In Saving the Imperfect

36. In saving the imperfect

"Just how dumb are you?" Victor made a pause after each word. He was clearly enjoying all of that. "You returned yourself. Did you finally get cold?"

For a brief second, images of his parents' kitchen flashed in Layne's mind. That night he made mistakes – he froze, he hesitated. Those mistakes were the reason that everything that happened, happened. The main reason he was even standing there in front of that man who was so sure of his upcoming victory.

He wouldn't make those mistakes again.

In a matter of seconds, he threw his hand into his enemy with the stick pointed right at his neck. He was already seeing blood everywhere. Thus, when a force stopped his arm mid-air, he gasped in shock.

Victor squeezed his wrist until his fingers became tingly and his palm turned pale. He was forced to let go of his weapon which dropped right beside the old man's feet.

"Did you expect anything else?" Victor asked while, to Layne's fury, his expression remained the same. He just couldn't stop smiling.

Layne's attempts to free his hand or kick his opponent went in vain and the cold, bitter hopelessness only rose inside him. Victor pushed him against the wall of the cabin with enough force for the whole structure to follow. A gush of air escaped Layne's lungs together with a groan of pain.

"You won't even talk to me, now?" The old man wrapped his free hand around Layne's throat and squeezed lightly. "Come on, you're always too chatty, aren't you?"

That time, he didn't feel like talking. It'd only amuse the asshole whose face was now uncomfortably close to his. He closed his eyes to avoid that view. There was no point. If any of the previous events taught him anything, was that he'd lose even if he started in a better position.

He stopped resisting.

"That is just pathetic," Victor complained and tightened his fingers. Layne instinctively opened his lips to gasp for air, as much as he wished not to entertain him.

Something light landed on his nose and he opened his eyes to see. A whole bunch of white dots danced around the darkening sky. The first snow. He couldn't have imagined a more poetic time to die. He chose to ignore his killer completely and just watched the soothing snowflakes until he couldn't tell which dots were real and which he only saw from the lack of air.

He was so captivated, he couldn't help it but yell when he was flung onto the ground, a few meters away from where he originally stood. Of course, Victor wouldn't have let him enjoy those last minutes. In any other situation, Layne would have taken that as an opportunity – but not that time. That time, he only watched the man picking up the sharpened stick off the ground and coming closer to him, step by step.

His face was already drenched in sweat and the drops of snowflakes melting on it didn't make a big difference. Victor was turning the weapon between his fingers, only giving Layne a side glance or two.

But that didn't last long.

Victor eventually raised his head and stepped over the man still laying on the ground. Layne gulped, his eyes fixed on the stick.

It was only a few seconds between an angry growl at least fifteen meters away and the large dog jumping at the two of them. The surprise was all it took. Victor fell over backwards, barely not on top of Layne. Cat jumped aside, the stick in his jaws. He was still growling while he chewed and slung it around.

No more hesitation.

Victor was already reaching for his knife when Layne jumped back on his feet and set off running. After a sharp turn behind one of the cabins, he was safe for just one moment.