Chapter 15
I guess I have to let myself take the fall before I'm prepared to hit the ground.
Once- not too long ago- Jess convinced me to sneak out at night. My father was at home so I couldn't escape through the front door without him noticing me. The only other exit I could think of was out my bedroom window, upstairs. I have upper body strength, but when I was climbing out onto the gutter railing I realized it wasn't stable due to years of being unkempt. I was too late by then. My fingers slipped and I plummeted to the hard, damp earth.
When I finally landed my breath was nowhere to be found.
That's what it felt like now, as I stand at the mouth of the cemented pathway. It was like an invisible figure hit me in the chest and knocked the air from my lungs; like I was hitting the ground all over again.
People say that the adrenaline, when it pumps through your veins, makes everything slow down, or make things a blur. Not in this situation though. The events are going as they happen in normal time, but it's my thought process that is fast and hurried.
Without thinking, I scream.
"HARRY!"
Six pairs of eyes, ranging from ludicrous glares to some jaws dropping from the sight of me, zero in on the spot I stand on. The man with the gun still has it tight in his grasp, and looks me over once, and then again. I stumble under their harsh gazes, but I seek Harry's the most. Once my eyes have locked with Harry's, all of his face frowns; his lips, cheeks, and brows.
One of the men, the darker toned one but equally as masculine─ if not more, moves quickly behind Harry to make sure he wouldn't turn and run. But I know that Harry wouldn't do that, not with me here at least. I've heard of these kinds of situations while watching the news. Someone will intervene, the victim will run, and the predators will focus their attention on the disrupter for payback. It's obvious that Harry wouldn't leave me here with these men.
I dash into the shadows with hazy thoughts. The dim light provides enough light as I come closer to see the injuries that Harry has received recently, judging from the blood trickling from the cut above his eye. There are bruises that mare his jaw, black and prominent.
"Shay, what are you doing here?" Harry snares, struggling in the shaved-headed man's hold. One of the others takes this opportunity to punch Harry in his torso while he's distracted. He doubles-over, groaning. I gasp in astonishment like it was me who was hit, not Harry. I never thought Harry would be this defenseless.
My brain goes into overdrive as I start towards Harry again, but before I could take two steps forward, another man─ the more lanky one though I could still see he is twice, if not three times bigger than me ─catches me by the arm, pulling it around my back and clamps down on my shoulder. I yelp in pain.
"So this is the infamous Shay," this man with the silver gun mouths twist up in the corner. I shiver from the predator glint that shows in his eyes.
"Don't even think about it, Derek," Harry warns with a low but fierce growl. He tries to escape the stronghold again but fails.
Derek holds the weapon with such an ease that it worries me he won't be scared to shoot if Harry provokes him.
"I don't know, Harry," Derek chuckles, "I'm sure Evan won't be too happy she interrupted our... festivities."
My body goes rigid, like Harry's does. Evan? As in the Evan that was in the studio? As in Evan that Harry beat up in the club just last night? Harry is watching Derek with an intense gaze, and I'm surprised Derek hasn't burned on the spot he stands.
What are you talking about? I want to say, but nothing comes out. My mouth is dry, palms sweating, and my shoulder aches. All my muscles are tense under the callous hands of my captor. I'm only a few feet away from him as I carefully watch Harry's expression change from worried to scared. I can't think of a time where I've seen Harry─ the man that walks up to a girl and demands a dance, who won't think twice before fighting someone, who isn't scared of anything ─afraid.
There's an unfamiliar click that cuts the silence, and I zero in on Derek's hand. He has his index finger hovering over the trigger when I notice that it was him who cocked the pistol.
"Put the gun down, Derek!" Harry yells. "She doesn't have anything to do with this. She's not even suppose to be here!"
Derek ignores him, slowly swiveling his body to face me. He looks me straight in the eyes. His are a dark brown, the kind that you pass on the street and think "He looks nice; he has such pretty eyes." But right now he only looks dangerous.
Derek keeps his eyes locked with my wide open eyes. He raises his right hand that holds the gun, not pointing it at Harry but at me. I choke on the air in my lungs, squirming which only makes the man hold my arms even harder. My back arches, and my legs give out from the spike of stinging pain shoots from my arm to my spine. The hard ground can be felt digging into the skin over my knees.
The gun point follows me as I fall. Derek's expression is blank, not giving anything away; he almost seems content with the idea of shooting someone. And that someone is me...
I didn't have time to dwell on the thought as a yelp is emitted from behind Derek. My first thought is Harry's hurt, but it's dismissed when Derek's hand arm is pulled back and the gun goes off, the bullet bouncing off the walls above. I flinch from the sound it made; it was loud enough that my ears ring slightly.
My catcher has released me, and heavy footsteps run to what sounds like bones crunching. Through the darkness, I find that three of the five men are passed out on the floor, and Harry's currently hovering over another one. The man that was holding me is racing towards them, but something shines in his hand.
I shout, "Harry, behind you!"
