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The sun is down, now. I can't help but check my phone every five seconds, but time seems frozen, and it doesn't get any closer to nine. Fifteen minutes of waiting feel like an eternity. And during this eternity, anything could happen. Anything. He could hit her. She could die. He could die.

I can't help but think about those words I said to her. Or maybe hit him with the car if you can. What would happen if she did ? Would she become a fugitive ? Would we become fugitives ? Would we just spend our lives running, or would authorities hear us out when we would claim that abuse was all that house was ? But then, wouldn't we just spend our lives running anyway, even if he kept on living ? Would he ever stop looking for her ? Is this even an option is his brain ?

Each second is ticking in my brain, and each second is a ringing in my head that I can't refrain. I cannot wait, but I cannot look forward to facing him again either. As much as I want to help, as I want to get her out ; the last thing I want is to see his face again. Seeing him from afar earlier today was painful enough. He simply inspires rage and disgust in me, and nothing less. I did not think it was possible to hate someone more than I hated myself, but he proved me wrong. If I had been stronger, I would have killed him with my own hands.

I walk in circles, hidden behind a fluffy bush across the street from the great but cold house I know Cate could never have chosen, hiding as well as I possibly can. I cannot let myself be visible until it is time to execute my poor plan, but inside of me, I am afraid he has already spotted me when he drove back from the theater with Cate on the passenger seat; even though I hid there hours before I could even start spotting the car in the distance.

And what if she doesn't show up ? What if – because of fear, most probably – she doesn't dare try to walk out of this room she shares with him ? What if she goes to sleep next to him like every night for month, her heart aching because she knows I am waiting for her, my own heart filled with real, warm love ? What if this is only a dream ? An illusion we will never reach ? What if I am bound to never reach her again ?

And as I watch the minutes get closer to nine, my uneasiness does nothing but increase. Just five minutes away from the time I told her I would ring her bell at, my heart is beating so loudly and so heavily that I am more than sure it could burst. Four minutes, and I can see stars all around, sparkling my view of the world. But I know they aren't the one's in the sky ; these ones are covered by thick grey rain clouds, and they are ready to burst open. Three minutes, and I feel dizzy. My vision isn't only scattered with bright white dots, it is now blurry, shapes hardly defined or discernable from one another. Two minutes, and my legs seem to give up. I cannot feel them anymore, and I feel the cut of the tree bark on the palm of my hand as I look for material support in this fading world. One minute, and I know I am walking through the street, despite the fear, the stars, the blurriness and the lack of force pulling me together. I can fell the asphalt under my feet, and it is more terrifying that it has ever been. But a thought takes much more time to form in my mind than walking up to the front door of this – oh ! so cold – house.

And it is nine, now. I can hear a clock bell ringing in my head. It sounds exactly like the one ringing while I was watching my Romeo die in front of me. It is horrifying. It is bewitching. And my hand is ready to knock. It is so close to the door now, even if it seems to be moving so slowly, it is so close. I wonder if it will make any noise at all, being so horribly slow. But I don't need to knock. I don't need to make any noise. The door opens by itself without I even touch it just slightly. It opens, and I can't help but press my eyelids tightly together to stop any tear from falling. This is the moment to show strength, not vulnerability.

The touch of two soft hands on my cheeks don't make me open my eyes again. The fear took control, even though I promise myself it wouldn't. A slap is nothing. A single blow is nothing. How can I be so afraid ? But the voice. This voice. Unmistakable.

"Diana, open your eyes, my darling. It's me, Cate. Open your eyes, my love."

It is her. Her tired face, but yet so gorgeous, staring right back at me the second my eyes snap back open. Her ocean gaze is filled with a kind of love I missed so much and longed to see for so long, even if I repressed the need for weeks. I needed her. I need her. Next to me. With me.

But she is not alone. Two small blond head are holding a part of her – any part they can get. Two miniature mal versions of her. Her two treasures. Her sons. Even as someone who isn't a fan of children, I could never say anything bad about the two blonds. They took so much after their mother ; it is even crazy to witness. But they are shaking with the same kind of fear I am.

"Cate."

She only replies by closing the gap between us and giving me the most subtle and quick, yet passionate and loving kiss that could have ever been given.

"I love you, Diana."

"I love you," I can only whisper back.

"We have to go," she hurriedly says as she draws her kids behind her outside the house, with no backward glance.

"What happened ?" I ask quickly, following her footsteps toward the car, "Did you sneak out on him ?"

A light of bravery mixed with fear flashes in her eyes.

"No. He found me in the boys' room and knew I was up to something. He was about to chain me again, so I took the closest lamp and hit him with it. He was out when we left, but he might not be for much longer."

The mention of chains makes me want to throw up, but I try to hide it from her and help her buckle up her sons with my shaky hands. We do not need to speak as we try to hurry as much as possible, pushed by the fear of er monster of a husband waking up and finding us. And no distraction happens util we finish our task, exchanging grateful glances while we close the door, reaching for each other's hand.

"You filthy little bitch."

The world stops again. My fingers still wrapped tightly around Cate's ; I turn around to face Andrew's most likely loaded gun. I can feel all the warmth drained from cate's body through her suddenly cold hand, and my own body feels just as freezing.

"Andrew, not in front of the bo..."

"Shut up, you cheating whore !"

The voice is loud enough to wake up the entire neighborhood, but no lights turn up in the street. There is nothing I can do but tighten my grip around my lover's hand, and I can feel her doing the exact same thing. I wish I could look into her eyes, but both of our gazes are fixed on the shiny metallic weapon point toward us.

"I told you I'd kill you if you came anywhere close to my wife, again. And you must've come close more than once if she knew to meet you outside tonight, huh ?"

I wish I could answer. I wish I could shout back that she is not his wife. She is an independent woman who met the wrong man and is in love with a teenager who knows how to love her back better than him. I wish I could something else but shake and break Cate's hand in mine.

"I told you. You didn't believe me, huh ? I'll fucking show you. I'll fucking show you..."

My body snaps back into reality as soon as I see him walking straight to me, the safety of his gun off. I can't help but walk backwards – away from him – and too soon my hand is empty. I want her hand in mine. I want to touch her when I go. I want to be with her. I know the blow is coming. The shot. It is coming straight to me. And I want her close. Closer. Unharmed, but I want her hand in mine. I want to touch her if I die. I want to feel her. Her skin. Her warmth. Her love.

"I love you," I can feel myself speak, or maybe just mouth out.

And the shot resonates inside my ears.

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i don't have much to say
oh yeah, actually, please check my new story collecting stars!! there's only four chapters out but it's already 45min long