Broken Match

When Hollywood's tomboyish star meets up with nineteen-year-old "frat boy"Harry Styles...things start happening. Not good things. Bad things. Very bad things. They may get themselves caught up in something bigger than they thought...something that could kill them both. And it's all my fault.

•••
Her fingertips traced the red stained floor, and came away sticky with a dark, thick, goopy liquid; blood.

Haz stumbled back.

"Don't touch that!," he yelped. She flicked her gaze up to his face, then back at her hand.

She opened her mouth to say something...but couldn't quite put her feelings into words.

"Did you hear that?" He hissed.

"...no." He couldn't hear the lie in her voice. Of course she had heard it, only a deaf person would not be able to hear the pounding footsteps. She just couldn't deal with a terrified Haz.

"Oh god. There's no where to hide-" she was panicking herself, but at least she was doing it quietly.

"Shut. Up. Before I make you." He promptly snapped his mouth shut and glanced at the wooden door.

They had gotten themselves into a...situation of sorts.

They had to choose between either one of three doors, a dark tunnel into the unknown, stairs the went upward with dried blood on the steps, and of course, last but not least, a ladder leading down in to dark depths where the faint outline of a human skeleton was visible.

All but one choice would lead to certain death of a painful manner. Now it was time to choose.