33. A Bloody Mess
A Bloody Mess
Isla
Watching Eamon's giant form topple to the ground, clutching the sides of his head as if it could stop the pain, breaks something inside of me. Seeing the person I love brought down to nothing more than a screaming pile of pain snaps whatever pieces of my soul still clung to propriety and civility.
My head spins from being cracked against the wall, the whole world tilting around me, and yet, my focus on Eamons lumpedbodyis crystal clear. Every ounce of strength I have battles against the arms holding me, starting with the one around my neck. Rather than push him away, I let him pull me closer, gripping him by the shoulder until my mouth is only inches from his ear.
I take a deep breath, letting it out with the loudest scream I can possibly muster, the screech radiating right into his eardrum. My throat burns from the scraping of my vocal cords, but it doesn't matter; itdoesn't have to even last that long. The man holding me by the throat releases, cupping his hand over his ear, shouting in pain from his ruptured eardrum. It's not much of a victory, but watching him blink and try to overcome the pain only hardens my resolve, shakingone of my arms free enough to slap that ear and the hand covering it, throwing his equilibrium off entirely.
He stumbles to the side, still clutching his ear in pain and screaming something about me being a bitch, but his words go in one ear and out the other as I think about what my next move needs to be. I don't have any weapons on me, but these armed guards have to have something I can grab. All those pockets must hold knives or something.
I try and fail to drive my knee into one of their groins, a hand slapping my leg out of the way while he blocks his nethers with his leg, turning to the side away from me. The other grips my hair roughly, my scalp screaming in agony. I lift my leg and kick against one of their sides, sending both me and the one holding my hair against the wall, his back slamming against it seconds before Islammy already pained head against his face, both hearing and feeling the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking.
God, that fucking hurts.
Only now do I realize that all those times I got pissed at Eamon for not going easy on me were definitely to my advantage. Every shove, every gentle punch that he landed when I got lazy, every time he threw me off my balance, and I screamed at him for being such a fucking asshole.
If it weren't for every knock-down, drag-out fight with him, I'd never be prepared to face these little shits. I let the pain become a knife, focusing my deadly resolve to ensure that none of these men walk out of here alive. None of them will be allowed to harm someone ever again.
Warm blood dribbles down the back of my head, down my neck, and I'm honestly not even sure whose blood it is.
Rather than wait and wonder, I take advantage of the moments I have while he tries to ease the pain in his broken nose to pat around his utility belt and find something sharp.The only thing Imanage tograb isaverysmalldagger, maybe 3 inches long with a strange handle.I have to grip it between my pointer and middle fingers to keep a decent grip, unlike all the knives I trained with.But it's better than nothing.
The man I kicked away from us scrambles up off the floor as the one with the ruptured ear drum charges me again, leaving me with almost no options when they're both coming at me at the same time. If I strike one, the other can grab me before I do any real damage.
Instead, I drop to the floor, kicking one of their legs out from under them and sending them careening into their friends with all the momentum they were aiming at me.
Instinct tells me to glance at Eamon and see if he's all right. But if we were in training and I looked away for even a second, he would kick my ass for doing so, so I keep my focus trained on my targets.
I need toget rid ofat least one of them, or it's only a matter of time before they overpower me again. The one already on the ground from the kick tohisleg seems the easiest target, and I think back toall the thingsI know about human anatomy and the weak points ofhisarmor.A sick feeling grips my stomach, knowing it'sabout to get so muchuglier and bloodier than I could have anticipated.
I don't know what I expected.
That's a lie; yes, I do. I expected Eamon to come behind me and clean up the trouble I caused because that's what he's continually done since we met. I expected him to traipse in here and tear them all to shreds without a second thought. But now I have to do it.
He knew it would come to this. He had to. That's why he pushed me so hard.Even if he'll never admit it,he had to know that something would bring us to this point.Just like he is my weapon to wield, I'm also his. And he prepared me for this.
So, swallowing back the bile rising in my throat, I tackle the man on the ground, my knees bracketing his shoulders to keep him still just long enough to dig the tiny knife into the side of his neck, ripping it through flesh and artery with a banshee-like screech.
The roughness of the knife and my motion send blood flying across the floor and walls, the splattering of it threatening to bring up all the lunch I ate before the farce of a wedding. My stupid dress soaks in the warm liquid, the off-white slowly turning red and brown from the dirt and blood surrounding me.
