"Connie," I heard a voice whispering.
"Harry," I murmured into the dark. "Please. The sun's not up yet. You can stay here. Just lay down."
"Don't worry, sweetheart, you don't have to move."
His voice was rough, without emotions. Definitely not Harry's.
I quickly lifted my body still, my mouth left a loud scream without even realizing it before it was cut off by someone grabbing me from beside making me stand up; my arms wrapped behind my back by a man too strong to fight against.
He was even taller than Harry, his movements not even close to be as delicate as Harry's.
His other hand still shutting my mouth from screaming my lungs out. I could smell a mix of fragrances: cannabis, and that metallic spice I've always hated.
He continued pushing me forward, upholding almost my scared body until, with difficulty, we reached the main door down the hallway.
"Open the fucking door!" His voice was scratchy, impatient. The ones that make you feel tense, making you forget to ask yourself what the hell was going on, too busy thinking how to stay alive.
He brutally let out my right arm, as I murmured incoherent words against his hand glued to my face. I slowly reached for the key already in the lock. As I always left the door open for Harry come at whatever hour, the door didn't need to be opened.
I could hear his heavy breath branching out onto my back as his hands were shaking my body, a clear sign for me to hurry up.
Trembling, I turned the key on the right for quickly turn it on the left in order to open it again, hoping he wouldn't notice it.
Once we got out, down the emergency stairs, and then out on the freezing and chilly road, I noticed a mini van parked across the sidewalk we were.
And I then I heard him. His panic voice filled the quiet and calm neighborhood. I had to use all my little sore firmness left inside me to turn around and spot his shadow.
"Connie!"
I squeezed my eyes to focus my attention on his figure. He was advancing towards us at an abnormal speed, though he was still too far away for me to catch sight of his face illuminated by the poor street lamp's light, damn my bad myopia. The only thing I caught, was his messy hair that I used to tug whenever we were near, bouncing every time he would take a step.
I wanted to shout, say something, to hug him, kiss him, or just touch him; but all I did was start crying.
I let myself cry for the first time in years, realizing everything we had built together, was being destroyed, shattered, trampled in thousands and thousands pieces with no previous warning.
"Shit," he gasped, noticing Harry . "Shit. Get in, whore." I tried to push him with the little resistance I had left, trying to wast time as Harry was approaching us, yet too far. I could still hear him desperately shouting my name, in vain.
I was breathing hard, my lungs refusing to take in some of the freezing air of a December night. It did not help when the man angrily pulled a hat to cover my face. The tight fabric made impossible to inhale or exhale.
He harshly urged me in, as I fell with my head in the cold and rigid floorpan. After he closed the door, all the sounds outside were shut, and I could hear just my thoughts once he started the engine and started driving.
As I closed my eyes, I imagined about those emerald eyes that I was sure, I will never get the chance to feel burning against mine once more.
