Worse Than It's Bite [NIALL HORAN FANFICTION]

8. Tortured

NIALL'S POV

I haven't heard anything of Alyssa sense I asked her out. I hope I didn't frighten her... I just plead to god that she won't stand me up.

I grabbed my phone, politely asking my good friend Siri to start up a new text.

TO: ALYSSA:P

Can't wait for tonight! Nando's sound good?

No response. I sigh. I never really thought she liked me, but I had this one spark of hope that her competition would die down... I will go, even though I would be so embarrassed if I got stood up. If I don't go, I may be standing her up. I ran a hand through my miniature quiff. I never win.

"Niall! Hit the dressing room! Now, Foodboy!" Paul summoned, using my nickname he gave me.

"Coming!"

Show time...

ALYSSA'S POV

My sticky eyes were glued closed with a crusty residue from an unpleasant sleep. My lids fluttered open.

Still Amber.

I felt sore all around, stiff, pained. I had the most terrible urge to nurse my wounds, to be rid of the dried blood surrounding me. I felt stuffy, hot and clammy. When my brain started to power itself up like a rusty CPU, I began to comprehend my surroundings.

I bristled with anger towards the man, and hopped to my feet like the wind had carried me. My ears pricked in all directions, hearing various dangerous and non-dangerous items, smells, and sounds.

I looked around, saving an image of the room before me in my brain.

Small room. Crappy TV with antennas and the smallest screen in the world. It was hot, so very hot.

My tongue longed for the moisture it required. I was starving, but my quenching thirst overruled it.

I smelled more dogs. 1. 2. 3? No, just 2. I followed the scents to behind a wooden, trailer park couch.

The smell of death followed.

A small dog was lying next to another breed, whom is big, other then that, quite indescribable. The large dog was clearly deceased, while the smaller one mourned over his apparent friend or brother.

"It's too bad, your a nice one..." It said, shaking his head sadly.

"What?" I asked, confused.

"Do you know where we are?" He asked.

"Not a clue."

He sighed, and began. "None of us know where we are per say, but each dog that comes is informed of what happens here," He began. "The Stealer whom brought you here; he's a dog fighter."

"What does that mean?" Fear trembled through me because I did, in fact, know exactly what that meant for me.

"It means he takes you and trains you to fight other innocent dogs he captured, in the process beating and starving you brutally. He ruthlessly teaches you to slash apart your brothers and sisters so he can earn money. When it all wraps up, he murders you in such a horrible way it's indescribable."

He gazed past me, wished he could just keep whatever comes next to himself, lock it up in his heart, never to be heard or repeated again.

"He hangs the winner," He explained shortly, "Or lets you starve." He squinted his eyes, as if feeling this pain.

"The worst part has to be the noise. The sound of your best friend screaming for the death that is approaching ever so slowly. Unbearable..." He trailed, eyes now glued to the dog before him.