'And I'll fall like thunder to your feet
I've got a pistol, baby, under the passenger seat'
*
When I was a child, my favourite film was The Terminator 2. It follows Sarah Connor as she and her son find themselves at the centre of a renewed war between man and machine. As the final scene rolls in, Connor speaks of the unknown future and how she goes towards it with hope, not fear, because if a machine can value human life, perhaps we can too. I've always loved that part. The idea that even man made objects can see how beautiful being alive is. How much of a gift it is. It reassured me that there must be people out in the world that feel the same, that stand against violence and hatred. At such a young age, it's not that I understood the dangers of the world, but I knew they existed. I just assumed that only a select few partook in it. As you get older, you realise that's not the case. We all have the capacity to be bad. There's the potential to be evil inside of us, it's just whether you choose to act on it or not.
Hugo Charles had reminded me of that. It's not that I ever forgot it, but somehow the reality of having someone try to kill you is enough to awaken the fears you've managed to subside. Funny how that stuff works.
Another thing about Sarah Connor that I loved, was just how badass she became. In the second film she's a gun-wielding fighter for the resistance, protecting her son and her own life at all costs. Considering where I am now, there's definitely some parallels between the two of us. Except I'm dealing with a real psychopath and am only just learning how to use firearms.
After I saw Zayn yesterday, he stuck to his word and spoke with Harry about teaching me a few ways to defend myself. The subject was hardly up for conversation. If Harry refused I knew Zayn would accept. It didn't surprise me that Harry was against it at first, repeatedly yelling down the phone that I should never find myself near a gun, and that he's got it under control. Whatever he's put in place, I know it would be stupid to only allow me to rely on the protection of others. There's no way that they can completely eliminate the possibility of being approached again. This is the only solution.
The first time I saw a gun in person was when Harry pulled one out on my attacker. The image has been ingrained in my mind since. My heart stopped beating the moment he pulled it out. Premonitions of all the harm a weapon like that can do flooded in. There's a reason why guns aren't legal in the UK. They were outlawed after a school shooting in Scotland in the 90s. It's very rare that you hear of someone owning one, unless they're used for game shooting. Even then, only a small proportion of society falls into that category.
I never imagined that I'd ever be the person behind the trigger after that moment, but here I am, stood with a gun in my hands while I stare at the target a few metres ahead of me. I've been putting off actually shooting it for a while now, getting into position before falling back to try a different gun. The problem is, I've never considered myself capable of harming someone like this, even if it's self-defence.
What if I get so used to it that I can't stop? I don't want to become a danger to others in the pursuit of my own safety.
On the second floor of the warehouse is a shooting ring, along with a weapons room that can only be entered with a specific key that Harry and Zayn have. The armoury in itself knocked me back. The walls lined with multiple guns, knives, swords, chains – things I'd never seen before. I'd never realised how much destruction people had access to. There are no windows in this room, only long hanging lights that are so bright it gave me a headache. It swung a bit when Harry pulled the string to turn it on, squeaking in the background as I took in my surroundings. Goose bumps erupted over my whole body. My mouth went dry. My palms were sweaty. This was the last thing I imagined to be in this room.
In truth, I never even considered the team needing weapons for what they do, but with every passing day it becomes more obvious just how little I know. I've been so naïve. Their jobs aren't easy. Everything they do comes with risk. Of course, they need to protect themselves against it. I just never believed it would be on this scale.
I'd been informed by Harry that these things aren't nearly as hard to get a hold of as one would think. There's a booming black market in the UK, dealing with arms and other illegal objects with connections spanning the globe. It's always those you least expect that are in charge of these shipments and trades, using their army of minions to do the dirty work on the down low. The sellers pray on the weak, he said. Usually young offenders and gang members, feeding off of their demise. That's how most of the kids end up in juvenile detention or prison, while their dealers remain hidden by their benefactors.
It's a wicked game.
The mechanics of the guns had been explained to me once I'd calmed down at the sight of them. Bullets are loaded into the rear of the barrel, which is a tube connected to a firing pin. The trigger is the catalyst that sets a chain reaction of events off. It releases the pin, which strikes a small explosive charge in the base of the bullet. The explosion ignites the gun powder inside the shell casing around the bullet which in turn forces it out of the casing and down the barrel towards the target. Simple stuff, really. It doesn't seem as terrifying when explained like that.
