaking.

Zayn, the seemingly cool and collected leader had snapped as well. He had thrown a bloody chair, smashed it to pieces with a strength I didn’t even know he had.

It was utterly terrifying, so I cowered, like always. It was always easier than facing them and risking more injury.

When I heard footsteps from above, even I forced myself to snap to attention, preparing myself. It was time for my death; it was inevitable.

Though as the footsteps drew nearer, I was able to tell that there was only one pair, not five. Just one person was coming down. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t take me upstairs to kill me, but still, something didn’t feel completely right about it.

Holding my breath and gripping my hands together tightly in their bonds, I watched helplessly as the door swung open, revealing a ragged Zayn, alone.

Just at a glance, I could tell he was absolutely wrecked. His hair was a wild mess on his head, his eyes predatory and feral. His whole face was clenched tight as if he was in pain, as well as his fists, so much that their knuckles were close to white.

“We need to talk,” he growled, stepping inside and slamming the door closed behind him.

Usually, Zayn was the only one who managed to show me a bit of compassion. I appreciated him, loved him even, for that. He would patch me up like someone who actually cared after one of the others got particularly rough, would feed me, and actually hold conversations on occasion. He had to care for me to do all that, he had to.

Now though, I admit, I was scared. He was scaring me.

When I didn’t answer, he quickly strode across the room and crouched down in front of me, reaching up and resting a hand on the worktable. He was close, very much so, enough that I could see the details of his irises.

He was breathing deeply, and I could tell he was trying to calm himself down. “Miranda,” he said slowly, though I could hear the slight shake in his voice. “I’m not going to hurt you, alright?”