✓ maple street murderers || h.styles

four: lock your door

They're on the fourth floor now. Harry's leading the way and Delilah is right behind him. He doesn't care much for Eric or Andrew. ShitFace occasionally interrupts their search for the exit by setting off some traps or just sharing a stupid joke with them.

Harry should feel like a victim but he doesn't. Especially since the traps ShitFace sets off only end up hurting the last two men. It's obvious Harry's safe, which means Delilah is just as safe as long as she stands close to him.

"You haven't talked in a while," he hears her mumble, taking his hand in hers to stand beside him.

Harry looks over at her and then the knife in her hand. He considers taking it from her but the thought repulses him. "I don't think here is the right place to talk."

"You're blanking out." She takes one step ahead of him and he pulls her back with wide eyes, making sure he's in the lead just in case something springs out at them. "You've been doing that way too often. What's on your mind?"

He swallows. She's expecting an answer but everything that comes to mind is too wicked for her to forgive him over. Her hand comes up to stop him from moving and that look in her face lets him know she won't let him go until he says something.

"I just don't like it here." He finds it strange that Delilah, Andrew, and Eric aren't reacting to what's happening at the moment. Like neither of them are processing the fact that their lives have become a game to some coward who won't even show his face.

She takes another step ahead but this time she falls at his feet.

Harry reaches down to pick her up but she groans out loud. "What happened?"

He removes her hand from her side and sees a dart lodged in her skin, blood trickling down and onto his hands. The warmth is familiar but disgust keeps crawling up his chest somewhere inside of him. Because it's Delilah and the blood belongs to her. He cups his hand over the sharp object and lifts her up without glancing at Eric and Andrew, taking a quick look at all of the surrounding doors.

A screeching sound makes all of them groan, and then ShitFace's voice comes. "I fear I've just angered you. There's a bathroom to your left, I guess we can pause the game for now. Take care of your doll, Harry."

Harry catches Eric looking at him. "He knows our names?"

"Obviously," he lies under his breath and Andrew opens the bathroom door, eyes narrowed like knows something no one else does. Harry carries Delilah inside and sets her down on the toilet lid before lifting her shirt up and closing the door behind him, leaving the other two men outside in the hallway.

And there's so much blood. Everything is red and his hands keep twitching because her blood is covering them. He shakes his head and tries to breathe out as evenly as he can before wrapping his fingers around the long dart.

She screams into his shoulder and tries to wriggle out from his grasp. "Stop," she pants. "Please stop. It hurts," she whines.

His heart is hammering in his chest. He's heard so many pleas out of pain but this one has to be the only one that makes him really pause. He looks down at her face that's twisted in agony and then looks over at how much blood is slipping from the wound. "I know, baby. Look at me. It'll be over in just a moment, okay?"

She nods but he sees her already slipping from consciousness.

Harry feels nauseous and excited at the same time. "Stay up. I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he mumbles, pushing his hair back before going back to the dart. He quickly pulls it out and covers her mouth so her screams are muffled. More blood begins to rush out of her skin and he can't help but stare at it for a moment, dropping his hand from her lips in the process. He can't tell if he's admiring the sight or hating it. Doesn't understand what it is he's feeling.

"Tell me why you can't stand the sight of blood." Her voice is tight and low.

"What?" He looks up with tied brows. She thinks he hates blood?

"There's a story to it, isn't there?"

"I'm not scared of blood." His voice is hard as he reassures her.

"I didn't say you were scared. I said you couldn't stand it. What do you think about when you see it? I just want to know so I know what you're thinking when you get that look in your eyes." She tries to sit up but he shoves her back down.

What story can he tell her? What story is worth sharing? He tears a piece of his shirt off and then rips it in half before moving the cloth to her wound and tying it around her waist. "When I was little, my dog and I went out for a walk by a river. There was a well a few miles off but I was too small to take a look inside of it. I sent my dog down and when I pulled it back up from the bucket...she was dead." He's spared the details. Leaving out the part where his family thought he killed her or where everybody started walking on egg shells around him because they were afraid he'd snap. They treated him like he was a monster instead of helping him mourn for his only friend's death, so that's what he became. "Can you stand?"

Delilah looks like she wants to say something but she closes her mouth and takes hold of the center of his shirt instead so she can walk. She nearly falls to the floor after her first attempt, lips parted all over again.

"If you want to say something," he hooks a hand under her legs and the other one behind her back to lift her up bridal style. "Say it already."

"What killed your dog?"

"Whatever was down there, I don't know. I'll carry you the rest of the way down, okay?"

"I need to get used to walking." She yawns softly into his chest.

"You will, but not now. You'll just slow us down. I'll set you down when we're on the second floor."

He opens the door to find Eric and Andrew against the opposite wall. They both look down at Delilah with their eyebrows tied together.

"Is she okay?"

"Great," Harry answers, glancing down at her. He shifts her body weight in his arms.

"You want me to hold her?"

He makes a face and shakes his head. "No."

The intercoms sounds. "Let's resume. Enjoy your stay."

"You're covered in blood, man." Andrew's face twists in disgust.

Harry makes sure Delilah is close to sleeping and barely comprehending anything as he leans over his shoulder to look the other man in his face. "It's fine," he says quietly. "The feeling is refreshing." The way her blood feels on his fingers makes him feel upset.

There's blood rubbing off her skin and running down his hands and she's barely even moving. It feels right somehow. He's taken back to their first night together. How he really wanted to kill her. Right now is like that feeling only he has an urge to see her awake tomorrow.

He's has an urge to make sure she comes out of here alive.

(A/n: These chapters are short, but it's only because this is just a short story. I'll polish it up after it's been completed. Have a great day/night!)