Hostage (a One Direction story)

Chapter Twenty One, Part Two

Bang! A loud, shuddering crash echoes through the house and Nate freezes, his hand inches from my ankle.

Another bang makes the bed shake and Nate snarls a curse before whirling around and storming out the door, flinging it shut and locking it behind him. I spring off the bed, landing lightly on my feet. A quick glance around the room tells me that there are no windows by which I can escape. I'm heading for the bathroom to check for a path of escape when a glint of metal on the floor catches my eye.

The knife. Hesitantly, I reach down and pick it up, feeling its weight settle in the palm of my hand. I eye it distrustfully, almost expecting it to leap out of my grasp and bite me. My hand shaking, I close my fingers around it, hefting it experimentaly. It feels warm, almost comfortable in my grip, and I shiver.

Could I do it? Could I stab Nate? Could I slaughter an innocent man?

Not innocent, I remind myself. Far from it. But could I do it?

He would kill me, without a second thought.

But what if he has a family, friends?

It's self defense.

A mother, waiting for him to come home, a wife with a hot dinner ready for him, a brother expecting a call...

Do you want to survive?! I ask the doubtful voice in the back of my mind angrily. Because you won't, not if you don't kill Nate.

I shudder and grip the knife tighter, positioning myself beside the door. In my head, I rehearse the movements that I will make. As he opens the door, I will lunge and twist and plunge the knife into his chest, and then run.

Bile rises in my throat as I imagine the life bleeding from Nate's eyes, blood pooling on the floor around his motionless body, skin pale and clammy...

Footsteps.

They patter softly towards the door and I tense, preparing myself. The door handle twists, ever so slowly, creaking open. The tip of a head appears and, with a cry, I lunge forwards, driving the knife towards...

Marc?!