A/N
Hiii,
I know: I promised you two endings. And a lot of you asked for them.
And you'll get them, HOWEVER:
This chapter is my original plan - this was never intended to be a long, complicated story with plenty of twists and turns; it is a short story, an obvious and simple yet brilliant one, and so, my plan is as follows:
This is the final chapter of Scrabble. In a few days or so, I will post the Epilogue. This post and my next, are my original endings, as I really do love the scenes I've already written, and I want to share them with you as the true ending. This ending has been in the works for well over a year.
Following the final two posts, since you have all been so, SO patient with me - if the alternate ending is still wanted, with a little more complication and a little more of a surprise/plot twist - I will give it to you! However, I feel like a lot of you will be more satisfied with this ending than you would've expected.
I'm really sorry if this is disappointing, and if it's not what you guys had wished for. I don't want to let anybody down, and if this is received badly, I can always make changes.
Let me know what you think. I love you, as always, and thank you for all your support and patience! here's a veeeery long piece of hard work to make up for it. <3
-
His breath coaxed over the shell of my ear, lips framing the skin in a gentle pucker. My fingertips drew a smooth line along the pristine shape of his jaw, the skin warm beneath my touch.
"If I could put into words," he breathed against my skin, causing goosebumps to rise over the surface, the low husk of his voice evoking a chill along the length of my spine, "the way it feels to be with you right now-"
"I know," I murmured, feeling his hand shift along the outside of my thigh, and I did. If he was feeling anything close to what I was, I knew how indescribable it was. I was to Harry what a moth was to a flame; I was hooked.
Harry's lips pressed to my own, his tongue sliding into my mouth, parting my lips with ease. A slight groan rose from my throat, his hand sliding beneath my dress onto my skin, lighting it on fire in his touch. His grip tightened only slightly on my thigh in response to my sound, a silent acknowledgement.
His forehead pressed against mine, his nose nudging my cheek as our kiss broke for a brief moment, my hands threading into his hair.
"I want you so badly," I breathed against his temple, watching his eyes flutter in what seemed like momentary bliss. I thought back to the conversation I'd had with him a few weeks ago; about love. I was sure this was it.
"Mm," he hummed against my skin, drawing back to meet my eye, a triumphant smirk on his lips. The pads of his fingers drew a slow, tantalisingly gentle line along the skin of my throat, "I'll bite."
Calling the police didn't cross my mind - crazy, isn't it? That instead of running from him, I ran to him. I could have easily taken a step forward into the swarm of officers surrounding Vic's house, and told them my fears. But as wrong as it inevitably was, I needed to see him. I needed to see his face and have Vic's words erased once more; to have him kiss me and chuckle into my neck, and tell me how silly she was for saying such a thing.
But Vic was dead. She wasn't 'silly' anymore - she wasn't 'jealous', she wasn't a 'liar' - she'd been murdered, and the man I'd fallen for was the one to blame. I was to blame.
I'd turned her away - I'd pushed her out when she'd tried to warn me; tried to make me see what was happening right before my eyes.
I was in his driveway, his car parked in the neat reversal he had demonstrated with ease the night before. I glanced at it meekly, picturing him in the drivers' seat; hands lazily thrown over the wheel, a piece of gum in his teeth as he carelessly noted his mindless thought for the day. But it was no more. The car was empty - it was bare; it had been stripped away. I could've cried at the sight of it.
I burst in through the front door, hearing it jolt against the wall as it surely left an indent - but I didn't care, slamming it shut again behind me.
"Blair?" I heard Harry's call from the top of the staircase, and instead of it sending me the familiar shiver along my spine - the exhilarating one - it sent a chill - one that made me doubt if I even knew the person whose lips my name fell from. "That you, love? I wasn't expecting you back so soon-" He made his way down the stairs, slowly, his shirt dark in colour, buttoned untidily and his sleeves rolled at his elbows, his socks silent on the polished wooden floor. He caught sight of my face, and it was only as he met the bottom of the stairs and came level to me the I felt my hands begin to shake, my lip quivering. His expression of humour shifted to one of concern, "What's going on?"
I stared at him, his eyes burning into my own as I desperately searched for innocence in his gaze - but I couldn't find it. He was providing the same expression he always did - yet it wasn't quite the same. It was as if I was seeing it differently now - it didn't look the same, because I'd allowed myself to see it in its entirety.
