Savior

The Boy and the Bullet

*EARLY UPDATE SO MAKE SURE YOU READ THE LAST CHAPTER, "THE GIRL AND THE GAME"*

I think I can now fully understand society's obsession with deja vu.

The blood, the helplessness, the shot ringing out, Harry... Limp and bloody in my arms...

All those things have happened before in my recurring nightmares –have haunted me for months on end. But, those were just dreams.

Until now.

Now, déjà vu washes over me like a wave as those nightmares come to completion before my eyes, playing out exactly as they had when they were concocted in my subconscious. My greatest fears climbing out of the dark recesses of my mind to torment and torture me.

Did my subconscious understand Louis' trail of breadcrumbs more than my waking mind ever did and try to communicate with me through my nightmares?

But, in those nightmares –try as I might, I never made it to Harry. I ran and ran, but I could never get to him, could never save him. I simply had to hear him scream for help from afar, blood pooling around me, but never finding the source.

Unlike my dreams, there are no screams now.

There is silence.

A trigger pulled, a shot fired –the violent blast of sound bouncing off the walls and ringing through my eardrums, but, then, just silence.

The kind of silence that is much too loud, the kind of eerie quiet that can only mean disquiet.

And then, suddenly; a scream.

Blood curdling and horrified and, in the confusion, I have no idea where it's coming from. But, my eyes open and the gun powder clears and I realize that I am the one screaming.

My yell is shrill and horrified, the sound gargling through my constructed air ways and burning as it bubbles to the surface.

He shot him. Louis actually shot him.

Harry came bursting through that door to save my life, to help and protect me just as he said he would. And Louis fucking shot him.

My cries come crashing to a halt when I hear Harry grunt in pain and I open my eyes because he's still alive.

I blink away the fresh tears, vision still blurry from the blood loss, but clear enough to make out Harry's silhouette not too far from me. Focusing on his face first, I search for any blood, any wound around his skull that would indicate a fatal wound.

My relief is short lived when I find none and have to continue my search for the bullet wound, Harry's face scrunched in pain, his breaths labored and mouth cursing profusely.

There is a deep gash on his bicep, fresh blood trickling down his arm like paint. It seems as if the bullet grazed his skin, deep enough to pulverize the muscle there, but not deep enough to penetrate the bone.

I cry out in relief and scramble towards him –ignoring Louis' satisfied smirk as he watches Harry clutch his arm in pain.

Louis missed on purpose. This is a warning shot, it has to be. I've seen Louis at the firing range –he made sure to take me with him so I always knew that he could kill me, or anyone else he desired with one sure shot.

Louis never misses his target.

And scaring Harry, hurting him just badly enough to shake his resolve; that was his target.

I just hope it doesn't have his desired effect.

As soon as I reach Harry I am smoothing back his hair and trying to calm him as I assess the wound, while ignoring my own throbbing pain; both along my spine where the glass is lodged, but also along my throat where I'm half-certain my windpipe is crushed.