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If That's Who I Am, Then I'll Fight Who I Am; Night, Day 5 (private)
Topic Started: Feb 15 2017, 06:35 PM (1,194 Views)
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
This place was familiar.

((Alvaro Vacanti, continued from When Can I Stop Being Bad?))

Even though it was dark, even though it was hard for his eyes to see, he still recognised this place. The hallways. The open rooms besides them. He had been here before. He had walked down this hallway before. The feeling of deja vu that emerged as he began to creep was growing and growing with every passing step. The gun had been laid to side in his hands earlier, but it was now raised. He had been here before. He knew it. He didn’t know when exactly and he didn’t know exactly where in the asylum it was but he knew it. He knew it. The feeling of the night was cold and all the thoughts from before still yet lingered in his mind but the one thing there, the one thought that prevailed, was the feeling of familiarity. He had been here before. He was sure of it.

The corpse in the middle of the hallway confirmed his suspicions.

He had stood there, for a while, looking at Jasper. At his corpse. At what he had done. Two days ago - no, more than that, he had forgotten - he hadn’t been like this. He was alive. Smiling. Talking to his friend.

And now he was like this.

A corpse.

And it was all Alvaro’s fault.

He knew what had to happen now.

He knew he had to do this.

But could he?

He didn’t know.

So he stepped forward. Past the corpse. There was a trail of blood, going past it. He took his steps, turned.


It was her.

She was there.

She was standing there.


The gun dropped from his hands. Clattered to the floor.


He knew what he had to do now.

“I need you to do something for me.”
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
He stepped forward. His face dropped. His eyes went up. Into Audrey's. Into her's.

"Please, I..."

He looked down. Away. Up again.

"...I can't do this anymore. I need you to..."

He stopped. Paused. Looked away, again.

"I need you to help me with something. I need you to-"

He breathed. In, out.

"I need you to do it for me."
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“Kill me.”

A pause.

“I need you to kill me.”
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He did it.

He said it.

Everything had stopped around the two of them. The world had become silent. The room had faded away, and now Audrey was the only other thing that remained. Her eyes. Her expression. He didn’t know what she was thinking. He could only look. He could only think. He could only hope that even after what he had done, even after killing all these people, that she still cared enough for him to do it. To help him.

There was a flash of movement.

There was a feeling of sharp pain, on his cheek, stinging and bulging and making the bruises underneath grow.

And immediately, Alvaro knew what Audrey’s answer was. She was talking, moving around the question. She was trying to make it seem like she didn’t know, but he knew. Her answer was no. She wasn’t going to kill him. She was going to leave him alone for him to continue being on this island and he knew that other people would find him and he knew that they’d hate him for what he did the people he had killed and they were going to shout at him for it they were going to try and take revenge they were going to fight and he was going to kill them he would have to and then it’d happen all over again and again and he’d be fighting and killing and fighting again.


He wouldn’t let that happen.

He had to die. Audrey had to kill him. Right here. Right now.

But she wasn’t.

She wasn’t letting him go. She wasn’t letting him leave.

So he had to make her. Attack him. Kill him. End his life.

He had to do it.

He had to make her.

He had to do something.

It was the only thing he knew, at this point.

The foot went up.
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The kick connected. Audrey fell. Crawled back.

He hadn’t hit her that hard, didn’t he? He didn’t know. Did he intend to kick her? Yes. Did he intend to attack her? Yes. Did he intend to kill her?

No. No. No. He didn’t. He didn’t. Maybe it was supposed to hurt her. Maybe doing that was unavoidable. He knew that. He had meant to kick her. He had meant to attack her. But she was on the ground. She was in pain because of what he did. Did he mean that? Did he intend to do that? He didn’t know. He knew what he did. He knew why he was doing it. He knew that this had to happen and that he had to do it but did it have to happen like this? Did he have to hurt Audrey in order to do it? He didn’t know. He didn’t know and he didn’t want to hurt Audrey but he had to because this had to happen he had to die she had to kill him but why did it have to be this way? Why did he have to hurt more people? Why did Audrey have to be on the floor, clutching herself in pain?

He didn’t know.

But he knew that this had to happen.

He stepped forward.

Raised his foot.

And then she spoke. Asked him not to kill her. Laid below his foot, hands clutched over her stomach. Begging for mercy. Looking into his eyes, hoping that he wouldn’t make her like the others.

And it was Audrey.

And she had been there, after the fight with Min-jae. She helped him. She believed him. She was willing to let him be with her.

And she had said no, when he told her to do it. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want his life gone.

And she had made him happy.

And she had made him feel wanted.

And she had been unlike everyone else who he had seen on this island. She didn’t hate him. She wanted to help him. She wanted to protect him.

He didn’t know what to do.