"Blair," he broke the silence, his tone bordering condescending as he gently brought his hand to my forearm. I seized it away quickly, unable to bear the feeling of his skin on my own. It felt foreign - wrong. And it was then I knew he'd done it.
Months of trauma and puzzles slotted into one blatant positioning; answers that simply must have resonated in the back of my mind from the moment of the first murder in town. The man I'd laid beside, the man I'd fallen for, wasn't who I'd thought he was at all.
His eyes widened, his expression unreadable as it bordered somewhere between angry and concerned at my unwillingness for him to lay even a finger on me.
"Vic is dead," I spat out the final word, foreign on my tongue as I desperately tried to keep my tone even and maintain my composure. I watched his face carefully, as his lips parted in something I could've almost deemed as surprise.
"What?" he asked, mockingly alarmed, "you can't be serious. When did this happen?"
I almost laughed, although there was absolutely nothing even close to comical about the situation we were in. I shook my head, bringing my eyes to the floor.
"Harry, please," I felt my voice begin to shake now, forcing my eyes upwards again, "don't do this."
He looked at me, puzzled, "Do what?"
Silence fell between us, and I felt his eyes bore into my own. He was almost challenging me to say it, silently pleading with me to be out with it so that I could join the list of names and he could be done with it all. And as I looked at him, everything seemed to slot into place.
He'd moved to town with a motive. Whatever that motive had been - it hadn't been for no reason. I glanced around the house I stood in; neat, clean, pristinely decorated, with nothing an inch out of place. There was no trace of anybody other than the man before me, his ankle boots parked neatly by the front door, without a single hair out of place throughout the rest of the house. There were no grandparents in need of a bathroom renewal in town, requiring Harry's migration - there was no happy, simple past life - there were lies; complete and utter lies. He was lying this whole time. Emotion had blinded me, and it had blinded me so, incredibly badly.
I wanted to force the words out, whether it be from his mouth, or mine - I needed it to be out there. I needed confirmation, I needed denial - I needed anything; anything.
My eyes landed on a small grey pile by the stairs, and I brought my eyes back to him. "Show me your duffel bag," I demanded. I'd seen it in the car as we'd left to drive me home. That had to be it - there was no other part of him I hadn't seen or known, or at least believed myself to know - there was no other place he could be hiding.
His eyebrows raised, "What? What are you on about?"
"Please," I felt a sob rising in my throat, as I boldly took a few steps forward towards the bag, and reached for it, only for Harry's arms to dart out and prevent me from doing so, his arms winding around my frame. My voice raised, "Show me the bag, Harry."
"Why are you doing this?!" he exclaimed just as loudly, and as I met his gaze, he looked almost afraid - afraid for me to see the contents of his bag, for me to peel away at the layers he had reinforced around his overwhelming façade.
"I know you did it!" I shouted, yanking my body away from him and feeling hot tears spill down my cheeks, "I know you killed them. You killed F-Finn, and Louis, a-and- you killed Vic," my voice broke apart at the last few words, my whole body on fire as my fingers tangled into my own hair. I was numb.
"Baby, come and sit down," he cut through my sobs, oddly calm as he reached for me again and I withdrew my arms from his reach. The simple word falling from his lips that would've warmed me only hours ago sent an icy chill down my spine and sent my stomach flipping in bewilderment and utter disgust. I took a step back, and then another - he'd yet to deny a thing I'd said, and I now decided that that was all I wanted from him - denial, and selfish confirmation that he was the person I'd fallen for. I wanted him to be my Harry, and to cuddle me, kiss my hair and block out any sense of reality; this reality I simply didn't want to be apart of.
"You killed them, Harry," I whispered, my whole body beginning to shake, as I watched him purse his lips, more focused on my distance from him. Deny it, please, deny it. Let me be wrong.
"Why are you afraid of me?" his voice almost sounded like a whimper, as he took a tentative step towards me and I took another away from him. "I've never given you any reason to be afraid of me, Blair. You know I'd never hurt you." He still wasn't denying it, and I could feel my heart beginning to race. His arms reached for me again.
"Stay away from me." I jumped backwards, my voice raising as I desperately tried to make him keep his distance. His face fell as if he was a child with his favourite toy being ripped from his grip. As if he were disappointed in my actions.
