No Matter What

19

XIAO'S POV:

I feel my blood run cold as the man in front of me slowly stands to his feet. My eyes follow the hand that reaches into his pocket and pulls at something metal. I try to swallow but it's hard given how dry my throat's become.

The man reveals a knife, glinting in the light of the window above. He smirks at me, showing a set of yellowing teeth, and I feel shivers crawling my spine. I yank violently at the chain around my wrist, body trembling as the reality that this may be my final moments rams me like a freight train.

"Please.." I say, breaths quickening as it seems harder and harder to breathe. "I'm...." Fuck. I don't want to apologize to this asshole, but now really isn't the time to be stubborn. "I'm sorry, please... I'm... I don't want to die here..."

The man pauses, giving me a devilish smirk. "What was that?" he says. "I think you need to speak up. And beg a little more."

My face goes hot with rage. I want nothing more than to beat the shit out of this guy for humiliating me like this. How does one stay calm in these situations? I resist the urge to tell him to fuck off again, and instead keep quiet, lowering my head and squeezing my eyes shut, taking in deep, trembling breaths. I just want this to end. Please... I want to wake up from this terrible nightmare...

"Hey!" the man shouts. "I'm talking to you. Look at me when I'm speaking!"

I keep my eyes closed tight for one more moment, before opening them again and slowly raising my gaze. A series of tears trickle down my cheeks as they release from the chokehold of my eyelids. I glance up toward the window to try and calm myself down, when my heart does a backflip in my chest.

I swear it stops beating, and my eyes train at the window, tingles devouring my body. I have to keep myself from screaming and crying in elation. Instead, I slowly drop my eyes to the man, all in one cohesive swoop—making it as natural as possible.

"You might as well cooperate," the man says. "You're stuck with me now."

That smile I tried so hard to conceal can no longer be contained as I revel in the man's words. He studies my expression, brows furrowed.

"Not for long," I say, when the window above smashes in perfect film timing.

The man jumps, attempting to look up, but quickly retreating the action and shielding himself from the falling glass instead. I back up as far as possible from the scene as I watch Childe jump down from the window as the bottoms of his boots mash the man's face in.

He's instantly knocked cold, but before I can feel relief, the man's seemingly unconscious state falters and he starts to groan, grabbing at Childe's arms and attempting to fight him off. Childe takes his arms and twists them back in a way they shouldn't bend. I can't help but wince as the man screams in pain.

But Childe doesn't stop there. The man kicks, squirming his body to get the other off him, but Childe punches him square to the nose.

"You fucking SICK fuck!" Childe growls. "You will never..." He punches him again. "EVER." And again, harder. "Touch. Another. Fucking. Kid. AGAIN." Punch after punch, the man's face grows less and less like a face and more like a jumbled mess of red. I watch, unable to move as the shock of the situation takes over my body. I've never seen Childe so angry before. That same look he'd given this man back at the petrol shop, he's wearing it now—only tenfold.

That knife the man once held tumbles from his limp hand and Childe immediately spots and grabs it. He lifts it, and my eyes widen as with not a single moments hesitation, he jams the blade into the man's head, over, and over, and over, and over.