The Worshippers - Teenlock

Chapter 18 - btw guys im super gay

right so after that important plot twist that i should have sown like three chatpers ago lets continue onwards los gehts bitch

also like sexual harassment trigger warning maybe? this got real dark im sorry guys

also a short chapter because im not really feeling the vibe of lengthening this soz bb.

also i never edit this shit. i just write and fucking go for it.

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Chapter 18

Wendy's POV

I couldn't tell where the shot came from. I didnt understand why i was running, and more specifically, why i was running towards it. Adrenaline buzzed in my veins, racing up and down my body. I hit the stairs and jumped, three steps at a time, four steps at a time, hand gripping the banister to pull me upwards. 

Finally my head caught up with my body; the shot came from the dorms, and i was running to help. I blitzed through each floor looking for open doors and evidence, sprinting wildly, until i got to the fifth floor, and it became obvious. One of the boys dorm doors was wide open, and i sprinted in looking for a criminal or victim, but i found neither. What i did find, was a gun on the windowsill. The curtains were closed so i ripped them open, now frantically searching the grounds underneath the window. 

I wish i hadnt.

I couldnt see their face. I couldnt see who it was. But someone's warm blood was now seeping into the concrete courtyard. I froze in shock, fixated  by this visual. It was like treacle, bright red treacle, slowly, slowly flowing and staining. My eyes followed it for what seemed like hour after hour. And then, a hand on my waist. The hand crept round, grabbing me by the stomach, but still i couldnt move.  Someone behind me, whispering "It's ok, it's going to be fine." I wanted to lean back into them, melt away from all this but i couldn't. Because the voice wasn't Johns. It wasn't his old teddy bear rough and loving accent. The voice was soft. Sickening. Smooth. And Irish.

I was trapped. My mind was running, sprinting. racing, screaming. My body was still. Unmoving. Jim Moriarty ran his hands up and down my arms and i wanted to gag. His breath was on my neck, warm and humid, disgusting me, but all i could do was stare at the bloodbath in the courtyard. He reached up and tucked my hair behind my ear. His hands passed my eyes, and that was his mistake. I regained my focus, and whilst my body shook, i had control again. 

I threw my head back. Disorientate.

I pushed him away. Leave his grip.

I punched his gut. Doubled down

I brought my knee up. Hit to the face.

Then I ran. Again.