"Don't you think you're being a little dramatic?" his lips parted, hands yearning for me once more, but I quickly darted around him, reaching for his bag and grabbing it before he could stop me. My jaw could've dropped at his words - dramatic. It was ironic I could whine to him only days previous about a petty high school problem, yet now he found drama in my rightful accusation of murder. He reached to pry it from my grip, but I had already curled my fingers around the zip and tugged it around, revealing the contents to me.
A knife. Several knives - each one devastatingly spotless, bar one. My vision began to cloud, my surroundings hazy, as I desperately ached to believe my eyes were deceiving me. This was a lie. This was a nightmare. One pinch and I would be awake, and it would all be over - I wouldn't know Harry, I wouldn't know love. Instead, I would be carefree; happy in the company of Zayn, Liam, Liz, and Vic. Vic. I reached for it, picking it up and letting my eyes shift over the object - it was stained with fresh blotches of crimson; he'd yet to even clean it off. My lips parted in pure and utter dismay. My body began to ache once more, my mind aching even more; wishing, yearning. I was ready to wake up now.
I was holding the knife he'd used to kill my best friend.
And I realised that this would've been how he'd killed Louis too; who stood before me less than twenty-four hours ago, clad in a varsity jacket, a cocky smile upon his lips - Louis Tomlinson, the man who had made a flippant comment toward me only a night previous, and in front of Harry, someone who I thought would only respond with soft words of comfort - not this. Not retaliation, and not to this extreme. I felt my heart plummet to my stomach, and my whole body continued to relentlessly shake.
"I did it because I love you." I heard the soft, hoarse whisper sound from behind me. I froze as he spoke. "And you've fallen in love with me, too, haven't you?"
His voice was low, and it was knowing - as if he knew what he'd done, and exactly the effect he'd had on me in the past two months. And he did.
I bit my lip, stifling another sob arising in my throat as a fresh set of tears spilt over my cheeks. He knew that was all I'd ever wanted. To be in love; to have somebody love me. He knew it was what I'd wanted to hear, and it was - all I'd wanted, deep down, was for him to be in love with me like I was so easily with him.
It was like a sick scheme - he'd planned this. To kill, to manipulate me into loving him. I was sure in his head, he was on top of the world. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the neat frame of the Scrabble board upon the kitchen table. I could've collapsed. We were all simple keys; components, pieces of weak, cheap, feeble plastic in his pathetic game.
"Don't you dare talk about love," I shot back, dropping the bag to the ground, my breath hitching in my throat. "You don't know what that word means. You're sick," I took another step back, edging further into the house.
"Now you're just being cruel," he replied softly as if the words hurt, and if I hadn't been so afraid in that very moment, I would've scoffed at the irony.
"Why?" I demanded, forcing further words from my lips. I was feeling anything but brave, but the words I spat from my lips told differently, but my legs were shaking as I stared at him in dismay. "Why did you do it?"
"Finn was boredom," he answered without missing a beat, and I gasped at the sheer audacity of his words. I hadn't expected such a blatant response - let alone such a chilling one. "Louis... now, Louis - you know exactly what he did, Blair. And Vic.." he paused, now, almost seething as if it all still stirred something within him, and I felt sick that he could even speak her name, "she was trying to come between us. I had to do something."
My jaw dropped in pure horror at his words, "You killed three innocent people, Harry." I couldn't even believe my sentence.
"Nobody's innocent, Blair. I did it for you. I'm doing it for you-"
"You did it because you're crazy," I said, shocked that he could even think I'd be grateful for something like this. "How on earth could you believe this to be some romantic gesture? You said.. y-you're insane." I couldn't believe we continued to engage in conversation as if it were a general topic.
"Don't say that," his voice came shakily, his lips almost pouted, but I could see the fire in his eyes. "I love you. And you love me."
"I don't love you," I shook my head, firing the words back at him. Each word falling from his lips was like a sprinkling of salt into an open wound, every one of my senses, every single part of me was aching. I was on fire. "I could never, ever love someone like you."
"Blair, stop," he warned, and I'd have been lying to say I wasn't absolutely petrified of the man in front of me, but with each word I spoke I could see him crumble a little more at my feet.
