𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓭 ➵ 𝓼. 𝓻𝓮𝓲𝓭

Chapter 19: You'll Never Win

{tw - guns and mentions of blood}

YOUR FEET tapping against the floor as you run is the only sound heard in the desolate halls, accompanied by your heavy breathing.

Spencer's gun is lodged in the back of your pants, and you're ready to use it, even at just the first sight of your father's foul face. But the problem is - you can't find him anywhere.

You don't know how long you've been searching the warehouse for, and all the corridors look the same, leading you to believe you've probably been running in circles.

You stumble across a door and open it up, seeing a ladder that undoubtedly leads to the roof. Knowing that searching the halls is a dead end, you begin to climb. You reach the top of the ladder, pushing open the trap door that covers it and being hit with an orange glow from the setting sun.

It captures your total attention - the sun you thought you'd never get to see again in all it's beautiful glory. You are infatuated by the shadows it casts across the world, and for a moment, as short as that moment is, all is peaceful.

Peace cannot last forever as the sound of a gun firing makes you jump, it being an instinct to crouch down behind some pipes as you grab the gun from your back.

Not knowing where the shot came from makes it harder to figure out where to shoot, but you peer over the top of the pipes anyway to see your father making a break for it over the vast roof, occasionally glancing over his shoulder and sending a shot your way. You duck behind the pipes again before regaining your confidence, raising to your feet and running after him.

You take a few shots, but running is throwing your aim off balance so you decide to not waste the bullets and just follow him. Fortunately, all the shots fired at you miss, giving you time to catch up with him.

When you are just a few metres behind, you leap forwards and tackle him to the ground by his waist. You manage to kneel upon his chest as your hands battle to keep his arms pinned to the ground as he writhes in your grasp. He dropped the gun when he fell, and you kick it away with your free foot and out of his reach.

He squirms, and for the first time, you don't care for the pained look on his face. To you, he hasn't felt enough pain. He hasn't felt the equivalent of what he put you through, the dried, crimson blood still stained on your shirt.

"You'll never-," he grunts, "-win."

You dig your knee into his abdomen, "I already have."

He leans his head back against the cement before managing to get a fist out of your hold, bringing it up and punching you in the nose. This elicits a groan from your mouth as the movement sends you rolling across the roof and stopping just before the edge, everywhere from your shoulders up dangling over. Before you can get yourself up, your father has already pinned you down with a hand around your throat, his actions threatening to push you over and send you falling to your death.

"This doesn't look like winning." He taunts.

You struggle against his grasp, he's stronger than you and you know it. Your hair dangles down and your face is one of determination - your eyes set on his as your hands scratch against the one holding your throat.

As he goes to release you and send you over the edge, a shot is fired. Your vision is darkening from lack of oxygen and you struggle to see what's going on, but you soon feel the lack of pressure around your neck as your breath comes back to you.

Everything turns into a blur, shouting and yelling muffled as you try and listen. Soon, your fathers blurry face leaves your vision and your eyes close, but before you can fully lose consciousness, you feel a pair of arms wrap around you and pull you into their body warmth.

Your vision goes black as you receive the only thing you have wanted over the past 48 hours - someone to hold you close and be your saviour.

Word Count
724