One Last Time - We Are Defencless - Sequel

Chapter 46 - Niall

Darkness.

That's all I know.

I don't know how long I've been here. But all I can feel is the cold, hard chair draining all the heat from my body.

All I know is that I was on my way to find Zayn. Or was it the bathroom?

To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if my name isn't Niall Horan, but Peter Joles or something. At this point, I can barely keep my head up, my chin resting against my bruised chest. My body is beaten and broken right now.

It's my fault though. They told me to either call them or get a fist in my side. I chose the fist.

I'm not going to urge them to do anything they don't want.

Niall Horan, or Peter Joles, will not back down. Niall is the person who gets kidnapped in a hospital. Niall is the guy tied to a metal chair barely able to feel his body from the lack of water and malnourishment.

There's a bright light again.

Am I dead? Did my heart finally stop beating in my chest? Am I finally free?

The light that gave me a sliver of hope is soon shaded by a silhouette. The man moving closer, causing me to squeeze my eyes shut in fright. Every muscle in my ready to crash and drown body tenses up to the point of them shaking from the straining force.

Soon enough, a puff of warm air hits my face, the voice I only associate with pain speaking against the skin of my cheek, "You, Niall, get to go home now."

Before I even get the chance to react, a loud bang erupts in the room I've been held for far too long.

I feel nothing now.

The instant panic from the blast, gone.

I can't feel any of the agonizing pain anymore either.

I feel like I'm floating.

I'm not in that prison anymore. I'm watching myself. But I don't look like Niall Horan anymore. I look like I've been put through a blender.

My hair is stick to my scalp, looking dark brown from the dried blood clumping it together. The fresh crimson still trickling slowly down the skin of my face.

But I'm not moving.

My broken body is completely still. Bound to the furniture. Stuck.

My chest doesn't rise and fall. The weight of my head tilting to the side. Completely limp. No movement. Not even a crease between my eyebrows.

My eyes shut close. Not even a hint of movement playing on my chapped lips. Every limb in my body unstirring.

The man in the chair was serene. Void of life. Dead

The once sparkling blue eyes that shone with life, are dull and empty underneath the skin covering them.

The heart in the man's chest that used to beat for his friends. His family. His music. Completely still. The thump that once signalled blood streaming from the muscle, circulating the now ghostly body.

-

My body is being jerked awake by a high pitch scream being ripped from someone lungs.

It takes me a second to realise that those are my lungs. In my chest. Surrounding my beating heart. My eyes brimming with salty tears as my body is covered in a layer of cold sweat.