"Why?" I spat, shifting to take another step backwards but finding myself pressed against his kitchen counter, my knuckles gripping the rims of the countertop. A sharp shiver ran along my spine; the recollection of only days, mere hours previous when I'd been in this very position, but under Harry's spell, in an easy, blissful conversation. I repeated, "Why? Are you gonna kill me too?"
The silence between us was deafening, as I watched his eyes fall to the ground. I could've sworn I saw him begin to shake just the way that I did. But we were in different worlds; his one where he was somehow the victim standing in the room, and mine: where the universe had seemed to collapse, leaving us two the only ones standing, him with the sick, twisted upper hand.
"That hurts me, Blair," he whimpered, almost as if I'd hit him with a low blow of sorts. His eyes lifted to burn into mine, but instead of sending me into a frenzy of excited goosebumps, I found myself engulfed in terror. My hand slid over the counter behind me in search of just about anything to fend him off, the cool stone beneath my fingers. "I'd never ever hurt you, darling. I need you to listen to me." Every word falling from his cursed lips made me want to curl up into a ball and nurse my emotional wounds, but I knew it wasn't time to be selfish. He'd endangered everybody - my friends, my family, the entire town - he'd murdered three innocent people, and justified it with 'love' for me.
My knuckle silently collided with something plastic, and I felt a turn of my stomach as my fingers grazed over small lumps among its structure - keys upon the plastic; it was the phone.
I tried not to react to the relief coursing through my veins at my discovery - I could call someone; I could find a way out.
With each step I'd taken backwards; Harry had taken one forwards. He was probably five feet away at most, but his eyes sought only for mine, and I wondered if that was enough to occupy him. He was searching - searching for confirmation from me that I loved him, and that what he'd done was understandable; forgivable.
Harry wanted a happily ever after, and I was going to give him one, for however long I deemed necessary.
My thumb smoothed over the keys in search of the one I needed, my eyes never leaving the unrecognisable man in front of me. "I'm listening." The words fell from my lips, despite the fact I hadn't fully trusted them to. The sound of my own voice was an unrecognisable as he was in front of me; I felt out of my own body, separated from the daunting situation I was engulfed in. Somehow I spoke again, "I don't want to be afraid of you."
His eyes lit up, the cogs in his brain finding my words to be progress of sorts. I could see it in his face - the edges of his lips even dared to twitch into something of warmth and relief. "Yes," he breathed, taking another step towards me, and I tried not to flinch. "And I know," his eyes squinted shut in a pause, as he rolled a circle with his neck before bringing his eyes back to me, "I know this is a lot to take in. I didn't want you to know me like this.." he trailed off.
"Would you, um-" my sentence broke, my instinct telling me what I already knew; this was absurd to try and control the direction of this interaction; I needed to get out. "Would you ever have told me?" I stammered, clearing my throat. I was desperate to sound gentle rather than afraid.
"Mum always said I was noble," he muttered, his eyes glassing over. "Dad, too. I was always honest, even with them. Gran and Grandad, too, Blair - I promise you I'm not a liar."
"I know you're not," I coaxed softly, "tell me what happened with them. The truth, baby - I need it." My thumb pressed down on the key for the third time.
"They're all gone," Harry murmured, his eyelashes brushing over the heights of his cheekbones as he took another tentative step towards me. "I did it." It's like he couldn't say the word 'killed', or 'dead', which in any other moment I would've found ironic, but at that time I couldn't even bring myself to consider it. "Blair," he spoke again, softly, and as he brought his eyes to my own, I could almost see my Harry peering back at me - with his golden olive irises, and the plush pink of his lips, the curls of his hair framing his temples and forehead.
"Mm?" I didn't trust myself with any more words.
"I need to hold you," he said, and at that moment I felt like I could scream. My mouth was dry, as I desperately tried to steady my breathing at the idea of foreign hands of his on my body. "I need to know you're not angry with me." I should've known Harry was smarter than watching me from afar and simply taking my word for what it was.
I let my eyes close for a second in search of composure, as my hands lay on the counter behind me. I knew that if I spoke confirmation I'd break into sobs, blowing any kind of persuasion I'd managed to build in previous dialogue, or lack of.
I nodded, forcing my eyes back onto his, in hopes that if I just let him do as he wished, he'd be convinced, or content. I think a small part of me even hoped that his hands on me could erase everything I'd come to know tonight, and I think maybe he did too.
