Movement was stirring me in my sleep. The faint sound of an engine roared in slight vibrations beneath me. I opened my eyes quite rapidly. I tend to wake up abruptly, questioning my whereabouts and my surroundings before I begin to remember.
My neck was craned back, lying lazily against the leather seats of a car. It hurt from the odd position, but I didn't mind it very much as I lifted my head from the seat.
Outside to my right was a pool of darkness. In front of me were the bright lights known as headlights that guided us through the night. My head turned as I rubbed my eyes from sleep, quietly taking a glance at Harry's figure.
His posture was straight, perfectly situated and his position the same as when I fell asleep; one arm on the center console, one large hand wrapped around the steering wheel. By the alert look on his face he barely seemed tired. It seems to me we've been driving for hours now. I don't understand him. There has to be some robotic explanation to him.
Instead of asking him what the time was -- being more than aware now that he won't answer me -- I checked the time near the car radio, blowing air out of my mouth when I saw it was three in the morning.
Was he aware that I was awake?
Did he care?
Probably not. Having woken up, I rubbed my eyes again, yawning softly before staring ahead at the road. I'm curious about his voice, the way his lips move when he talks. No one would be able to sit here for hours in a car with the silent company of a stranger like Harry. One that talks with his actions rather than his words.
I sighed, placing my hands on my lap. My tongue skimmed across my lips, moistening the slightly dry skin. I wanted to eat something, but was too afraid to ask. Plus, it was three in the morning. Eating would just have to wait. I ate before I left, but unfortunately I enjoy food a lot.
My lips pressed into a firm line, trying to avoid making even the slightest bit of conversation. I know the gun he had loaded was probably put away now since I fell asleep and stopped irritating him so frequently. Even though my mouth was going against my own control I wanted to say a few things, prod him until he spoke to me.
"We're not stopping at a motel or anything?" I asked finally, turning my head to look at him. The light from the headlights reflected slightly into our car, illuminating the small area a bit. I could still see every inch of his flawless skin.
Harry didn't reply -- as usual. His only reaction was to keep his head straight.
More than ready to shout at him, I inhaled deeply. He was driving me crazy, without having said a word. I angrily bit on my bottom, almost drawing out the metal taste of blood but I refrained from doing so. Searching into my pockets, I brought out my chapstick. These days I've been getting cracked lips and it's been annoying. I can't seem to understand how some people deal without chapstick.
The fruity smell made my stomach a bit queasy. It was a sweet smell, inhaled with an empty stomach. Somehow the smell triggered my hunger to turn into little stomach pain.
"Are we ever going to stop and eat somewhere?" Once again, I'm the one asking questions.
"I'm really hungry. And I'm sorry for bothering you and I know it's three AM but I'm --"
"Don't make me shoot you."
My mouth went dry. It didn't matter what kind of chapstick I wore, it went completely dry and I'm sure my astonishment stretched considerably far like the drop of my jaw. His voice was so...deep, husky, smooth like butter, yet raspy like a rough surface all at once. His accent was thick, British, and infatuating. It made my heart drop into my stomach, my eyes widened in horror, yet it was mostly consumed by the shock.
His voice took out the reality of the threat, replaced it with a dumbfounded reaction, and took all my words out of my mouth just like his threat intended. Don't make me shoot you. The first words Harry said to me were in the form of a threat; not quite surprising at all. Now I knew for sure he wasn't fond of me. His actions were enough, but this reassured me that he definitely doesn't find me charming.
I wanted to argue with him so he'd keep talking. So he'd satisfy my hunger to make conversation. I'm a female. Of course I want to make conversation. He is just some man trying to get me home and get me off his back. I'm quite annoying, and I must admit that, but I really don't want his voice to disappear for the rest of the trip. However, I knew those were the only words I'll ever hear from him. Nothing else but the usual.
Silence.
*
I slept for another two hours maybe until the sun began to rise. The sensitivity of my eyes newly open from hours of rest caused a sting the second I opened my eyes. I squinted, blinking to rid of the sudden sting. My vision cleared up as I stared out the window, realizing we were at a gas station in the middle of nowhere. The driver's door was closed, Harry missing.
My lips curled into a sour frown. I had a bothersome taste in my mouth as I searched the perimeter. The gas station was small, old in fact. If we passed by I'd think it was not in service. When I turned to my left, I found Harry filling up the car's tank.
He had dark shades on, covering his pale green eyes. His heart-shaped, plump, and pink lips were in the straight line out of the anger he always seemed to have. The piercing on his lip was still visible from my position, the one on his eyebrow following the sculpture of his facial expression.
I glanced over at the concession store, immediately feeling hungry from all the snacks that must be in there. He can't really make me go on this trip starving. Or maybe he can.
