It was a cool Monday morning, the ice still sticking to the grass that was spread out on both sides of a gravely road, strip by strip, in front of a row of warehouses. Dan thought that was the nicest the sheets of green had ever looked. The droplets shimmering in the newly rising sun like little diamonds on a sea, an ocean, of emerald blades.
He smiled to himself. He was even starting to sound like her, all descriptive like. He shook his head. He didn't have time to think about her, he only had time to swallow the bubbly nerves rising up his throat at and knock on the door he had walked an hour to reach. The door. Number 5. Her door. Number 5.
The door that led to endless nights of delight with her. The one girl he felt, he truly ever loved. Because, well, because Zoe left didn't she? Why should he have to wait or her to come back, when she clearly never would! The answer was simple, he didn't. And he wasn't going to anymore. That is why he was currently waiting outside a door that seemed to not feel like opening. Until it did.
And the sight that awaited him caused his stomach to churn.
I woke with a jolt, causing the small feather-light figure beside me to shift onto her side. Her face contorted into one of pure, sleepy bliss. Ensuring me that she was safe. Whereas the nightmare I just woke from, it pleaded me otherwise.
I shake the tiredness out of me, much as I can, not wanting to think of troubles that would be at fault of causing my consciences to slip into a doubtful state. For that would make me weak, vulnerable. And that would make me unable to protect her.
And isn't that the reason she is her? In Safe house Number 5? In freaking Witness Protection…I thought so.
Slowly rising, sliding my numb arm from where it was propping her up, I walk towards the miniature kitchen in the corner of the room. I reach for the coffee pot, open it, and tip out the remnants of last night's, now cold, batch. As I watch the bitter brown sludge swirl down the plug hole, I begin humming to myself. A song she was playing, on the guitar that was currently leaning on the wall in the corner, last night I think.
I look out the window that is situated above the sink, and smile slightly at the beautiful, almost homely, "neighbourhood" of Witness Protection installed Warehouses outside. Looking back down at the task at hand, I twist the tap, letting water flow, and rinse the kettle with the crystal clear liquid.
Filling it up, I place it back on its perch and wait for the magic of electricity to do its job. I lean back against the kitchen island behind me and run my hands over my face, trying to wish the sleep away.
"Making it without me then?"
I'm startled by a sweet Scottish accent from behind me, causing me to jab my hip into the island's corner as I jump to turn around.
As I turn my eyes land on the most beautiful sight. I grin goofily and open my arms to warmly envelop it. She runs to me and slams into my chest, almost routinely wrapping her arms around my torso. I breathe in her Vanilla scent and sigh into her auburn hair as I rest my chin onto the ruby, silk bed.
"How'd you sleep?" I whisper. "Anymore nightmares?"
Ironic, isn't it? How she's the one with a nightmare problem yet I had one that was quite possibly a million times worse than hers.
She shakes her head no, and wraps her arms tighter around me. As I do the same to her waist, she suddenly lets out a squeal. My whole body tenses and I hold her out at arm's length, analysing her every facial expression and all body language.
"What is it?" I enquire. "What's wrong?"
She merely lets out a choked cry and doesn't answer. But she does point to the direction of the window behind me. I follow her shaky finger and am met with the sight of about 14 black vans parked outside the warehouse, shimmering and bumpy from the glass's texture. A voice from over my shoulder squeaks.
"They found me."
I'm about to yell to her to run, to run and don't look back, when a door crashing open, closely followed by a loud scream is emanated from behind me. I spin around to see her being dragged off by a uniformed man. I cry out for her but it is no use over the loud shattering of the kitchen window.
With shards of glazed sand blanketing me, I attempt to crawl to her, croaking her name over and over. But to no avail, as bellowing footsteps are approaching me and her calling out for me to help her and all I can feel is black?
The one thing I thought…
My dream was coming true. She was going to die, and it was my entire fault.