Air whistled in my ears as we plummeted, making our clothes flap against our bodies as we traveled. Glass exploded around us, shattering into tiny pieces that spiraled dizzyingly along with us, reflecting in the sun, falling into the snow white hair of my charge. We fell into a line, the grip on my charge helping to maneuver him into a diving position. My eyes watered and my hair tugged in the wind, blonde whisps of it temporarily obscured my vision, and I became distinctly aware of some very important things.
I had two seconds left.
Gilbert was chillingly silent in our descent, facing the ground with arms flung out wide, tears streaming down his face in the same way mine did as the wind played havoc with our bodies. My breath caught in my chest and I struggled to push it away, push everything away, I could feel myself receding, letting my mind take over in the painfully cold and numbing way that I-
Violently bit my lip with the force of the explosion that knocked us away from the building, glass was now raining from the heavens, blades of shining blood and death that brought fire and black smoke. Our eardrums rang and I was pulled back with such intensity I almost gasped.
Gilbert watched the destruction around us as we plummeted towards the bottom, arms flapping wildly, cheeks flushed and eyes wild with wonder and fragility and still so cruel. I grabbed his arm and pinned us together again, spinning us so that I was facing the sky with my back to his, our arms interlocked. I unwound one of my arms from his and removed a long string of the bladed string from the coil there and flung it towards the building, watching as it shattered through another window and into the building, the barbs catching on something and tugging us through the air.
We moved slowly then violently, as if existence were only now catching up with us we swung fast and hard. I barely had time to curl myself around my charge before we crashed through the window into the building and into a large wooden desk. My arm cracked hard against a surface I didn't take time to identify and I jumped at the sharp contact, but we rolled noisily off the wooden structure, now broken and disfigured, with a frankly astounding lack of horrible injury.
Both Beilschmidt's ears and mine were bleeding, his a little more heavily than mine for some reason, and both our faces were littered with minute cuts from the shattered glass. With Beilschmidt's fare skin you could see every blemish, every mark of my failure to protect adequately. My insides went cold. Colder. I couldn't feel myself inside, everything was numb.
We sucked in air, and I allowed myself a second longer to breath than necessary before grabbing my charge's arm again, retracting the string into the coil, fighting back the scream as I felt and saw him wince.
Gilbert Beilschmidt
Gilbert Beilschmidt
oh god
Gilbert Beilschmidt
Gilbert Beilschmidt
It pounded through me. This is what I would amount to, to be killed by one of the most dangerous men in modern society. Before I could draw in a single breath of free air, before- before-
Numb. Numb and cold and Gilbert Beilschmidt. We raced along the zigzagging hallways along whitewashed walls and fire dancing rapidly through the ceilings. Blackness surrounded us and we waded through the throbbing mess of our demise, screams echoed in our damaged ears, and his demon eyes sparkled.
We pushed along in a fight to the outside, shoving high heeled women and men in expensive suites, nothing mattered, nothing mattered. Gilbert Beilschmidt. My arms throbbed. My thighs throbbed, my throat throbbed and the cuts on my face- oh god.
There was no winning. There was numbness. I tightened my grip, skidding down staircases with monstrous thundering feet, so frightening and my breathing – oh god.
Gilbert bit his lip.
oh god
We pushed screaming through a set of glass doors, individuals, civillians, firefighters, allies, foes, gun, gun, knife, blunt force trauma, smoke inhalation, permanent deafness, blood loss, gunshot, tissue damage, blood, blood, screaming. It hurts so nicely. I pulled my charge away, pulled him away, pulled him away. oh god oh god
That ringing, that horrible deaf ringing and numbness, oh it feels, it feels. oh god Does it feel.
Beilschmidt coughed blackness into his hand, marring the white streaked red, redness of eyes, blood, shot, eyes, red and fire and blackness, oh god. I caught him as he passed out, landing heavy and warm in my arms. So scarred.
A limousine pulled smoothly in front of us.
Gilbert Beilschmidt's phone rang.
Hey guys, another short update but chock full of shit and basically a lot of intense breaking of literally anything that could possibly be broken. Glass fuckign everywhere. Minds in pieces, women in high heels running through a burning building (appreciate that mental image for a sec) and I feel so drained right now you have no idea. I was just struck by this tonight and had to share this next tidbit with you lot. I haven't got to replying to reviews yet so if you reviewed expect a nice thing in your inbox and if not I really love it when you guys review, it makes me want to write this shit so much more.
I got a review from a lovely guest a couple hours ago on another story that I can't reply to I am sorry hun About These Scars won't be updated for quite a bit i'd imagine. So so sorry.
As always, I love you all, thank you for the well wishings for my relationship, and the favourites! HPTCR (He Paints The Colour Red has almost 240 favourites! I AM SO IN LOVE WITH YOU ALL IT HURTS. HPTCR was/is my first fanfiction I had ever written and completed, to have it doing so well is so important to me. I love yall to bits, don't be afraid to review or look me up, im on tumblr as this name. Message me about anything. sogni d'oro my lovelies
-Serena