21 Murders | Harry Styles AU (discontinued)

LIV. Vanquish

vanquish (verb): defeat thoroughly

Noelle's POV

The trenchant blade clatters to the floor with a light pang, my hearing and vision starting to become distorted. My mind is clouded with disorientation but I know from previous happenings that this is only a side effect of the blood oozing from my lower abdomen and seeping through my fingers.

In a delayed vision, I see my captor stare at me with wide eyes full of perplexity. The tight grasp he has on the backs of my elbows begins to give away as my knees hit the cool ground, shooting a numb pain up my spine. This is no contrast to the incessant pain splitting through my side, even the slightest movement causing a loud wince to escape my parted lips.

The shock of being stabbed is almost worse than the feeling itself. I wasn't expecting such a wound, nor one that would quite literally split open my skin and pour my innards out onto the cement with no regrets. The emotional side of this acquired wound hasn't infiltrated my head yet, but I know the repercussions are going to be strong when they hit.

I was just stabbed.

By a knife.

It is already hard to swallow, but this thought is shooed away as quickly as it was thought up. My eyes hazily pan down to my shirt, stained with red and sticking to my sore skin. My fingernails are drenched in the red liquid, my insides feeling cut and torn as easily as a piece of thin paper.

With the throbbing of my pulsing head, I am laid down on the cool floor and then my vision turns black. Faintly I see visions of his body above mine, but my eyes are so heavy and energy is draining from my body every passing second. Is this what dying feels like? I hope not, but if I need any more mental willpower to stay alive, I give no promises of a return.

-

My head shoots up in a quick motion as if I am awakening from a horrible nightmare, except my reality is worse than any nightmare I have ever dreamt up. The late November breeze is gusty and shovels my tangled hair upon my face, matting it upon the blood specks littering my face. I can feel my lip bruising and how tight the skin around it seems to throb with every heavy thud my heart dares to beat.

The breeze is cold, winter staring dead in my eyes with a wicked grin, but I can't help but appreciate how great it feels to be out of that dusty basement where the air was stale and my mind was blocked off. My head is clearer than before, but as I lurch forward in my sitting position, that confusion is brought back and multiplied.

The rough tree bark scrapes my skin as I try and pull free both of my hands. The lower part of my back is cut up by the harsh exterior and I can tell that even from my efforts, finding a relief is highly unlikely. I would be better off saving my energy and waiting for him to come back to attack than further injuring my exhausted self now.

As devastating as it is to be tied to a tree, both my legs lying in mud in front of me, I do take a second to scan my surroundings. I have never been one to become subject to aesthetic contemplation, but the sight of a light grey sky and tall trees lining it prove me otherwise. This little cleared area of landscape is something you would see in a camping scene; very bushy, peaceful, and smack-dab in the center of nowhere. This alarms and eases me. At least I have time to think for myself until he comes back.

Once again I am proven wrong when a very dry, familiar voice is heard through the breeze. I can't make out where it is coming from or why it sounds so familiar, but I know I have heard it before. "Noelle," it says again. "Is that you?"

Then it clicks.

All those times sitting in front of his desk for hours on end, listening to him teach a class that surely wasn't as intrigued as I was. All the times we spoke outside of class about extracurricular activities and how he loved his wife so dearly. I feel rejoiced for her now, but just barely. He sounds as if his vocal cords have been cut in half just like his hope.