Debris»z.m

00

The close proximity has my nerves on high alert, and a shiver of fear ripples down my spine. Staring into the barrel of the gun, my trembling hands raise, ready to defend myself if essential to my safety. Zain glowers at me as if to intimidate me, and I glare back instantaneously. I give off the vibe that I'm utterly calm, but inside I'm screaming. My heart is a ticking bomb in my chest, and time seems to slow as I try and anticipate what will happen next.

Despite the crinkle between his brows, there is still some familiarity laced through the hazel in his eyes. There is still that desperation and passion that I've grown to adore. Among many other things, love is one of the various feelings I have for the man I'm pointing the gun at. I feel sweat trickle down my face, mixing with my tears, falling over my lips, and dripping off of my chin. Darting my tongue out in uneasiness, I lick my bottom lip. As I do so, I begin to wonder how the hell I'd gotten myself into a situation as violent as this.

"Are you afraid?"

It astounds me that even in such an intense moment, he has the ability to make my heart melt. The manner in which he clinches his jaw to repress his anger, it remains something that I still find attractive. Zain's eyes flash with rage, a vein pulsating in his neck.

"Are you?" I counter.

He's the one with a gun pointed at them, not me. I watch as he balls his fists at his sides in attempt to control his anger, and I want to tell him that I don't wish to do this; that I've been deceived by the most devious scoundrel of all.

"Put the gun down," he pleads earnestly, holding my eyes as he throws his hands up in surrender.

Abruptly, I feel another presence engulf me, and the atmosphere surrounding us quickly alters to a vigilant cosmos. I witness Zain's eyes widen, the hazel orbs becoming obscure in pure disgust, hatred, and animosity as he sees who has joined us. Rough hands find my waist, I shudder, and my arms recede as I pull the gun back.

"Get your filthy hands off of her," Zain snarls, but it doesn't stop Clarke from violating me.

Clarke brushes away one of the tears on my cheek, and I squirm beneath his loathsome touch. His fingers trace over my lips and down my collar bones, eyes intently locked on mine. Having someone so brutally aggressive this close to me is absolutely nauseating.

"You've failed to complete your side of the deal, sweetheart," Clarke says in a sarcastic voice, and I know it's throwing Zain over the edge.

Zain and I exchange glances, my heart sinking when I detect the disappointment there. It pains me to know that this is my fault, that if it weren't for me, we wouldn't be here. As usual, he doesn't say much although I know his thoughts are a jumbled mess at war in his head. It's always been this way; he the quiet one and I the talkative.

I gulp down the lump in my throat, and my hands begin trembling uncontrollably again. Despite how hard I try to get it together and tough this out, my fingers give out and the gun drops to the ground, a loud bang sounding. Zain mutters something along the lines of fuck, Arabella, and I detect the annoyance in his voice before realizing that fuck, Arabella, you dropped the gun. And, oh my god, I dropped the gun.

The three of us gaze between one another and the gun on the ground, and before I can comprehend what is happening, they are both leaping forward. It isn't until the two of them are rolling on the ground, fighting over the gun that fear takes over my every move.

I watch as Zain takes a harsh blow to the jaw and find myself screaming at Clarke to stop, to take me instead. But once I realize that he's not going to listen, I can't stop my knees from wobbling beneath me.

I can't help but notice how much smaller Zain is than Clarke. Clarke pulls Zain to his feet, and as Zain takes hit after hit from the pompous asshole, my blood begins to boil. I absolutely hate seeing Zain like this; so submissive, so vulnerable, so small.

"Arabella, go!"

Clarke hooks his arm around Zain's neck and presses the gun to his temple. However, Zain stands completely still, and in that moment, I know that he's given up. He's stopped fighting.

"No!" I cry, my heart dropping. "No, stop! Zain do something!"

Suddenly, I feel arms around my waist, and my back is pushed firmly against someone's chest. I don't know, nor do I care who it is. The only thing I can seem to think about is how the hell this is going to end. Despite my kicking and shoving, the person only tightens their grip around me. Zain looks absolutely helpless, and tears prick at the corner of his eyes before locking with mine.

His lips freeze, eyes flashing dangerously, and I know what he wants to say, I know what he can't say. I want to tell him that it didn't need saying, that I already knew.

I want to say that I can hear it in the silence, see it in the colour of his eyes, and feel it rolling down my cheeks.

I want to say it's when his fingers are laced through mine, in the breath he takes before he says my name, in the shiver of his spine when we are pressed together tightly.

But I don't say any of those things because I'm good at being selfish, and I want him to say it first. I want him to struggle with the insignificant words that mean so much. I want him to say it first because, bloody hell, I love him too.

However, with Clarke standing between the two of us, we both know this isn't the time nor place to profess our love for one another.

"You know, it should have never come to this. I've tried desperately to forgive you, but I just don't know how to anymore," the ass taunts. "The past is never forgotten and if it is, it's always accompanied by death."

Clarke knows the agony that comes with losing your significant other. He knows how deeply hurt either of us would be, for the feeling was worse than death, itself. As Zain realizes this, his eyes widen, and something inside of him triggers.

"Arabella, please go."

He is begging, and Zain never begs. I want to reach out and touch him. I want to tell him that this will soon be over, and we will be okay, despite how doubtful I feel. At this point, I've stopped fighting against the mystery person holding me back.

"What?" I ask, my voice coming out as a sob, and I hate it. I hate feeling so weak.

"Go!" he roars, once he feels the gun hard against his temple.

Once he realizes I'm not phased by his booming voice, he sighs and darts his tongue out and over his bloodied lips. He doesn't want me to see him like this, but I don't care.

"I'm not leaving you, Zain," I whisper. "Ever."

"Enough!" Clarke shouts. "I'm pulling this trigger in five seconds, whether you're here on not Arabella."

"Arabella, go!"

"Bella, please, come on."

"Let's go!"

"Five," Clarke counts down.

Voices are coming at me from every direction and there are more people here than I thought, but I can't move. I can't speak. I feel so goddamn empty. I feel so goddamn numb.

"Three."

"Baby, please go."

I look up at the sound of his voice, and it's utterly calming.

I wish to tell Clarke to go ahead. I dare him to test me. Witness me create my shape anew. Witness me collect my parts with broken fingers. Witness that there is no force stronger than my love.

But, again, I don't say anything because my thoughts are interrupted by the haunting sound of a gunshot. And only then do I realize that this hell was lit by the flame of our passion.

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authors note:

hey guys, I'm really proud of this one, so please note your thoughts and suggestions in the comments!

post script: "his lips freeze, eyes flashing dangerously...I love him too" was inspired by coldfeetonthekitchenfloor via tumblr, she's a very good poet and I highly recommend checking out her writings

mani x