My fingers trailed along the exterior of the guns first, just taking in the sensation of them. Every crevice of them was felt under my soft fingertips. They didn't seem so harmful when I touched them. Just pieces of plastic and metal. Random objects welded to look scary. If you don't know the damage they can do, then I suppose it's easy to remain calm around them. There were a pair of eyes on me the whole time, I could feel them on my back, but he never uttered a word. At least I was being given the time I needed to adjust.
Then I finally picked one off the wall. It was heavier than it looked. A chill went down my spine as I moved it back and forth between my hands. I inspected every detail of it, even looking down the barrel of it. This one wasn't loaded, but even as I placed it a few inches from my head, Harry moved over to me to remove it from my grasp. He put it back so delicately, treating it with care. He swallowed deeply before turning back to me. There was a hint of worry behind his eyes.
After that he took me through the different types of guns. There are rifles, which are to be held by two hands and shouldered for support. They can only shoot one bullet but they're powerful enough to cause immeasurable injury. Then there are shotguns. Again, two-handed and shot from the shoulder. These ones have the potential to fire multiple rounds, but their shot is much smoother than others. Lastly, handguns. Single-hand pistols that are semi-automatic and have the chamber in the barrel, and revolvers whose cartridges are stored in the chambers and rotated to align with the barrel. I played around with them for a bit, deciding which sat better in my palms, which I preferred holding. I didn't want to hold either one, but it's not like I have a choice anymore. I settled on the pistol in the end. Seemed like the easiest thing to get the hang of for a beginner.
You can enter the shooting ring through the weapons room or an exterior door. We followed through to the next room from where we were, Harry making sure to lock the door on his way out. I had asked him about it at one point. He simply said that no one should have that much access to harm. Ironic considering he's the one in control of it.
The shooting range is better lit than the weapons room. There are lights down every lane, illuminating the targets and the approach. The walls are also dark, no windows lining them. This isn't something you want the outside world to see. There's meshed material separating each lane, just to make sure people don't mistake someone else's target for theirs. In front of us are tables with ammo, silencers earmuffs and glasses, all seated behind glass I can only assume to be bullet proof. There's a hole in the middle, centred on the targets situated across the room, but a small door closes it. Harry has the key to unlock them.
Once we entered, he took the gun from me, placing it on the table as he prepared the bullets. The metal cases clink against each other, filling the silence. It's cold in here, too. I shiver slightly at first, but it will only make me look weaker. I want to appear as strong as I can right now, even though inside I am screaming. I've said nothing since we came upstairs. The colour from my cheeks has probably disappeared. I know my eyes have been wide the whole time.
I watch as he carefully loads the gun, not caring to ask what type of bullets he's using. It's not like I'd understand. He moves slowly, taking all the precautions necessary before turning back to me. My eyes fall to the weapon between us. I suck in a sharp breath as his footsteps near.
'The safety is still on, don't worry,' he reassures me, eyes watching me so intensely. It feels like he cares, in a way. Not just because of my role in the team, but as an individual. Like he wants to make sure I'm safe himself.
I nod, letting him place the gun in my hands. The bullets weigh it down more; I don't expect how heavy it feels. I move it about, deciding which hand it feels more comfortable in. My dominant hand, the right one, would be best. It sits nicely in my palm, there's more control to it.
I walk towards the centre, focusing on the target behind the glass. Harry moves to unlock it, before placing his keys down and bringing the protection over to me. I don't even have a second to prepare as he's putting the earmuffs and glasses on me. His fingers linger at the sides of my face for a few moments, his gaze fixed on mine. I can feel his breath melding with my own. He pulls back sooner than I would have liked.
'Try holding it in both hands first,' he calls out behind me as I position myself near the hole. 'You need a strong stance. Feet apart the width of your shoulders. Don't let your back tense up, either. Just breathe.'
I do as he says, moving into the correct position. It feels silly being stood here like this, I must look like an idiot, but I trust his word that this will help me make the shot. 'Like this?' I ask, turning my head slightly to seek his approval. He nods, walking closer. His hand comes up to the gun, switching the safety off, before he steps back again.
My finger is over the trigger, but my hand is shaking. He can probably see. 'Atlas, you need to remain as still as possible. Calm your breathing and focus on it. Listen to your heartbeat, the blood pumping through your veins. When you exhale, shoot.'
It sounds easy. Probably too simple.
My body is so tense, I'm not sure how to relax it. I do what he says, though, focusing on my breathing. It's far too erratic. My lips close, taking long inhales and exhales to steady it. It's so silent around me, I can't even hear the work outside the room. It must be soundproof. The blood is pumping heavily, hearing the rush in my ear drums. My hands are so clammy I'm scared I'll drop the gun as it shoots and have the bullet ricochet into me. At least I'll put myself out of my misery.
