Bet. (DNF angst)

Chapter 23.

Last chapter🏳️‍🌈

♡George pov♡

I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I just stood there and stared. Things I haven't thought about in years came crashing over my mind like waves in the ocean. All the trauma. The abuse. All of it.

"Miss me?" He asked, stepping towards me.

I couldn't move. He grabbed my sweater and yanked it up. His face turned to one of confusion. I felt his hand run over the tattoo. He turned me around and felt his hand on the other.

"It's still there, George. You know it is. Covering it up doesn't mean it's gone." He muttered.

I heard the shink of a knife, and my fight or flight finally kicked in. I pulled away from him and turned around. He had a kitchen knife in his hand.

"Ellie!" I yelled.

He came towards me and grabbed my wrist.

"Shut up bitch." He said angrily.

I kicked him away from me. He clearly didn't expect this as he fell back, hitting the wall hard. I ran for the door. I opened it, and he tackled me. I managed to flip myself over so I didn't have such a disadvantage. He covered my mouth with his hand.

"Just shut up and take it like you always used to." He muttered.

I punched him as hard as I could in the chest. He fell off me, gasping for air.

"Ellie!" I yelled again, tears streaming down my face.

I pulled myself up and went for the lobby door. He grabbed my ankle and yanked me towards him. I hit the ground hard. He climbed back over me.

"Get away!" I screamed.

The door to the waiting room opened. Ellie stood there, her eyes wide and panicked.

"Call the cops!" I demanded.

She ran back into the waiting room. He got off of me to go for her. I got up and tackled him to the ground this time. The knife flew out of his hand. We began to wrestle on the ground, throwing hard punches and kicks at each other. He punched me hard, and my vision went blurry. He grabbed the knife. I could hear the police sirens.

"Get up bitch." He muttered, pulling me onto my feet.

My back was against his front. He opened the waiting room door and forced me out. There were terrified patients in here. He pressed the knife against my throat. He forced me out of the building. There were a bunch of cop cars in the parking lot. They had their guns raised.

He's going to kill me.

I felt the knife press harder, and I think it had started to draw blood. My question was answered when the collar of my tan sweater had begun to turn red.

"What do you want from me?" I mumbled.

"Revenge. You're a dirty little faggot and you got me put in prison." He muttered.

"Killing me won't make you feel better. You'll get a longer sentence." I told him.

"So?" He asked.

"I know what they did to you in prison. I understand how you feel." I said softly.

His body got slightly less tense, and the knife didn't press as hard. The cops could see what I was doing.

"How do you know?" He asked angrily.

"Because of that tattoo on your neck. You belong to someone. Just like how I did. It didn't cost a lot of money to get it covered up. If you let me go right now, I'll take you there." I told him.