{desiderabilis - a feeling of desirablity even after a lengthy period of time without the desired noun.}
(FLASHBACKS AND SCENES FROM THE PAST ARE IN ITALICS, THIS GOES FOR ALL CHAPTERS)
y/n's pov:
He lunged forward.
I thought that was it – I was going to die, and never get to see him again.
In that moment, there was no one I was angrier with than myself. He had travelled for years to find me, and I just didn't know how to deal with it.
I still don't know how you're supposed to – I was so close to saving him that day. I had the vial in my hand, I was only just around the corner. A few seconds earlier, and I could have made it, and none of this would have happened.
But then I think about what Newt would say about this – and tell me how my perspective on this was wrong, and how actually we've been given a second chance, and how so many others don't get that opportunity.
I can't just waste it like that.
So, I lunged at him too.
I wasn't sure if he had expected me to retaliate, or just allow him to tear me apart as my friends listened to my screams, even I was unsure until that moment.
I wasn't armed – but I didn't need to be.
Before we practically collided, I swung for his chin, crashing my knuckles against his jaw. Red spewed from his lips, as blood from his nose and mouth began pouring down his face, exploring its way down onto his clothes. He stumbled over onto the floor, holding his injured face.
I didn't want to wait for him to turn his head back around and meet his eyes with mine. I knew it would only make me feel worse.
My boot, which has small pieces of metal glued to the bottom for this exact reason, collided with the side of the man's face, creating a guttural sound, and a greater pool of blood on the floor.
He coughed and spluttered, spitting blood onto the wooden pannels. The man who killed Jorge tried to speak, but I didn't want him to.
I removed the gun and knife he had in his holster once I noticed his hand pathetically reach for them. He tried to scurry away. "Hold still you vile fuck." I hissed, as I pulled the man back by the roots of his hair and he yelped.
I tossed the weapons to the side.
"You shouldn't have untied me."
Home didn't exactly feel like home anymore. We sat around the table in the council room, all struggling to find the words to explain what happened.
Vince rasped, "Once they had us unconscious, we had no chance. We were lucky we didn't all wake up dead."
My foot stamped up and down onto the man's face continuously for at least a minute, kicking him hard in the throat until blood poured from his body, and he became lifeless.
I continued to kick him until blood sprayed onto my shoes and up my legs, and I continued to kick him until his face was beaten in, and you could no longer recognise the person underneath.
I looked up suddenly from the table, meeting his eyes. "Did the rest of you see it happen?"
Vince had the mixed expression of surprise and concern as he spoke quietly. "Did you see what happened to Jorge, y/n?"
