redemption: harry styles

Chapter Seventy Nine (OPTION 1)

YOU DECIDE ON HOW YOU WANT THE STORY TO END. THIS IS ONE (OPTION 1) ENDING.

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(CONTINUED FROM CHAPTER 'SEVENTY EIGHT')

But I was not nearly as quick enough.

The blade slashed my arm deeply, and I made no attempt to howl a chilling scream, raising my knees in preparation to shove him off. But the man was frantic and quick, and he raised the knife in the air, gritted his teeth, and brought it down to ram it in my stomach.

My breath hitched as a cold burning sensation ripped through me. The man yanked out the blade in a mess of blood and plunged it directly under the first wound, stabbing me once more. I gasped and clamped my eyes closed as a roaring pain erupted in my abdomen, like fire on skin. I shook under him and tears filled my eyes as something clanked and the man fell onto his side before he could pull the knife out.

I looked down at the knife still inside my gut and I screamed unintentionally.

Harry sunk down beside me, his face drained of color and his eyes glassy.

"No, no, no, no, no," he was muttering to himself, frantically looking at the blood soaking my shirt. My heart began to pound. I could feel the knife inside me, pain ripping all over my body.

Harry gripped the hilt of the knife and ripped it out. I arched my back, closed my eyes and yelped at the pain, burning over my torso, preoccupied with the affliction that I was too scared to apply pressure on the wound.

Harry used the knife to cut off his sleeve and tied it around my arm. He cut another thick strip and held it to my punctures with both hands, wincing at my whimpers and attempts to push him off.

"You're going to be okay," he murmured, staring down at his bloody hands. "You're going to be okay."

"Harry, stop, you're hurting me," I cried and grabbed his wrists.

Tears rushed down his cheeks, falling onto my clothes, and he didn't wipe them away. He didn't push away his hair, covering his eyes. He ignored me to focus on keeping pressure on me.

"You're going to be okay," he repeated, over and over, completely disregarding my voice.

"Harry." I shook him, feeling my muscles relax. "Please."

The shouts of men reverberated in the distance, outside of the house. Harry snapped his head towards the door, his eyes wild like fire. He pocketed the knife and the gun and he picked me up in his arms and rushed for the basement.

The basement's door was on the other side of the house, moldy but sturdy. Harry rushed through the door, not slowing down even as he moved down the stairs. In the position I was in my wounds throbbed harder and I flinched at every step.

Harry gently laid me on the ground far from the stairs then reached for his gun again.

"Harry," I gritted breathlessly, "what are you doing?"

Harry fumbled with the gun, checking for ammo, then clicked it back into place. He sunk onto the ground beside me and slumped against the wall, bringing his knees to his chest. His arms lay limp beside his body, his eyes coldly staring at the wall across of us. His lips were parted and he breathed heavily but slowly.

I removed my hands from my abdomen and turned them over so my palms faced up. My own blood filled my hands, smearing down my wrists. I was shaking vigorously, my eyes wide. I whispered his name but he didn't make any sounds or movements to indicate that he heard me speak.

I raised my hand, feeling my eyes droop, and brushed it against his. Harry stared for a moment longer and then he turned to me with a look proving that he lost all hope on his face.