Determined and highly famished, I escaped the confines of the car. The air was thick and hot, my flannel having been abandoned a few hours ago. All that was left was a white, slightly loose tank top with sleeves the width of two fingers. I walked towards the tall, quiet man.
I stopped when we were face to face, his body on one side of the car filling up the tank and mine on the other. "Harry?"
Again, his attention was diverted to the pump he was using. His face was tilted down, so I knew he wasn't looking at me. This kind of vibe that radiates from him makes me irritated, but I have no other choice but to tolerate it. I could still remember the few words he spoke to me, and the way his voice silenced every single thought bouncing in my skull.
"Can I have some money? You know, to get something to eat. I'm really hungry and I --"
His large hand slammed against the top of the car, causing my eyes to widen and a gasp to illicit through my throat. My lips parted as I stared up at him, seeing as he was already turning around. I then glanced at the top of the car, seeing a ten dollar bill sitting there. A silence overtook us, my lips pursed as I took the bill from the surface and quietly made my way through the concession store.
Immediately, my eyes scanned over the freezers at the back of the store. I ate whatever I wanted and still had a type of fast metabolism. It wasn't every day I feasted on junk, but I'm really in the mood for it now.
An old man with a grey sleeveless coat and a white t-shirt sat the cashier, flipping through a magazine. He heard the bell that seemed to fill the air with a melody. The old man looked up, and sent me a smile. I only returned the kind gesture, knowing I should get my things and go before Harry bursts in here telling me to hurry.
The freezers were filled with tempting things, but I only took out a can of Coca Cola and I guessed Harry might want one as well. Then I went over to grab a bag of chips, but was rudely interrupted by the sound of maybe thundering?
I focused my ears more, sighing and wondering how it could be sunny outside and thundering when I heard the sound, much closer than before, but it wasn't thundering. The bag of chips was fisted in my right hand as I felt my heart stop. Harry was out there, someone had a gun, and I was alone without his protection like he promised my father. Still, I dropped everything in my hands, watching the old man by the cashier now fully on alert.
"Young lady, please get down!" He shouted at me with concern, the wrinkles on his face made him wise and mature. I found that his concern for me was kind and brave, which made me listen as I crouched down behind the stand of chips. My heart was lodged into my throat from sudden fear, especially without Harry here to protect me.
What if they shot him already? Are those people even here for me or for robbing a tiny concession store?
My mouth remained dry, my heart at loss for pumping blood. I held tightly onto the metal bars of the stand which contained the canned goods. I hid my body behind it, hoping that in a while Harry would be here, taking me away from this scene. I shut my eyes tightly, aware that I should be watching my surroundings but I couldn't withstand seeing men walk in to take me away, possibly.
There was a sudden silence, until another gun fire was heard. Multiple ones flying through the air, menacingly hogging the sound waves around our perimeter. The gun had to be a machine; the speed of the sound was wavering in my ears like memories. I saw fear form on the old man's face as a figure, crouched and quite rapidly, slammed through the door. Bullets soared through the glass windows of the store, and at this the old man crouched beneath his counter.
Rappers and food were being penetrated, but yet no skin. A blood curling scream pierced through my chest as it ripped through my throat muscle. I gripped the metal bars tighter, breathing heavily as someone's hands grabbed my crouched body by the hips. A loud pant escaped me as I was pressed to a hard chest, inhaling deeply.
Harry's body turned, shielding me away from the horrible scenery. At loss for words, I only did what I thought he wanted me to do. I buried my face into his chest, using his body as a human shield for protection. At the distance of our bodies, you'd think it was intimate. Yes it was, but not the way intimacy would immediately signal.
The bullets never stopped. It's sounds were piercing through my chest every time I heard it, causing me to shudder against Harry. His hand pressed tightly against my back, the other arm of his aiming for the entrance of the concession store. He had the black pistol from his car in his hand.
"What's going on?" I breathlessly asked him over the bullets.
Harry immediately shook his head. "Don't talk. Listen," he ordered harshly. I looked up at him to see no fear, no emotion, just an angry frown taking over his face. Anger was his constant emotion, even in the time of most fear. In time in which death could be among us, Harry remained calm and focused. A trait given only to the best of us.
"Those men are from the Black Pool Confederacy. They're looking for you. They'll kill me, and anyone in the way. So if you want to be safe, don't you dare leave my arms. Understood?" He quickly barked at me, pale green eyes watching the door.
I nodded, wishing nothing but to get out of this as fast as possible. Until just minutes ago I thought Harry was irritating and only influenced a bad vibe to corrupt our atmosphere while on the road. However, when the scenery changes into such thing among us now, I'm forced to feel safe in his arms. Not comfortable, but secured like he was meant to make me feel.
The second that bell rung, Harry's gun when off. I clenched my jaw, much alike to what Harry was doing with his, and buried my face so hard into him I knew he felt my breath and every inch of my nose. I didn't see anything, too busy with my face buried into his chest.
