| Chapt. Twelve | Foolish Misery|

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Paralyzed.

Choke and die or run away.

The decision takes too long, every second takes my survival away from me.

With nothing left inside me, legs with anticipation, I succumb.

Closing my eyes, I know at that moment it's true. I'll never see my precious mother smiling in the morning when I come down for breakfast or experience the way she never fussed at me, even when I broke something so important.

That undying love is gone, along with my soul.

I'd die an insufferable virgin because I was too stubborn to let Nathan in, just because I wanted the first time to mean something. I'd die knowing I pushed him to cheat on me in arguments, heartbroken when he'd finally done so and yet still miss the amount of love he showered me with.

The foolish misery dies with me here.

Tears pour down my cheeks, landing into shaking palms and numb skin.

Perhaps I'm dead now, perhaps it's true you never feel a thing.

But I do.

Sensation bombards me in one hefty blow, David's large, towering figure thrusting my weak frame onto the floor and into darkness.

He screams, but not the kind of scream you hear in torturous horror films or painful endings. It isn't one of triumph of overcoming inevitable odds.

I wouldn't wish the sound upon my worst enemy.

This, right here, is the twisted, gut wrenching, yell of sacrifice. Soaking with agony, drenched with the sound of blood writhing to the surface. Proving one last time to the world who he knew he was.

Not intelligent, but brave.

Not calculated, but instinctual.

Not willing, but able.

Able to do away with every chance to do something meaningful.

It all felt like a searing waste, his intentions so truly to save us both knowing the risk.

I was nothing, am nothing but a stranger to this man.

And now I'll never know more than a name.

Sobs begin wracking my body when I try to stand, try to scoot away from the coming source of pain. David is a meat puppet, a distraction. A means of buying time.

Someone lost their soul for me.

"David..." I whisper, catching my breath and shoving tears off with my sleeve as fast as they come.

Someone is yelling for me, begging for my attention, but I keep crawling. Not away, but towards.

I have to see it. I have to see it for myself.

My skin meets marble over and over again, ignoring the sickening moans and crunches in the distance. Just a few more feet.

Just a few more and I'll find where he's landed.

When I first touch something wet and warm, I shrink away. Vomit threatens to spill out, but I force it back down. Shallow, rough pants sound just beneath me. They aren't tired as I'd expect, just hoarse and empty.

The tears crawl up again, but blurry vision doesn't stop me from searching out a hand and grabbing on tight.

"You're a fucking idiot," I hiss, strangled sobs burning deep in the back of my throat like a wet, hot branding iron. "An absolute fucking moron..."

The dying body allows a choked, gargled laugh. "Hol-ly... P-please..."

"Shut up," I whisper, hunkering down low, as close to his face as I can possibly manage. "Please, just shut up..." My eyes can't stand it anymore, bawling with infantile grace.

"Get out..." he manages, flopping a hand weakly on my back. It slides off seconds later. "Leave..."

Everything hurts. My chest, my limbs, the fracture in my heart spreading with each fading breath in his body. He tries again to console me, this time gently whacking my shoulder before his arms still entirely. The breathing stops.

He's gone.

With no lasting words other than to leave, myself.

Slammed with shock, I attempt to stand, looking around in the dark.

"Holiday, where are you?" Noah demands, his breathing forced and drawn out. "Holiday!"

Auto-pilot is the best way to describe what I muster up from deep within. Steady, I get up and walk towards the voice. Noah's shoulder is firm, warm when I bump into it.

He does the rest, swiftly grabbing my hand and leading me through the swarm of undead. A few kicks are necessary, but he doesn't let go. We're jogging down a path I can only assume he'd carved out, tossing away the few zombies that weren't destroyed in my attack.

Noah hurds us into the corner and then pivots along the wall and chases the seam in a wall out to the center.

"What are we doing?" I ask, feeling spaced out and disoriented.

He doesn't speak, lowering himself and that way me, onto the floor. I follow without another word, as Noah traces his fingers over the marble-like braille.

Sudden, he starts smashing his fist down until the thick rock splits and allows for something to hold onto. He takes all the strength inside himself and lifts up, revealing the compartment Death stows his massive throne in.

"Hop in," Noah directs me, putting a hand on my waist and sliding me in the right way. I fall slightly, feeling hitting what sounds like pavement.

He squeezes in after me, careful to close the ceiling over us.

"David's dead," I say, vacant echoes carrying my voice down into the space.

Noah doesn't say much at first, feeling around for a tunnel. "Figures," he mutters eventually.

He grabs my hand again but only to lay it over the groove protruding from a wooden wall. "Can you follow this? We'll each go down but I can't show you and crawl."

I nod, brushing my arm against it and beginning my way down the long, narrow hole. "There's airflow," I whisper. "That means it lets out somewhere."

"Smart girl," he sighs, a small smile hinted in his voice.

It feels as if an eternity passes, but I see light after a few turns. Noah's sees this too, his pace improving with hope.

"Noah...?" I say softly.

He looks at me, pausing.

"I really do hope you see your wife again... You deserve this..."

Noah smiles, but his eyes are sad. "Don't start talking like that, Holly. We got here fair and square, now the best man... or woman... wins. You knew that going in."

"Of course," I agree, looking at the light and turning back. "But I wouldn't wish this on anyone, least of all you. After all this, I'm not even sure I want to go back. I took a woman's life, that's how I got here-"

Noah laughs, interrupting me. "You're no killer, Holiday, cut that out. Surely it was an accident, that doesn't make you a murderer."

"But I-"

He puts a hand on my shoulder. "I gutted the man who assaulted and put my wife into a year-long coma, tortured him for a week before slicing his throat. None of us are saints. Remember that."

I swallow roughly and look down. There are no tears left and I still want to cry an ocean.

That doesn't help anyone though.

I'm doing this for my parents, who weren't ready to lose me. For my ex who doesn't deserve this. Now, for David who gave up his opportunity to save me.

So we keep crawling and break out into the light.

A room exactly the same as Death's throne room, untouched and unchanged by dogs and undead men and women. Reapers litter the room, five in counting. All of them looking up when we tumble out onto the floor.

Loud hands slow clap us, Death rising with an oddly sensual purr. "Lovely for you to join us, Holiday. Noah."

We both look up, battered and war-torn.

The smug wraith is circling another long table of food. "Come. Sit."

I can't even stand, my legs giving out beneath me with zero effort left. Noah tries to help and groans, spitting up blood.

Atticus and Demetri walk over immediately, each of them bending in front of our broken figures and attending to us.

"They need rest," Demetri says. His voice is the tautest I've ever heard it, strain clearly nursing back some of the fierce concern and anger.

Atticus nods. "Perhaps we postpone dinner."

Death groans in exasperation, frustrated and upset like a child. "But we didn't get to have dinner last time."

"We'll bring them back in a few hours, healed," Demetri says again. "By then you'll know if Sebastian will be joining us."

A loud scoff whips through the place. "That coward? He might survive hours before death."

"Please, my Lord," Atticus insists.

"Fine. Go, but be back quickly, I'm bored."

"Yes, My lord," The Reapers say in unison.

Total Word Count: 21,310

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