Finally, I still. My lungs are steady. I'm ready. More pressure is applied over the trigger, enough to pull it. Within a split second, the bullet flies out. Even through the earwear I can hear it, but it's certainly not as painful as the first time I witnessed a gun shoot. One slight problem, however, is that I miss. By a long shot.
I finally let out a sigh, turning to see Harry. His fingers are pinching his bottom lip, a tick of his when fixated on something. 'How was that?' I ask, letting my arms fall but being careful to keep my grip on the weapon.
He raises his eyebrows before walking closer to me. 'You missed.'
'No shit,' I retort, earning a low chuckle from him. 'This is the first time I've ever shot a gun, go easy on me,' I add, allowing him to take it from me to inspect the barrel. Seeing it so close to his face when the safety is off only fills me with more nerves. Imagine the leader of this whole operation is killed because he was trying to teach me how to shoot. What a nightmare that would be. Hugo would be the least of my worries.
He hands the gun back to me, walking behind again. This time he doesn't keep his distance, though. Instead, his hands come up both my arms before resting over my own on the weapon. My back is pressed tightly against his torso. Every time he breathes in I feel it, and as he breathes out the air tickles my neck, the hairs dancing in it. He brings his head to rest on my shoulder so he can get a better look at the target. Being so close to him is distracting me, in all honesty.
He breathes out against me, my eyes closing instantly. 'Your aim is off. Your hands shook at the impact. You need more control,' he announces, taking a tighter grip over my own.
One of his hands releases but only to reposition my shoulders better. The touch makes my skin tingle. Everything with Harry is always so intense. I feel vulnerable around him, and I hate that feeling. He resumes his stance, holding me in place. 'When you shoot, you need to keep your posture like this. Up straight, composed. I know it's a hard shot, but you have to regulate it.'
My head nods lightly, feeling his stubble rub against my neck at the movement. I'm reminded of the night his head was between my legs and his facial hair prickled my thighs. My mind needs to focus and stop going elsewhere.
'I'll count down. On the count of three, shoot.' I swallow deeply, preparing myself for the shot. 'One,' his grip is tighter. 'Two,' I can feel his heartbeat against my back. 'Three,' his lips brush my neck. I pull the trigger.
I hit it.
I can feel Harry's smile against me the moment the bullet shoots a hole through the paper figure at the end of the room. It's pushed back against the wall at the pressure, but once it's done flapping around the shot is crystal clear. I won't overexaggerate it; it's not perfect. But I actually hit it, and that's what matters.
Once the bullet flies through the air and into the target, Harry's cheers fill the room, pulling the earmuffs off of me. 'Bloody brilliant!' he calls out, wrapping his arm around my torso from behind before dragging me off my feet to hold in me in the air. It's such an odd transition, the previous moments filled with tension and now sheer joy. I laugh manically at his reaction, swatting at his arms to put me back down.
When he does, I turn around to face him. His hands are still on my hips, faced flushed and out of breathe. We stay there like that, staring at each other smiling. The gun is still in my hand and I'm painfully aware that I could accidentally shoot it at any point. Yet, I'm no longer scared. Not right now, at least. As we watch each other, eyes focused, I feel calm. Excited, even. Harry seems to fill me with such a high level of self-esteem when it comes to my abilities, I wonder how he has so much faith in me.
My breathing is slightly jagged, hitching in my throat the longer his hands remain on me. As if he can feel me thinking about them, his grip tightens. Not too much, but enough for me to notice. It's like he's holding me in place and refusing me to move, because judging by the look in his eyes and the way he keeps glancing at my lips, I know he doesn't want me to. It's the same look he has had each time we've kissed.
Suddenly, I'm pulled closer to him, his lips hovering over mine. Until I accidentally shoot the concrete. The bullet bounces off the floor and lodges itself into the bullet-proof glass next to us. The sound of it breaks us apart as quickly as we came together. In just a split second everything can change. Once his hands leave my body my skin tingles missing their touch. Like I said, we'd opened Pandora's box when we finally allowed ourselves to let go around one another. It's not a realistic to act like we can go back to the way we were. Not that it was too far off from where we are now. Many flirtatious remarks and stolen glances, the slightest touch enough to distract us from whatever argument we seemed to be having that day.
I sigh, going to pick up the gun and checking it over. There were still some bullets left, enough for me to keep trying on my own. The earmuffs are placed back on my head before Harry can say anything, and I resume the stance I once had. Feet shoulder-width apart. My arms trying to replicate the hold Harry had them in. I focus on my breathing once more, though it's still trying to steady itself after what just happened.