Killing someone with a bomb is not nearly as horrid as doing it up close and personal like this. Feeling the fight leave abody, watching ashisfriends look on in horror before realizing they still have a mission to complete, drowns me in grief that I shouldn't feel, guilt at taking away this person who is clearlyimportantto someone. Likely many someones.
But this is all I can do to survive.
You have to decide your life is just as important as theirs. Can you do that?
Eamons phantom voice reaches me, though I know it's just in my memories. My life isimportant. I am important enoughthat I needto be willing to do whatever it takes to live. It doesn't take awayfromthe guilt, but it's a balm soothing it for now. There will be time to feel bad later.
Mr. Ruptured Eardrum bends down to try to pick me up, but his equilibrium is all fucked up, causing him to tumble to the side slightly. But the third man wraps his arm around my waist, lifting me off the ground entirely, his bloody, broken nose forgotten in the flood of adrenaline coursing through him.
I try to throw my elbow into his face, then the knived hand, but from this angle, there's fuck-all I can do to reach anything important, so I aim for the only spot I can, bringing the knife down into his thigh, twisting it as soon as it's lodged deep enough I can feel the muscle give way.
We both fall to the ground, hitting it roughly enough that I lose my grip on the knife, using both my hands to brace myself for the impact.Hisgun skitters across the floor, rolling just out of reach. The man screams in pain, scrambling over me as I try to crawl towards it, grabbing my feet. I kick his face, aiming for the already broken nose, wishing I could kick it hard enough to lodge it into his fucking brain.
The two seconds he stops to nurse his injury again are just enough time for me to get my hands on the firearm, spinning onto my back so I can get my eyes on both my attackers. Mr. Broken Nose can't do much now, between the sluice of dark red spilling from his leg and his double broken nose swelling his eyes shut.
But I only have brief moments before Mr. Ruptured Ear Drum reaches me, his form towering over me as he tries toreach me. They have no way of knowing if I'm a decent shot or if I even know how to use one of these, but still, running toward someone with a gun pointed at you is a stupid fucking thing to do.
He leaps to tackle me, and I pull on the trigger.
One.
Two.
Three times.
The thunk of two bullets hitting his vest is only dampened by the roaring in my ears. His forward momentum still brings him down on top of me, if only partially, bringing me face-to-face with the steaming hole in the middle of his forehead.
Two in the chest, one in the head.
Now I do retch, rolling away from the corpse just in time to puke all over the floor, my vomit joining the brain matter and blood flooding the ground around me.
Finished, I climb to my feet, ready to face the last man standing. Well, not standing, not really. But the last man alive in this room. If there are other guards, I only have a few moments before they arrive; there's no way they didn't hear the gunshots going off.
As soon as I turn around, searing pain rips through my abdomen, Mr. Bloody Nose himself grazing a line through my dress and across my stomach. It's not deep enough that my organs are in danger, but the blood loss might be a problem. Might be, who am I kidding?
Another slash lands across my upper thigh, the man blindly slicing at anything that still appears white through his fucked up vision. With my good leg, I kick at his chest, sending him backward and searching for the gun I left on the floor beneath the last corpse.
The firearm is coated in god knows what, slippery and sticky all at the same time. But I aim it at the scrambling man, pulling the trigger again and again and again until it clicks, the bloodied husk falling to the floor.
My head starts to swim, whether from blood loss or the scene around me, I'm not sure. But I need to wake Eamon up right now. Whatever they did kept himcompletelyincapacitated for the entire time it took me to kill them, so it can't be attached to them. Maybe another strange device like the one they used on Fritz.
Barely holding myself together, I search the bodies for something that doesn't look like a traditional weapon. Knives, guns, everything of that nature I can hold, I tuck into the crevices between my dress and skin in case I need to use them again.
Fuck.
Nothing.
Something in the corner catches my eye, and I walk towards it, finding a metal disk on the floor. It has independent pieces that all spin and latch together, a deep brown rust-like substance smeared in the cracks.
Blood.
Old dried blood. This has to be it.
I have no fucking clue how to dismantle the thing, so I do what I can.
I place it on the ground, using another little pistol to shoot at it until the whole thing falls apart, the shreds of metal flying in all different directions.
With the last bit of strength I have, I waddle over and collapse to the floor next to Eamon, patting his gorgeous, terrifying face with my hand.
"Eamon," I slap a littleharder. "You have to wake up. You haven't said it back yet."
The blood loss has almost certainly made me loopy, mybodyfeeling cold as I try to keep waking him up. I'm not worried about dying; my only concern is waking up Eamon so he can tell me he loves me too before I go.
His eyes flutter open slowly, a pained groan leaving his chest as he does.
