It happened.
Chanel's forehead connected with the vile creature's nose, and a satisfying crack resonated. As she watched the boy fall, she tried to turn, but the moment she turned around, tried to crawl away, it grabbed her ankle.
No, nononononono not like this, come on!
In all her wildest dreams, she'd hoped that this wasn't the way it was going to end, trapped here with this...freak of nature, freak of the country. What Vaughn lacked in looks, social skills and hygiene it compensated with speed, stamina, everything that Chanel lacked. It had a weapon, that was the worst thing. A small blade, but a blade that was nonetheless sticking out of her side like a rotten thorn. She could feel her own blood pouring out of her, dribbling down her sides. It was a mess.
"YOU FUCKING BITCH, STAY STILL!" it screamed at her, and she was pulled back across the floor. Before she knew it, it was looming over her again, vicious. As she got back into that thing's immediate grasp, its fist connected with her face. Hard.
She didn't expect something like that to feel anything like the pain tearing through her side at the moment, but GOD it matched it perfectly. Fist to the face. Indescribable. Pain. And there wasn't any room to reel from it, so it was like her head was smashed into a brick wall. It stunned her momentarily, as the thing got it's hands on the blade in her waist.
"Now, you loose-lipped cunt, how about-" it said, before Vaughn turned the blade in its hand.
And all the feelings she'd been holding back, every little shred of pure terror, lifted up their heads and roared.
Chanel screamed, loud. It was like fire was forcing itself into her flesh, ripping, tearing, pure agony a sight to behold. Tears were being squeezed from her ducts, as the pain just wouldn't stop. It wouldn't stop.
"-THIS! YOU WANT MORE OF THIS, HUH?"
It ripped the blade out. Chanel could feel her own blood seep through the back of her jacket and pool around her body on the floor. Like she'd slipped in the shower, and couldn't get up, wouldn't get up. She watched through clouded eyes as it took the blade in its filthy simeon hands and struck downwards.
Her arm, an angels arm, dove in front of her to catch the blade. Again, fire erupted. The blade didn't linger this time, removed quickly before striking down again, aimed at her chest. Her other arm tried to protect her, to no use. Her arms were only annoying vines, simply swatted away as the blade met her stomach and stayed there for only a few moments more than her arm.
Even before blade sunk into her gut, she knew that it was only a matter of time before her stupidity, her arrogant nature, everything that was her caught back up. This was it, right? This was the way that she deserved to go? Destined to die at the hands of a crazed patriot infatuated with its own jingoistic nature?
...
No.
No, it wasn't going to end like this, she wouldn't let it.
No one decided what happened to Chanel fucking Martin.
Not ANYONE, ANYTIME, EVER.
The blade came down again, for the third time, and even with her arms fit for her own crucifixion, she was ready. Before it reached her stomach, she grabbed it. It's arm, for all it's strength, hovered there for a moment, the blade suspended in the air like a mobile above a small baby. And then...Chanel knew the one way to hurt a man.
GROIN KICK!
Almost instantly after her foot connected with the barren wasteland that was Vaughn's nether regions, his arm was weakening, and Chanel took that moment by the reigns. Her other hand grabbed the box cutter, but Vaughn was almost just as quick to recover, also getting its slimy hands on the blade. The pain rocketing back, but still ever prominent on her person, Chanel tried to shove herself forward, to catch her so-called killer off guard.
It persisted, trying to push the blade forward. The brief moment where the blade wasn't pushed towards Chanel, she had gotten of her back, onto her knees, and her other hand grasped the blade. She was still crying, still shaking, still burning as her arms worked their hardest not to give up, not to let it win.
"Give up, you stupid whore, just die!" Vaughn yelled, and tried pushing forward again. She wanted to scream at it, hurt it, hurt it bad enough so that she wouldn't have to keep fighting, she didn't want to fight. But at the same time, she couldn't let it win, she couldn't give up until it stopped.
And soon enough, the two were on their knees, hands grasping the blade in between them like a tug-of-war down to its last breath. Neither side was moving, Vaughn still had the glint of satisfaction in his eyes, and Chanel still crying, shaking, bleeding around her. She was loosing blood, a lot of it, she could feel it running down her arms and stomach. She couldn't see it, but she imagined it swirling around her, sucking her up.
Her head was becoming light, the fire in her arms swimming back to her subconscious, clawing, screaming, PAIN. It was hard to see, and sooner or later he would know, and finish it. She didn't want to die this way, not to this....THING.
After a few more seconds of struggling, it spoke again. The words were barely making it through, since it was getting so much....harder.....to......keep.......conscious........
"You need to die, you cunt, your parents don't want a whore like you back."
An accidentally vocalised sob.
"What's that? Hit a nerve? Your mother was probably such a slut that she'll replace you after you die, yeah?"
One more sob, the tears fell far.
"Your dad's gonna so proud that a real man got rid of some useless little bitch, right? I doubt he wanted you anyway, not one parent in America would ever be proud of you, cun-"
*crack*
Her fear and pain was replaced by rage, pure rage. He obviously wasn't prepared for this, because sooner than even the cameras watching them could register, he was knocked down onto his back. Vaughn yelled out, and the thing above him soon got the better grip. Still fast, faster than anyone could see, the blade was out of his hands. Before he could raise a hand in his defence, the blade entered his neck.
Chanel saw the blood seep out of his neck, and didn't care one bit. The utility knife was grasped in her ever weakening hands, raised high above her head, as her rage funnelled itself into the knife.
*shnk* It buried itself into his neck again.
*shnk* It sunk into his shoulder.
*shnk* It stabbed through his clothing, into his stomach
*shnk* again
*shnk* and again
*shnk* and again
And she kept on going, the blood coming out of every freshly sliced orifice.
She kept going, stabbing and stabbing and stabbing and stabbing and stabbing and stabbing and stabbing and stabbing and stabbing and stabbing.
And he was slowly
Dripping
All
over
the floor.
Male Student 29: Vaughn Pearson - Eliminated
...and then he stopped moving.
If Chanel could have grabbed a mirror, and seen the person thing that was mounted the body boy beneath him, it wouldn't have been her, no, it wouldn't have been her. She couldn't kill a person, no, it wasn't possible, not even...not even...not even....NO IT DIDN'T HAPPEN!
The knife fell to the floor, clattering loudly as the only voice in the room started to sob.
It worked.
She always told herself she wasn't cut out for this thing, she was telling Clare that only...only how long ago was it. No, she couldn't have done this, not to someone, not to anyone, Vaughn was dead, he wanted to kill her, she killed him instead, she was hurting, she was bleeding, what....
...she was bleeding.
...run, Chanel. Just run. Run.
Instead of doing what she wanted to do, grab the bag, grab her things, get out, get out, get out, she fell to the floor. Blood, blood everywhere, on the floor, it splashed around her as she struggled to get up again. The floor couldn't hold her feet, she was slipping, too weak, too small. Her hands dug themselves into the wood, chipping and cracking under pressure.
I...I can't...please...Mom, I'm hurting...please, don't watch just turn away.
Everything was becoming heavy, out of control, fucking up her mind. She couldn't see, even though her eyes had long since stopped tearing up. It was so close, the door was right there as she tried her best to get up.
She grabbed the door frame, her cracked and bloody fingers clasping ahold of the hinge. It couldn't hold her up on its own, she had to...there.
Chanel was on her feet, but the pressure rocketed down on her head, trying to bring her down.
No.
Get
me
out
of
here
now
please
Please
PLEASE
GET
ME
OUT
OF
HERE.
And Chanel fell through the door, leaving the devastation behind her.
((Chanel Martin continues in Rescue Me))
