Bloodlines

Take Aim.

I grasp the gun, like my life depends on it, in my jittery hands. Well, I guess you could say that it could well do, right now.

The cold steel feels so alien beneath my fingers as I struggle to point it steadily at Clarke's expressionless face. My body surges with unease as those nearly black eyes flit sharply between the gun and my face, deciding to settle on me. His face holds nothing but contempt, scrutinising my every move with his accusatory stare.

With his jaw set at a harsh angle, It's clear he's in a soundless rage, and I don't want to be the one to cause him to flip. I had to hand it to Clarke, he kept up the severe demeanour perfectly, and much to my dismay wasn't half as fazed as I'd expected him to be having a gun thrown in his face. Maybe it's a common occurrence for criminals like him.

A torturous silence echoes throughout the woodland as we stand off against one another. Despite my wishful endeavours to, I'm incapable of controlling my trembling limbs. And my heart threatens to burst from my chest, every second longer that I stand with this dangerous man.

Just as I feel the need for one of us to speak, a gust of wind rushes past us capturing my hair in its clutches and freeing it from its ponytail. It whips around my face, as it takes on a life of its own.

After what could well have been forever, Clarke coughs seizing my attention and cutting through the silence surrounding us, like a knife through butter.

"What are you doing, Baby Doll?" he questions with notable impatience.

"I-I," I stumble awkwardly, as usual, to find the correct words to respond. "Stop calling me Baby Doll," I eventually say, lowering my tone in an attempt to sound threatening. Much to my frustration, my shaky speech transpires to be as threatening as a newborn kitten mewling for its mother's milk.

"Why?" he coaxes, disregarding what I've said. "do you not like my nickname? Do you really have to point a gun at my head to prove that, Doll?"

"I want to go home," I reply tight-lipped, seething that he's deciding to tease me at a time like this. Standing up a little straighter, I shift my feet in the crunching leaves, whilst fingering the gun in my hands, becoming a little more accustomed with it. I close my eyes, considering my next words carefully. "Look, I happen to have the upper hand here, Clarke. Take me home," I demand, "or I'll blow your fucking brains out."

Again, the woods take on an eery silence. Intrigue passes over Clarke's features, and a note of surprise, no, shock maybe. Whatever it is, it disappears in a heartbeat, and a menacing smirk takes its place.

Without a word, he begins advancing toward me. Which, of course, forces me to take a large step back in retreat. Like a vulture waiting for its prey to take its final breath, he circles me slowly, deliberately. I have to pivot about on my tiptoes so that I can continue to keep the gun locked on him.

"Bravo, Octavia. I'm truly impressed," he chuckles heartily to himself, as though he's getting off on a private joke, "however, there are two rather major issues with this scene you're acting out here."

My back stiffens in apprehension but I choose to ignore it. Thankfully, he eases up rotating around me like a carousel horse, otherwise, I definitely would have become too dizzy to remain standing. Those tenebrous pupils never leave mine as he lunges forward to clap his hands together.

The burst of sound reverberates throughout the woodland, bouncing back off the colossal trees. I stare ahead in complete bewilderment hoping he'll explain his actions further.

When he seems to have no intentions to do so, I drop my guard for a nanosecond to glance over my surroundings. I nearly fall over in a blind panic, at the three, all too familiar males scowling back at me. Each one of them raises their weapon in unison, as though it's a move they've been practising to perfect for weeks.