"Hi, handsome." A smile splits my face, knowing if nothing else, he'll at least get to save all the women and children trapped down here in one of these rooms. "I need you to wake up. You need to do something for me real quick."
"What happened?" his voice sounds sleepy, groggy, much like he does in the mornings after we haven't slept much.
"You haven't said you love me back yet," I tease.
Clarity finally dawns on him, and he reaches for me, making me hiss in pain, "Oh my god, Isla. All this blood." His hand presses against my chest, coming away soaked.
"Well, most of it isn't mine," I assure him. "Just ummmm... just some of it."
I blink, trying to clear away the brain fog, cuddling up to my giant monster. If I'm going to die, I'm going to do it right here withhisstrong arms around me.
"Baby, you need to stay awake," he tells me. "You can't fall asleep."
With a loopy laugh, I tell him, "I'm not falling asleep, Eamon. I'm dying. We both know that. So just tell me you love me so I can go in peace."
He grips my face, forcing me to make eye contact with him, with all the pain swirling in those red pools. "You are not dying. I won't let you."
"My hero," I chuckle. "I don't think there's much you can do about it, unless you have some blood and a first aid kit handy."
"Kyle and a whole team are going to get here any second. You just have to hold on a little bit longer," he shakes me a little, and I open my eyes, not realizing I had closed them in the first place. "You've done so well, been so fucking strong and brave. You just need to hold on a little bit longer, honey."
"I don't wanna be strong anymore, Eamon. I'm so tired. So god damn tired of having to fight the monsters in my head and in this world. I just want to rest." Tears well in my eyes, exhaustion and pain taking hold.
Somewhere above us, a loud screech radiates, and Eamon sighs in relief, wrapping his arms around me and standing, carrying me like I'm his bride—just like it should have been.
"Just a little longer, Isla. Be strong for me, then you can rest and let me do the fighting for you, okay?" His strange mouth plants a kiss on my forehead. "Just fight for five more minutes. Can you do that for me?"
"Why won't you just say it back?" my head falls against the crook of his shoulder, this question more important than any other.
"Because you're asking me to tell you goodbye and I won't fucking do it. I'll follow you to the afterlife and drag your ass back here if I have to, but I will not tell you goodbye. You're mine, you belong right here beside me, and you'd better fucking fight to stay here. Understand?"
And I do understand. I know that inhisarms is where I'm meant to be.
"Why don't you just like do the bond thing?" I ask aloud, not really to him or me, just asking the universe.
He sighs, running up the stairs as quickly ashe can without jostling me too roughly."You're not in the right headspace for that. I don't think it would work."
Indignation lights up mybody, overpowering the exhaustion scrambling to take me under. "It won't work? You don't think I'm meant for you? After all this?"
With asmallchuckle, he shakes his head, "Of course you are. But you're currently under duress due to the blood loss. I don't think the laws of bonding will like that or consider you consenting. Once you're better, you bet your ass it's happening."
Light from the top of the stairs blinds me, the warmth of the fire and heater bringing me closer to sleep when Eamon's yelling breaks me out of it. "I need stitches and O+ compatible blood now!"
"How do you know my blood type?" I slur, "Do different blood types taste different?"
He looks down at me, worry furrowing the place where he would have eyebrows in his mortal form, but now it's just a ridge of bone andsmallmuscles. He looks up at someone in front of us, but I have no clue who, unable to take my eyes off my beautiful protector.
He looksbackdown at me, his silent conversation over, "Isla, honey. This is going to suck for both of us, but I need you to know that you're going to be okay. You're going to wake up, but the Dr. says you've lost too much blood."
First, you want me to stay awake, now you want me to sleep. Pick one. I try to argue withhim, but my mouth refuses to listen as my eyes drift shut. The world below me moves, the pain subsiding. A pinch in my arm almost brings me to attention before unconsciousness pulls at me again.
Another pinch, followed by another and another across my abdomen, making me aware of all the places on mybodythat should hurt, but somehow, my brain can't process the pain.
The only thing I can focus on isEamon's voice as he barks orders.Whether it's in reality or just in my head, I can't tell.
But the last thing I remember before everythinggoesdark is Eamon's voice reaching out to me through the fog, You're going to befine. I'll be right here when you wake up.
Then everything goes blank, and I'm floating on a sea of nothing. No pain. No fighting. A blissful world of nothingness. The only thing I miss, the only thing I need to make this place a paradise, is just out of reach.
Even Eamon's phantom voice can't reach me here, and I hate it.