When I know I'm ready, I exhale and shoot. The target is hit again, just about, but it fills me with the confidence I need to keep going. Again, I take my stand, lifting the gun up between both hands and visualising my aim. Shot after shot, I manage to hit it. There's a few that are missed, but only by an inch or two. As I grow more comfortable with it, the better I get. Harry seems to be impressed, nodding along and helping me reload the gun when I've gone through a whole round. He remains quiet, though. Just observing.
For some reason, I like when he praises me. It's not that I seek the validation of others, especially men, but when he compliments me I believe it. The words are being said not as a kind gesture, but to be imbedded within me until I no longer need to hear them. Like he's making sure I'm aware of my greatness, even though I still believe it to be insignificant. To Harry, I am the opposite. His words encourage me to believe that I am worthy, and I have more than enough potential to be the best at whatever I do. It's like having a mentor, but without even asking for one. I'm not sure if he realises he's doing it, and sometimes it annoys me when all I want is to wallow in my own self-pity, but for now, I enjoy it.
I lift the gun once more with both hands, finally managing to land a shot in the centre of the target. He claps his hands beside me, smiling lightly at my excitement. It's strange for me to be so excited by something that terrified me moments before, but I feel powerful, which I assume was the intention of this exercise. I can't defend myself if I feel weak. Although, having a gun is a bonus.
In my newfound confidence, I decide to take things up a notch. It's time to try shooting with one hand. Harry watches me as I lift a lone grip on the weapon, keeping it at the same level I did before when both were on it. I don't want to seem cocky, but I think I have a chance of hitting the target.
It's harder to get the perfect stance in this position, but once I manoeuvre my feet a bit I manage to replicate what I did before. My shoulders are relaxed, but high enough to steady the aim. My breathing is calm. I count to three in my head and pull the trigger.
Except this time, I don't reach the target. Instead, it goes to the side, burrowing into the steel beams of the wall, the impact knocking me slightly and jolting my shoulder. 'Shit!' I yell, dropping the gun again, thankful it doesn't shoot accidentally. The pain radiates through my back, causing me to hunch over. It's not the nastiest thing I've been through, but enough to make me feel sick. Instinctively, I bring my left hand up to the shoulder, rubbing it lightly to try and rid the tension. It only makes it worse.
Harry's footsteps echo around. He picks up the gun first. I hear him place it on the table after putting the safety back on, then walking towards me. His hand is placed on my injured shoulder; I flinch at the sensation. He's quick to soothe it though, rubbing the area gently to massage it. I stand up straighter, moving my hair to the other side to allow him more access. Every now and again I hiss in pain, but each time he becomes more delicate until he knows I can handle it again.
Once he's sure the pain is gone, my muscles much more relaxed, he walks back to the table to hand me the gun again. 'You need to be more careful. It's not the same as shooting with both hands. It requires more strength behind the shot, greater stamina. That's something you need to build up,' he advises, his fingers brushing mine when I take the firearm from him.
I sigh, nodding at the statement. I got ahead of myself. 'I was stupid for thinking this would be easy,' I mumble, walking back over to the glass.
He follows behind, keeping close. 'Don't say that. You're far from stupid, Atlas.'
I don't look at him, I just focus on the target ahead of us, but the gun remains at my side. Barring his close presence, there's no warning given when he reattaches his grip around me as he did when he helped me aim before. His hand drags my arm up in front of me, steadying my body while I adjust. His feet move mine, pushing them so I stand with one further back than the other. My shoulder is lowered, previously being too high. The proximity between us is dizzying.
His fingers lace with mine over the gun as his head lowers. With the earmuffs on, I'm only able to make out his words when his voice is raised. 'Remember, breathe.'
He starts the count down, each number beating in time with my pulse that I can hear through my ears, the blood rushing so quickly I worry I'll faint. One. I pull the trigger. The bullet meets the centre. The heart.
My shoulders drop in relief instantly, but his hand stays where it is. The earmuffs are removed with his free hand, gently placing them on the table next to us, before it moves up my arm. 'How do you feel?' he whispers, his lips now next to my ear. Every time he breathes I have to hold my own breath, scared I'll make some obscene sound with how much I'm enjoying this.
I close my eyes and allow myself to enjoy the feeling of him pressed up behind me. 'Strong,' I state.
'Remember that if you ever have to use this. Hurting people isn't easy, but sometimes it's necessary.'
