^ couldn't be bothered to crop. Here's our angel of death ^
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H o l l o w s I n
T I M E
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I wasn't sure what Jameson was thinking in that moment.
I hoped he still loved me.
Because I knew he did.
I've always known.
And I need him to love me. Because no one else will.
He didn't say anything for a few moments.
Then he reached out and brushed away my tears. He did it ever so gently, as if I was the most delicate thing in the world.
He cupped my face. "Talk to me. Tell me what happened."
And I melted into that touch.
I sniffed, closing my eyes and leaning into the warmth of his touch. Jameson seemed to sense that this was comforting me, and so pulled me into him, where he embraced me in a hug.
"Don't shut me out." He said, voice pained as he clutched me to him. I rested my face on his shoulder and held onto him.
"It was at that house. That mansion." I told him. It hurt to unearth the memories that I didn't want to own. But they had become a part of me, ingrained into every second of every other memory that I held.
What I had done had stained my very existence.
Jameson pulled away and guided me backwards, to sit against my bed. I sat facing my cupboard. Jameson sat facing me.
He threaded his fingers through mine and squeezed my hand. With that extra strand of strength, I took a deep breath—and begun.
"I had to get out." I told him. "Every day that I spent there was a danger to my life." Jameson nodded with understanding.
I looked away. "I kept hoping that I'd wake up from a twenty minute nap and be greeted with a force field of Guardians, all ready to save me." I choked on my words as the sobs threatened to spill.
I closed my eyes and felt as delicate tears trailed down my skin. Jameson brushed them away.
"No one came." I said, trying so hard to keep myself intact. I had to keep it together.
"And, one day, it happened. It was finally the day that my life would end." I sighed. "The day that my life was supposed to end." I reiterated.
Jameson's breath hitched, his clutch on my hand becoming loose for a few moments.
"The eighteenth of May this year," I opened my eyes. "That was when I was supposed to die."
Jameson didn't talk. He just listened.
"This guy, all bulk and no care, otherwise known as the author of my abduction. Whenever I heard his name it would chill me to the bone," I shivered then and there.
"He approached me." I must've sounded upset, because Jameson started to run his thumb over the skin of my hand. It was a small comfort, a reassurance that he was still there.
"I knew he was going to kill me." I said, voice shaking. I closed my eyes. "He had...toyed around with me," I gulped. "And he pulled out his gun."
I smiled, though tears still fell from my eyes. "For one slight second, just one, I remembered all that was good," I opened my eyes and looked into Jameson's. His eyes, as always, showed complete and utter compassion and protection for me.
"You know when people say that their life flashes before their eyes?" I squeezed Jameson's hand. "Well it happened to me," tears blurred my vision as I remembered what I had seen. It was vivid, yet I couldn't pinpoint the exact things I had seen or felt, because in that moment, it all rushed in at once.
I reached out and placed my palm on his face, my other hand still enclosed in his.
"I saw you." I whispered, a smile on my face. "It was as if you were there with me," I said, watching Jameson's eyes focus in on me and only me. "And you said something—do you want to know what you said?"
Jameson didn't respond, he didn't even nod or shake his head, but the intrigue in his eyes told me that he wanted to know.
I traced the definitions in his cheekbones. "You said: "Don't let him take your heart."" I watched his response, his face still displaying intrigue and engrossment in my story.
"And you were in my heart." I watched Jameson's eyes brighten, albeit slightly. "I wouldn't let him take you—or anyone else in my heart."
I pulled my hand away. "So I decided that I wouldn't die."
I tried to ignore that my hand suddenly went cold as it was taken away from Jameson's face. "I knew he had a knife in his belt—when did he not?" I couldn't face Jameson for this part, so I leaned back against my bed. "I managed to get him in a distracted moment, then I swiped his knife off his belt...and–" I couldn't finish. But I think that Jameson knew how it ended.
It ended at the end of that man's life.
He was a murderer.
Yet I had murdered him.
It was still a death. It was still a murder. When a person is about to rob someone's house, then don't ask the residents if they've been good people lately. They don't care. And I didn't care.
There was a long and suffocating silence that overcame us in the moments following. I hoped that Jameson wouldn't hate me as much as I hated, or feared, myself—but he had every right to.
Instead, he squeezed my hand, brushing my hair away from my face so that he could have full view of it. "Sky, that was not murder; it was self-defence." He told me with such certainty that I frowned.
"Yes, but he still died." I objected.
"He was a threat. You eliminated it." Jameson fought back.
I whirled on him, throwing my whole body into the argument as I turned around quickly, forcing our hands to break apart.
"But it was still murder." I countered, anger boiling up inside me. I had spent four months punishing myself for that moment. It wasn't in vain. And it won't be. I knew that what I had done was absolutely terrible. And so I suffered for it.
"Sky," Jameson said, voice almost pained, "you aren't listening—you had to do it. It was his life or yours," Jameson reached out, running his thumb across the dips in my cheekbones, as I had done his. "Quite frankly, I'm happy with the outcome."
In any other circumstance, that statement would've delighted me. Perhaps it was honest confessions like these that made me fall in love with him in the first place.
But this wasn't any other circumstance. This was a murder. No matter what he thought of it, I knew exactly what I had done.
"You aren't listening. In fact, you weren't even there." I spat, watching Jameson's eyes dim again.
"Sky, I'm not fighting with you about this, the court would even agree with me—this was not your fault."
"But it's still murder." Jameson hesitated, obviously regretting the placement of his words.
Then, in resignation, he sighed. "Yes, to a certain extent."
I closed my eyes. "I told you. I'm a bad person. You don't even know who I am." I kept spitting out sentences, though I didn't know what I was hoping to achieve by doing so.
"Sky Forest, you are not a bad person," the use of my full name caught my attention. "This man was already a criminal. And was a risk to both your life and others. You saved many lives with what you did."
I scoffed. "So I'm a hero?" I asked, disbelief clear. Jameson thought about this.
"In a way, yes," I frowned. "That man would've abducted and murdered many other people. You stopped that. You stopped the death and suffering of many."
It was now that I was supposed to give in and accept his points, right?
Wrong.
Because, the truth is—I hadn't stopped death or suffering of any.
But I buried those secrets, and hoped that I'd never have to dig them up.
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Hello my friends
I know you missed my presence it's okay I'm back now with the book that keeps giving
(mysteries like they're STDs)
👍🏼👍🏼👍🏼
So how was the skyson in this
/10
I'd rate it but that would be quite biased
Look forward to hearing your opinions
-you can't send voice recordings on here how are you meant to hear the opinions
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Next update: Friyay
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CHAPTER SEVENTY SPOILER:
After the 60's went out with a bang, a trail of fire following after, can a new era live up to the blazing reputation?
Let's see, what do we have here...
Three people, a map and a room.
With only time to kill and mysteries to solve.
Read on to see if there are any advances...