He didn’t know what to say.


But he knew she had to do it.

He knew that he couldn’t be here any longer.

“I’m sorry, but this has to-”

The first bullet hit his back, piercing through as his body stumbled forward.

The second bullet hit his lung, and the breath was torn out of his body.

The third bullet missed, and he heard the noise it made as ever so familiar.

The fourth bullet hit his stomach.

The body dropped.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]

It was cold. The blood - his blood - all over his body was warm. It seared. It burned. It hurt. Oh god it hurt. There was a space in his chest and it ached and it screamed and it dominated his mind and he could barely think about anything else other than it. He was hurt. He was in pain. Everything seared and everything hurt and everything on his body felt so hot and he thought it’d be different from this and he thought it’d be peaceful but it wasn’t and it hurt and it seared and it felt so warm against his skin and he couldn’t think he couldn’t feel anything else because it hurt it hurt it hurt and it burned and he couldn’t deal with it.

But above all, it felt cold.


A feeling, at the edge of his fingertips. On his arm. They weren’t there anymore. There wasn’t any pain. There wasn’t anything searing or screaming there. There was nothing. No feeling. He didn’t have any fingertips anymore. They were gone.

And it was spreading. The feeling was going through his body. Rising up through his arms taking away what was there until there wasn’t anything left for it to take.

Was this how Jasper felt, as he had bled out here?

Was this how Irene felt, after the bullet had hit her stomach?

He didn’t know.

He hadn’t felt the kick, as it impacted against his shoulder. He hadn’t felt anything as his body was turned over. The feeling was dull. Drowned out by everything else.

But the face standing above him brought him back, for a brief second.


She was holding the gun.

She had shot him.

And he didn’t know what was going to happen next.

Breathe in, breathe-




But he couldn’t he couldn’t breathe and he was looking up and she was staring at him and she had a smile on her face and he couldn’t breathe but he needed to breathe- needed to- needed to-


He tried moving his hands. He tried bringing them to his throat.

He couldn’t.


His hands shook, twitched as she looked him in the eyes.

And that was all they could do.
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It was warm. The blood - his blood - burned against his skin. It seared. It hurt. The pain had yet to stop raging through his body and it hurt it hurt and he couldn’t even describe it he couldn’t even think of anything to compare what he felt with this it hurt it hurt and he could barely think about anything else he could barely feel anything over the pain of the gun. But it was dulling. Fading. Going away. It was still there and oh god it hurt it hurt but it was leaving him. It was going away. Was this what they felt like? Was this how they died? He didn’t know. His body was warm and hot and in pain and he was scared and he could barely think and he didn’t think it’d be like this he thought it’d be better he thought it’d be a good think but it wasn’t and he was hot and in pain and he could barely think and he didn’t want it to be like this he didn’t want to go this way.

But he wasn’t cold, anymore. His body no longer felt the numbness spreading.

Because there was something - someone - touching him.

It felt warm.

Gentle. Nice.

And he could ignore the pain, for a moment.

He could ignore the feeling of the blood on his body.

Because there was someone. Above him. Looking at him. With a look on her face. An expression in her eyes. What was it? He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure what the name was. But there was something there. On her face. In her eyes. They were longing. She was smiling. Weakly. Her face was strained. Wet. He didn’t know what the word for that was, but he knew something. She cared. He was dying in front of her, and she didn’t want him to. She wasn’t like anyone else. Not like Min-jae. Isaac. Jonathan. Lily. Scout. Matt. Michael. Maria. Irene. Serena. Melanie. Aidan. Not like any of them. She liked him. He knew that now.

And she cared about him. She was comforting him.

He had to say something. She was like… a customer. She was being nice to him.

He had to pay that back somehow.

“Thank… you.”

Maybe she was lying to him.

Maybe her feelings weren’t genuine.

But he wasn’t going to question it. He didn’t have to. She was there, in front of him. Holding his arm. Smiling.

He didn’t have to be scared anymore.

The pain had gone, by this point. It had been growing duller and duller as time went on, until he could barely feel it anymore. His sight had also vanished. Colours, then shapes, then everything else as he had closed his eyes. His blood had cooled. Stopped burning against his skin. He wasn’t really sure what caused that, whether it was the numbness or time passing or whatever else could have caused this.

But it didn’t matter. Even after the pain had gone, even after he had closed his eyes, even after the feeling of the heat had gone from his body, he could still feel her hand, against his arm.

Maybe this wasn’t how they died. Maybe he’d been better off than them.

Maybe if he got the chance to see them again, he’d apologise. Say sorry. For everything he did.

Maybe they’d accept it. Maybe they - him, Barry, Jasper, Irene - could be friends again.

He’d just have to find out, at this point.

Breathe in, breathe out.


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