He lowers my arm for me, taking the gun in his own grip. The safety click sounds, and it's thrown onto the table, clattering against the metal. Unexpectedly, he moves the hairs that still linger on my neck to the side, his lips ghosting across the skin they once adorned. It feels provocative, having him so close but not being able to see him. Knowing how much pleasure is being derived out of such a tedious moment.
My hand is back at my side, his fingers drawing circles over it. The little acts of friction between us send a jolt down my spine, my skin prickling at the feeling. Every nerve is awake and magnetised my him and his light touches. They're so fleeting but so vivid conscience. They feel like stolen moments, only meant for us when no one else is watching. No, we are the only viewers of this channel, sitting on the edge of our seats while we await the big twist.
Not wanting to wait a moment longer, I take control of the situation. I turn on my feet, hands pulling him closer to myself, my lips attaching to his own. Our mouths move in a hasty pace, no rhythm in place as we try to drown in the feeling of each other. It's a type of insanity, giving myself to someone like Harry. But maybe it's time to stop claiming be anything otherwise. There's a silence around us, one that's timid, almost. Like we're avoiding the danger of getting caught, but still completely enamoured by each other that sometimes we forget where we are.
Our tongues dance together, moving in a choreography only we can understand, one we've trained over the months we've known each other and improved on. This routine is the only one we know. As we become more used to the feeling, our movements slow slightly, but only to regain some form of control and stop being so urgent. It's replaced with care and caution.
His grip on me is gentle, while mine softens into his neck, my fingers playing with the curls at the base of his neck as I've grown accustomed to doing when we find ourselves in this position. It's like we're finally comfortable with accepting this force between us that pulls us nearer. I didn't plan this, for things to be so delicate between us. I was perfectly content with the rough actions exhibited before this moment. Right now, however, it's calm. We're relaxed.
Harry pulls back, gathering himself as he leans his forehead on mine. 'We can't keep doing this,' he warns, voice quiet but loud enough to be heard.
I close my eyes, breathing in his scent. 'Then why does it feel so good?' I ask, moving my hands to his shoulders.
He grabs my face, hands on both cheeks while he searches my eyes. 'It can't, we can't,' he mumbles, screwing his eyes shut in frustration.
I watch with a furrowed brow. 'Why not?' He's so insistent on fighting this recently yet he was the one that initiated this bond between us in the first place. Harry is constantly running hot and cold, and it's giving me whiplash.
At this, he finally pulls back, turning away from me. I feel unwanted. 'It's too dangerous, they can't know.'
I walk closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. His whole body relaxes under my touch, bringing him comfort. 'They?'
He turns back to me, but doesn't answer, instead pulling me in for another chaste kiss. His feet move us backwards, the feeling of cold metal hitting the back of my knee before I fall onto the table. Harry pushes everything off of it, a loud bang echoing around us, but his lips remain on mine. It's so desperate, how he holds me and moves his mouth. The kiss is one of desire, fascination, need. He's been longing for this like me. All I think about is kissing him. It's plagued my mind, flooded my senses, intoxicated me. I'm addicted and I've barely had a taste. Perhaps it's the fact that he's dangerous, or that we haven't seem to have got on that well so far, but whatever it is that's fuelling this I can't seem to deny it any longer.
His hand pushes past my top, coming up underneath it. The cold of his hands makes me squirm under him for a moment, but once I'm used to it I melt into him once more. He grasps at my skin, gripping the flesh tightly in his palm and pulling me even closer, as if that's possible at this point. I pull him down so his body rests on mine, wanting any distance to be cut short.
Regrettably, the sound of the heavy door opening pulls us apart, breaking the intimacy we once shared. He stands up straight, brushing his hair back, while I jump from the table and smooth my clothes. It's George, lingering with a small smirk on his lips having caught something he shouldn't have.
'Not to interrupt, but Niall's here. Said he's got some news,' he states, letting his gaze wonder over my dishevelled state before slowly walking back out the room.
Harry turns to me, his lips plump and swollen. Mine are probably the same. It's a good thing I didn't wear lipstick today. He clears his throat, bending down to pick the contents of the ammo boxes up. I go to join him but he shakes his head. 'No, you go ahead. I'll be down in a sec,' he adds, not paying attention to me.
Just like always, his wall has assembled, and I am shut out.
The problem is, the more he pushes me away, the harder it is for me to leave.
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A/N: I felt bad so here you go. Everything you want is coming sooner. Let's have some drama first.
Thanks for all the love on this story, I'm having so much fun writing it :)