Harry's palms landed on my waist, searing heat but managing to send an unsettling chill through my veins - all previous calm I'd found in him was nowhere to be seen. I could've vomited.
"Remember last night...? This morning..?" he murmured, and each word from his lips made me want to collapse into a heap of hysterical sobs. "When you told me that there'd never be anybody else... that nothing could change how you felt..." he was almost prompting me with his words, and I forced out a response.
"I meant it," I swallowed. "But I think I might need some time.. to think.. And then we can be happy.." I told him what he wanted to hear, silently praying it would be enough. I swallowed again, heavily, unable to comprehend the words about to leave my lips. "How won't you be caught?"
"You don't have to worry about that," he whispered, "I can handle it. I've been doing this for a while." I shivered at his words. "And the police in this town couldn't catch me if I walked myself into the station with my own hands in handcuffs." No words stirred me as much as those ones, bringing tightness to my chest, only emphasised as Harry brought his forefinger and thumb to my chin, and tilted it upwards towards him.
I tried to steady my shaking lips, as he eyed me carefully, and spoke: "Tell me you love me."
I could've dropped dead there and then. I knew in that instant I would never be able to convince him. He was too clever; far, far too clever. I knew he'd caught me, and I knew he had me quite literally in the palm of his hand. I had to run, but I knew he'd beat me to the front door. I had to think, and fast.
I knew he could read me like a Sunday afternoon easy novel; simply, quickly and lazily - I was transparent to him, I knew that.
"I'm so scared," I confessed, not trusting myself to lie. I watched his face soften, hearing the truth in my words.
"I am too, Blair," he whispered, his eyes searching me urgently. "I can make it all stop, I promise. No more of this."
"No more," I repeated, the volume of my voice mirroring his. I was shaking like a leaf, my heart beating a mile a minute, ceasing only to hear the click of the line connecting as I pressed the final button required on the phone in my hand.
Harry was only a mere inch from my face, standing in as much silence as I was - and I knew he'd heard it too.
His eyes widened, threatening me more than any form of words could. "Blair.." he hissed, but I brought the phone to my lips before he could continue.
I shouted his address into the receiver, watching Harry's face turn to an expression I couldn't label; one I'd never seen on a single face before in all my years. I couldn't tell if he was enraged or heartbroken, as he lunged forward to pry the phone from my grip and cut the connection off. It was then that I screamed, darting from his grip, having been loosened in shock. I knew he was bigger than me, and I knew he was stronger; faster. Making it to the front door was no use - I had to kill time.
I knew the police would arrive in a matter of minutes, however, it didn't provide the pang of relief I had expected it to. And at that moment, I was directionless - but it seemed Harry was too. Somehow, this was the last thing he'd expected, and in my urgency, I somehow caught a trace of guilt for misleading him.
But I didn't have time to grovel - I bolted. Along the corridor, up the stairs - I sped past the bedroom he'd made love to me in the night before, and kissed me sweetly in only hours ago, past the bathroom where I'd showered in his arms, peaceful, lazy smiles upon our tired faces.
I bundled into the corner of his guest bedroom, shaking as my arms folded around my knees, brought up to my chest. My teeth chattered nervously, my heart racing; and then the seconds began to feel like hours - centuries. I'd yet to hear his footsteps; his gentle breathing, or his dulcet tones singing my name through the hallway.
Nothing; silence. The hallway remained as empty as the air, and it was only as I heard the squeal of a siren parking outside of Harry's house that I realised he wasn't chasing me. He was done chasing. He would've found me by this point.
There was no longer a hunt to enjoy; a prey to toy with, to mess around like a piece of meat before sinking his teeth into it. There was no longer a game to be played, because I had handed in my resignation. I wasn't playing any longer - following the path he had laid out; satisfying his every wish, his every command. I was no longer his opponent, nor his teammate. It was game over, for him and I both.
Yet as I left my boyfriend's house with my life remaining in my hands, in the protection of police officers, I found myself peering around in search of the curly-haired perpetrator; but my search was fruitless. A crowd was beginning to build, yet - there was no Harry.
He'd asked me to give him my best, and I well and truly had, and then some. I'd given my all; I'd bled myself dry for his satisfaction; for his triumph in it all.
I struggled to understand if it was I, who had won the game, or if he had been right all along:
He always won the game. And he certainly played a mean one.