as it is || harry styles au

forty-two

hold on tight, everyone

tw // violence

i v o r y

     I dialed 9-1-1. Since I was unable to speak, my only option was to hope a dispatcher would hear what was going on. I didn't care if Jake knew what I was doing. I wasn't trying to hide it. Whatever he wanted to say to me, whatever he wanted to do to me, he'd have to do it with emergency services on the phone.

     Jake slowly stalked towards me. "Hang up the phone, sweetheart."

     I matched every step he took with one backwards. I couldn't back myself into a corner. He was much bigger than I was, could easily overpower me. If he got his hands on me, I wasn't sure I could get out of his hold a second time. My only option was to run.

    A dispatcher picked up the phone, asking for the address of the emergency. Only the breath of a whisper left my lips. The harder I strained to yell, the more my throat and eyes burned.

Jake's eyes locked onto my phone. He reached behind his back and pulled out a gun.

A gun.

"Hang. Up."

There was no way he'd actually shoot me.

"Hello?" The dispatcher asked. "This is Boston Emergency Services. Is there an emergency?"

Think. Think.

I typed Y-E-S into the keypad. In my peripheral vision, Jake rushed me.

I threw my phone as hard as I could, aiming anywhere from his neck to his face, and ran for the front door. Either it would distract him by hitting him, he catches it to end the call and give me more time to escape, or he ignores it and the call continues on to record everything.

He went for option three, gaining on me quick and catching me halfway to the door. He yanked me back so hard into his chest, I felt my shoulder pop. He stuck the gun into the side of my throat.

"Why are you so difficult, huh?" He hissed into my ear. "Why are you the only fuckin' one who can't follow directions?"

His strength was inhuman. My arms were banded to my sides in his one-armed hold.

     The gun never scared me. What scared me was never seeing my son again; never seeing Harry again. I had no idea when I'd have my last thought; what my last thought would be. My life didn't flash before my eyes per se, but as death breathed down my neck, memories raced through my head like they had a deadline to meet. Like time was running out.

     "What do you want?" I managed to say.

     His callous laugh hit my ears. "Oh, you do not want to ask me that, sweetheart." He walked us over to the couch and tossed me onto the cushions. I expected him to pin me down again, but he backed off and lifted the gun level to my chest instead. "I want a lot of things, Ivory Henderson." I jerked my head away as soon as I saw his hand go to his groin.

     No.

     No.

     Nausea hit me like a wave.