seven || h.styles (EDITING)

1

EDITED

PLEASE NOTE: 

NIALL=FINN 

LIAM =DEAN

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Mason

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His cold, callused fingers lace around my neck. He deepens the pressure of his thumbs on my throat, sweeping me off my feet. My legs dangle helplessly beneath me, weakly kicking at the man.

I grip his wrists tightly; my knuckles turning sickly pale as I puncture my stubby nails into his skin in hopes of release. He digs his own into my neck and I let out a deranged cry. The back of my head blooms with pain as he slams me hard against the wall. Tears stream down my flushed face as I continue to try to pry his rough hands off my throat.

He releases his iron hold before death could take me and I smack painfully against the tile floor of the kitchen, holding the raw skin around my neck, wheezing and gasping for air, forcing it into my lungs. I try to scream for help, but it comes out in a brittle, croaky whisper.

Tucking my legs under me, I pull myself to my knees, bracing against the wall.

The intruder bends down to meet my gaze. His eyes are dark and lifeless. I flinch as he places his hand firmly on my shoulder, my body goes cold under his harsh touch.

Tears sting the back of my eyes as he slowly tucks a loose strand behind my ear with his right hand. He leans in closer, I turn my head away and he places a soft kiss against my jaw.

I notice a glint of light, from the man's clenched left fist, but before I could react the male smirks looking up at my eyes. I gasp as excruciating pain irrupts from my stomach. I feel my strength fade when I look down at the knife plunged deep into my stomach.

I let out a cry but only a gurgle escaped my mouth, followed by blood, staining my lips scarlet.

The man smiled and holding me closer. I feel my face contort as he twists the blade driving it even deeper. I sink into it, my life slipping out of me with every last breath.

This is not how I want to die.

I stop typing.

Reading what I had written, I cringe at the gruesomeness of it all and release a disappointed breath; my writing was becoming more violent and disturbing than I wanted or expected it to be. I close the screen and place the laptop on a cardboard box near me.

A wave of dizziness washes over me at my sudden movements. I pause for a moment, my vision fixated on a single spot on the wooden floor as I collect myself. I rub my strained eyes and bat them swiftly to adjust them to the dim lighting. I allow them to wander around the room, which was large but appeared small as it was crowded with brown, cardboard boxes. 

The floorboards screech under my feet as I slowly stand up from the mattress on the floor and stretch, as I let out a satisfying groan. Soothing sunlight seeps through the small smudged window bringing warmth to the freezing room as I pull at the string of the Venetian blinds; they slide up and sit crookedly at the top at the top of the window. Not caring to fix it, I comb my fingers through my painfully tangled hair as I head to the bathroom.

The checkered bathroom floor presses cooly against my feet, making me feel colder than I already was. I pull my short hair into a stumpy ponytail and take a deep breath, bracing for the cold air before pulling off my leggings and oversized, mathlete's t-shirt and tossing them into a pile on the tiled floor. Before searching for a box containing some of my clothes, I pause and check my watch. Shit. It was already noon and I had a job interview at 12:30. Grabbing the first box I see that has the word clothes written on it, I peel off the clear packaging tape and shovel through it to find an outfit to throw on.