See The Sun Again

"I'll never need to see the sun again, there's enough light in your eyes to light up our little world. So take me, take me away. Kill me slowly, I'll never be the same." — Atreyu

***

My throat is trapped within his tight grip. The intruder presses his rough fingers deeper against my tender skin, molding his hand beneath my jaw. He has me locked in a deadly hold, unable to comprehend the fear rapidly overwhelming every corner of my terrorized mind. Foreign colors splash across my vision from suffering a dangerous lack of oxygen, as he forces me impossibly farther into the wall.

"Dónde está él?" the man growls, his mouth practically smothering my burning ear, the sensation of the hot breath eliciting a pain even more alarming than my consciousness slipping away. I desperately try to pry his hands from my neck, my weak fingers clawing at his arms and scratching at the hard layer of the stranger's skin, but my strength has already died from destabilized blood flow. Like a fish out of water, I squirm and wriggle between the intruder's stone body slammed against mine and the thick wall behind my crushing bones. None of my efforts are effective, though, as I remain fighting for air, screaming, with no way for any sound to escape its confines.

"Where is he?" the man then translates in an angry, seething voice, malice coating his thick, Spanish accent. The hatred in his tone crawls down my ear like a poisonous spider, agonizing my insides as it finally reaches my brain which struggles to understand the words. Where is he? I know better than to reveal any information, though even if I wanted to, I couldn't. My throat is too preoccupied being crushed within the man's painful chokehold.

Then, for a small second, the pressure of his grip around my neck lifts — though his hands don't completely free me — they allow just enough relief to allow me to intake short, frantic breaths. The air replenishing my veins is cold but welcomed as I engulf more and more, as if I had been one tick of a clock away from death. Well, maybe I had been.

With a river of oxygen once again pooling in my lungs, my darkened vision suddenly clears and I'm able to assess the situation visibly. I've never been this close to a man before — so close that I can feel his breath on my cheeks and his scent on my tongue. Close enough for him to have his hands wringing my neck. I then note the fuming, angry expression painted on his sharply defined face, a face which is rugged and dark, intimidating and mean. Cold. His eyes are black orbs searching to rip my soul from me, a ruthless glint in them which leaves me cowering somehow deeper into the wall.

"Respóndeme!" he barks the order in frustration which I struggle to understand. Writhing with pain at his mercy, I can't make sense of what's going on. How did this happen? What is going on, what will become of me? I can't answer, I can't talk. I'm still struggling to regain my breath, but by the way the intruder slams my head back against the wall to create an echoing smack which bounces off the sides of my mind, I can tell his patience is quickly running out.

"Preston James," the man lets the painfully familiar name rip from his throat, each syllable spoken slowly, to make sure his accent doesn't disguise it. He then repeats lowly, "Where is he?"

"I... don't... know..." I manage to gasp between quick breaths, cold tears streaming down my cheeks from my eyes squeezing closed too tightly. It's like I'm about to either explode or collapse from being deprived of air while fear swims through my veins, along with a new wave of terror from hearing the name Preston James. Whichever act my body undergoes, they'll both be catastrophic and deadly and I'm afraid.

"You do know," the man spits out, but he releases me and I crumble to the floor. I'm whimpering as pain expands to my every nerve, only dulled in comparison to dominating fear which continues growing.