Achilles Heel |h.s|

19. Astar - Lie

Gasoline.

My clothes reek of gasoline. My hands shake as they move closer to the red-hot flame, the heat radiating off of it and burning the tips of my fingers.

The flames rage with fury, claiming everything in its wake, not leaving an ounce of sympathy for anything or anyone.

The blue-ish flames reflect in my eyes, growing higher and higher as they wreak havoc on whatever is in its path.

I stand frozen, unable to move yet there's manic shouting all around me. I pay no attention to the shouting, instead watching as the fire yells bloody mary.

It climbs up the walls, destroying what was once there but I find it beautiful. Mesmerising.

The reds. The blues. The yellows.

The reds.

It's like the fire is cleansing the house of its sins.

Red is my favourite colour. Even more so now as I watch the flames claim every last shred of hope.

The flames eventually reach me, yet I don't move. I can hear the voices yelling at me to move, to run. Yet, I can't budge. It's like I'm frozen to the ground, unable to move as the flames start to slowly take over every inch of my body, making me one with the house that is being burnt down to ashes.

As if it never existed in the first place.

I'm the point of ignition. I'm gasoline. The ignitor. The accelerant.

I started the fire, it's the hottest where I'm standing and it spans out in every direction, taking over everything.

The flames start and end with me.

I inhale deeply as I rise up from the bed, a bead of sweat trickling down my forehead. My hand moves to brush against my arm. It's almost as if I can still feel the flames there, melting the skin and making it hot to the touch. I clutch the duvet tightly to my chest, taking in my surroundings as I realise that I'm in Harry's room.

I also take in the fact that I'm still in my clothes from last night, which clings to my body in a way that makes my nose scrunch up in disgust. The leather trousers stick to my legs due to the sweat that has coated my skin after the nightmare. If I can even call it a nightmare.

It felt so real as if my skin was really on fire yet there were no flames in Harry's room. No one is screaming. No one is yelling at me to move. Flames aren't claiming everything in Harry's room as their own.

It's peaceful here in Harry's room. The black-out curtains are pulled to the side to let in a little bit of light, giving me enough to actually take in some of the more hidden parts of his room.

The door interrupts me from my thoughts. I move over quickly, throwing the duvet off of my body. My right leg hitches up a bit so that I have access to the dagger that is strapped to my ankle. Right before the door is even able to completely open, I bring myself up onto my knees and throw the dagger right at the culprit, heart pounding against my ribcage. I didn't even take a moment to register who could possibly be opening the door.

Luckily, it doesn't pierce anything on the culprit as the person is Harry.

He doesn't even flinch as the dagger glides right past his ear, becoming embedded in the door as he slowly shuts it. He just bores his eyes into me, a small bead of blood trickling down his ear and onto his jaw where it proceeds to fall onto his bare shoulder.

There's a piece of his hair stuck in the door now, having been sliced off by the dagger whenever it glided past his ear.

His eyes don't leave me as he reaches up, wrapping his hand around the hilt of the dagger before yanking it out of the wall with ease.