He moves fast, so fast that he was a blur. Harry hears my call and whips around just in time to ward off the man with his arm, knocking the man on his back. The gun flies from his hands on the ground a few feet away. Harry busies himself with kicking the man in his torso as he grunts. I don't bother with telling him to stop because I know he won't. Instead I silently crawl forward, dragging my limp legs behind me. Right now I couldn't care less about my clothes, or how cold it is.
I'm arms length away from the pistol when there's movement on the ground. I observe the four unconscious bodies spaced out, but I only count three. I look for Harry like it's a reflex and he's still suspended above the man, not paying attention that the man who was holding him back only a few minutes ago, is back on his feet.
I can't find my voice to tell Harry to watch out again, and I do the only thing I can: reach for the gun.
When I turn back to the scuffles of shoes on the pavement, I rise to my unsteady feet, my whole being is shaking. Harry is tries to quickly maneuver around the man and to me, but the man anticipates his move a second before it happens. An arm is wrapped around Harry's neck and hooks through his elbows behind his back.
The foreign feeling of the gun wavers in my right hand as I slowly point is at in the general direction of the man and Harry. I've never so much as held a gun before, let alone shoot one. I know my dad keeps one in his room for safety proposes, but I've never known him to use it in my lifetime. When I discovered his pistol one night, he gave me a lecture that guns shouldn't be played with, and they're extremely dangerous. He told me that if I were to ever have to need to use one, make sure it's for a good reason and not bad.
I'm not sure my father would approve of me using this gun now, but I'm almost positive that he would do the same if he were here.
The man, still tightly gripping Harry, spins around to face me. A deadly look fills the unfamiliar eyes that glance at me and then to the gun in my hands.
"Shay put the gun down!" Harry yells, bending and twisting in his encirclement. I can't form a response to him as the other man speaks.
"He's right Shay," he smirks, "You might want to listen to him."
I don't look at the man when he addresses me. Instead, I keep a locked gaze with Harry, which is the only thing stable since even my stance is weak and bent at the knees. I feel like he's trying to tell me something without using words, but I can't tell what. He's notices that my brows frown in question, and he starts to mouth one word.
Run.
Faster than I processed what he said, Harry lifts his leg and stomps on the instep of the man's foot. The guy grunts, his arm retreating from Harry's neck. Harry then head butts the man's nose without looking, but he hits home. Frightened of what he might do next, I follow Harry's advice and run back to the stoop of his flat.
The cold air nips at my flushed cheeks, and stings my throat as I erratically take in air. I almost trip over my feet many times but I ignore the protest from my aching muscles and keep running back to the street.
As I reach the steps, I'm not able to hear the rustling behind me. I assume that must mean it's over, but that doesn't mean I can relax as I throw myself down on the hard, cold steps. I don't know if Harry's alive or if he'll be walking out of there in the matter of minutes.
I stare at the silver gun that is still limp in my hand. I note that there are spots of blood on the handle and I know that it's mine even before I see the scraps on the inside of my palm. I must've scratch the skin when I fell on the ground and didn't feel it. It doesn't matter anyways; I've been through worse injuries in the past few hours.
I sense him before his hand reaches my vision and takes the gun gingerly from my lap. I realize that I've been silently crying when the warm tears streak down my face.
"What the hell was that back there?"
I flinch away from his voice though it's not loud at all. Everything seems closer since the ringing finally went away. The images start flooding back of Harry hovering over unconscious bodies, breaking their noses, and looking relentless. I stiffen when he leans down, but I don't look to him.
"Shay," he says, "Talk to me."
"I need to go," I answer weakly with a dry, rough throat. I attempt to stand and move away from his towering figure, but firm fingers dig into my arms. My head snaps up to him, "Let go of me!" All that I could see is Harry in the dim lights, punching the men repeatedly and I'm afraid he may crack again.
Harry sharply inhales, scouring my cut and bruised face, and I can see my reflection in his black eyes; I know what he's seeing.
"No," Harry stands his ground, "Not until you give me some answers." His hands tighten even more, to where his fingers meet around my arm.
"I said, let me go, Harry!" I lose my footing and slide down to the next step, one step closer to Harry. His grip falters from the sudden move, and goes to steady me again. I take this as my chance to whirl out of his way and run off the steps, but I don't stop there. I veer to the right, not caring where I may be heading; I just want to get away from Harry.
I risk a quick glance behind me and regret it as I see Harry's just a yards away and gain speed. I force my legs to work faster and round a corner. My diversion is short lived when his footsteps are right behind me and he grabs my shoulder. I howl in discomfort, but when Harry's arms circle around my legs, I stop. I'm lifted in the air suddenly, and Harry's shoulder jabs into my abdomen harshly.
I yell and kick but Harry still has a strong hold on me. He ignores my protest and carries me back around the corner, and the few pedestrians stare at us but don't intend to help me.
The last thing Harry says before he opens the front door of his house is: "I'd wish you learn."
+++++
OOOO lots of drama!
Tell me what you think! AND how do you feel about hearing some of Shay's story next chapter?
Follow me at
ash-rawr.tumblr.com
and
1D_haz_boo (instagram)
-A xxx