Again, a silence over took us. I glanced over at the door, not being able to see much but a body dressed in black, a ski mask over their profile, and a machine gun tossed to the floor from the impact of a fall. Blood pulled by the head, the liquid seeming almost like a deep red silk robe lying near his head. The bullet immediately persecuted his last breath, and in an instant he was dead.
Harry pulled his arms out of the aisle and back around my body. I peeked over at the old man who stood now, stupidly giving himself away and looking at the dead body in horror. I wanted to tell him to hide, that he was safe where he was hidden, but it was too late as a group of three men filed through the door, wearing bullet proof attire and black ski masks to conceal their identities.
"If you want the money, you can have it! There's nothing else to this store anyway." The old man rapidly, and nervously, stammered at the criminals.
A man turned his head to look at the old man. "We don't want your money." The voice was deep and smooth, muffled lightly by the ski mask. He rose his arm, aiming his gun at the old man. The bullets fired so fast, my heartbeat was beaten by a long shot.
I shuddered against Harry's warm body. Glimpses of the sweet, poor old man dropping to the floor made me want to shriek out in pity for him, but I let myself stay silence as to not give away our location. My hands grasped his shirt into fists, terrified of the surroundings that engulfed us now. If I could use my intelligence to save us, I would. But being book smart only goes so far.
Another voice rose from the pits of Hell to mock my fear and tension more. "Aw, Harry, I know you're only protecting her! We just want to borrow the girl," it teased, chuckling right afterwards. This voice was higher pitched than the last, more playful, but in the most darkening ways playful can be.
Harry growled beneath his breath, pulling me tighter to his body. The skin that rose from his shirt being fisted by me touched against my own skin that revealed when my tank top rose up on my body from the rustling of our clothes against each other. His skin was warm against mine was all I registered before he gently, slowly cocked his gun behind my back.
An angrier voice broke out, almost sounding like a diseased dog barking furiously. "We know you're in here! Unless you want to do this the hard way, hand over the girl!"
"We promise we won't touch her! Not for a little while," the same teasing voice laughed.
I widened my eyes as footsteps neared our direction. My breaths increased, Harry's becoming fast-paced with anger and focus. I braced myself to be caught when Harry used his leg to knock over a glass concealed container of some food. It knocked over an aisle over, and to our pleasure the men were sprinting in that direction.
As they made their way down the aisle, Harry literally picked my body from the floor. With one arm wrapped around my waist, he sprinted towards the door. My lips parted in shock from the events. I was put down onto the concrete outside, back into the thick, hot air with almost instant perspiration surfacing against my skin.
I glanced at Harry's fast-moving body. "Get in the car, right now!" He yelled, his shades were no longer on his face, so his green eyes were glaring at me until I was summoned to get into the car.
Once inside, he didn't hesitate to press against the gas pedal. I gasped at the sudden speed. My fingers shakily reached for the seat belt, fumbling with it until I heard it click into place.
While he drove, with both of his hands tightly grasping the steering wheel now, I stared at him with wide eyes. I waited just five seconds for an explanation, knowing I wasn't going to get it. Whether he spoke or not, I could sense that he understood fully what was going on. Something my father had left out completely.
"What's going on, Harry? Why do those men want me?" I asked quickly, my tongue almost tripping over itself at the speed and panic of my words.
Harry remained silent, which was quickly irking me.
"Harry, why --"
"Do you ever just shut up!?" He roared. Stunned by his volume and his tone, I felt as if I shrunk in my seat. There wasn't a word that could escape my mouth when he turned his head to stare at me. His piercing, pale green eyes made me want to tape over my own mouth.
To my surprise, he continued. "Shut the fuck up, Catalina! My job is to protect you, not to make fucking conversation, you understand that!? I don't want to get to know you, and I don't give a fuck what your favorite color is! The less you know right now, the better!"
A vein became prominent on his neck from the fury. He ran a hand through his thick curls in frustration, showing the most emotion he has today. His words did hit something inside of me, however. I'm a little saddened and angry that'd he speak to me such way. I can easily tell my dad what an asshole he was, and that he mistreated me. But I'm not that stupid. I'm sure my father won't care as long as I'm alive.
I frowned, feeling offended and hurt by his words. "A poor old man was killed back there," I defended myself at a normal volume. "And I think --"
Harry interrupted me once more, this time his voice was dropped to a regular indoor volume. Still he was speaking harshly. "I've seen many more innocent people die, so don't take it upon yourself to pity that old man. Doesn't matter what happened to anyone else. I'm more concerned to what happens to your pretty little face. So let's keep everyone else out of it. Got it?"
I opened my mouth to speak, but he didn't even let me air out a syllable. "Good."
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