The Runaways

-7

Surreal - Very strange or unusual : having the quality of a dream

The panic that coursed through me was similar to the feeling of seeing your mother's favourite porcelain vase falling off a table to be shattered into hundreds of pieces.

We're screwed, we're done, it was nice being alive.

Zayn lowered the radio from his mouth and looked up at us through his thick eyelashes that framed his hazel eyes. I parted my dry lips and glanced towards Harry with a shocked look in my eyes.

I couldn't move. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. 

Unlike Harry, I'm not able make quick rational decisions under pressure. Instead, I freeze up. I stood with my back pressed against a wall, the wet murky water had seeped into my shirt soaking down my back. If I was in my a right mind set I would have moved, but it was as if the wall was trying to comfort me with it's cool frame. My chest expanded and caved uncontrollably as I tried to steady my unruly breathing.  My lungs felt as if they were rippling in my chest; like a plastic bag hooked onto a tree branch blowing in the wind. 

We were going to get caught. Where were they going to take us? Why us, two basically homeless, uneducated, drug dealing teenagers? My dark thoughts spread like a greedy wildfire, through my head, destroying every bit of hope in it's path.

The dark space suddenly seemed smaller, the walls appeared to grow twice in size and Harry was towering over me like a skyscraper. One hand reached down and grabbed my elbow; the other rested on my lower back. I let myself be pulled from the wet floor. Harry desperately searched my eyes, and gave my shoulders a quick squeeze.

"Don't move" He mumbled lowly.

He swiftly turned towards Zayn. Grabbing him by the shoulders he hauled him out of the closet and into the darker room. Harry roughly pushed him until Zayn's chest was flush with the wall; his head tilted slightly. The wet moss pressed up against his face and Zayn closed one eye to keep the green fuzz from brushing against him. His face was contorted; his cheeks were stretched and his eye lid was pulled back against the wall. 

His radio slipped falling to the floor with a clink, as Harry quickly snatched up his hands and pulled them behind his back. He winced as Harry's forearm fiercely forced his back further into the wall.

Zayn's radio antenna had snapped off, the black plastic lay in mangled mess with colourful cords spewed out on the concrete floor. Harry had a ruthless glint in his green eyes, similar to the men upstairs, which terrified me. Harry could be childish and cute but has a whole other vicious side, that plays hide and seek between dimples and playful teasing.

Marching feet echoed through the basement, getting louder with every step. "Harry?" I mumbled nervously; to make sure he was hearing the footsteps as well. He seemed to understand because moments later he parted his lips to speak.

He dipped his head down to Zayn's ear "If you talk... I'll cut your fucking vocal cords out" Harry warned lowly; his deep voice laced with venom, he paused when Zayn swallowed thickly. His deep gravely voice echoed around the small space. Harry slowly ran his index finger down his throat tapping twice when he reached his vocal cords; his finger left a harsh white trail along his tanned skin. "Since you're in med school" he taunted darkly "I'm sure you know how serious a surgery like that is."

My eyes widened in surprise at Harry's sick threat, and I felt my throat tighten. 

"Are you quite finished your empty threats?" Zayn sneered, glaring into Harry's bright eyes. He quickly wiggled and turned out of Harry's grip, then shoved him back. Harry winced when his back made a sickening crack as it collided with the concrete wall behind him. His eyes squeezed shut and neck rolled back in pain. I cringed at the sound, surely they would have heard that outside.