It was dark, the night sky was ablaze with the New York hum of traffic, of the squeal of breaks, the crunch of tyres and above the stars rained down in a flurry of white snow that never seemed to settle.

'Café Lola' the sign illuminated next to the side walk above the entrance, a door which thrummed open and closed more times in the past fifteen minutes than she had cared to count.

The café was nestled into the ground floor of a looming brownstone, with black iron railings that flanked it and olive trees either side of the steps to it's door.

The railings were decorated, threaded through with strings of bright white fairy lights that twinkled, blurred and pix-elated against the damp air.

'Café Lola'...The distant hum of that neon pink sign...

And there she was, on the pavement in front of the café. There seemed to be a hundred of them all on one street but this was the only one where he had seen fit to take her. Their coffee tasted of somewhere far away, served with an little brown biscuit with a cracked surface that tasted of hot ginger and melted in the mouth before you could chew.

She stood, her hands in her pockets, blindly counting the change that nestled there. Her hair was wet from the snow, in her haste she had forgotten her winter coat, the one with the hood, the one that he had bought her from the Armani fall collection.

She licked her lips, they were cold, and try as she might she was unable to keep her teeth from clattering together at the back of her mouth, the sound of it inside her ears, and her knee caps shivered beneath the sheer fabric of her trousers.

She coughed, barely heard in amongst the footsteps of passers by. Her throat hurt and she vaguely wondered if she was coming down with something. There was the bleeping of something, perhaps her phone? And the rattle of the subway in the near distance.

She glanced up, squinting against the snow, peering through it to the clock that hung against the side of the bank opposite. It's face like the moon, silver and illuminated, it's black hands ticking down the moments...

He was la...

Connie opened her eyes. And for a moment she could see nothing, just the bright white light above her. She squeezed her eyes closed. She was laying flat she realised. She swallowed and opened her eyes again, if she squinted against the glare she could see the round grey hull of the bulbs within the lights – they looked familiar.

She turned her head and the room turned with her, she saw the heart monitor, the green lines beating out a rhythm, the doors behind it, the darkness beyond.

The hospital. She opened her eyes wider, she was in the hospital. She looked again to the heart monitor at her side, followed its lead, the heart beat drawn upon the little black screen was her own. She raised up her left hand, her skin was puckered and paper-white and where the line was pushed into her vein there was a heart shaped bloom of purplish-green.

Her head felt heavy against the pillow, her hair tickled her forehead and she raised a hand slowly to swipe it away, her fingers brushing against gauze. She let her fingertips linger, counting...one, two...fourteen strips of gauze over fourteen stitches running from her eyebrow up into her hairline. She frowned and felt the stitches pull.

She coughed and the sound of it was so loud that she jumped, could feel her skin tingle and prickle with the sudden realisation that she was here, in a hospital bed, and she had no recollection of why she was here.

She pulled herself up into a sitting position, closing her eyes whilst she moved to avoid the tilt and roll of the room within her head.

Sitting up she opened her eyes again. She was on her own, but in the distance she could hear the noise of the hospital beyond. The bleeping, the footsteps, the rattle of a trolley...

She turned her head to the doors again, her eyes straining to focus against the light. She blinked and a shadow moved against the glass, just the flicker of a face, the tail of a coat, and the shadow was gone.

She swallowed again, her throat hurt and she wondered briefly if she had had to have a tube put there.

Another movement at the door caught her eye, and with the slow motion blur of a dream the door was pushed open and Tess was before her, her hand reaching for her, her fingers touching her hair, her arm, lowering herself to her level, looking into her face with expectant eyes. Had she said something? She cleared her throat, forced herself to focus her gaze.

"Connie?"

Tess's voice came and all at once she was there, back in the room. She leant backwards slightly so that she could see her properly.

"Connie?"

She asked again.

"I'm..."

Connie paused, unsure of what to say.

"Connie, do you know why you're here?"

A different voice this time and she turned, Zoe...she hadn't seen her enter...

"Can you hear me?"

Zoe asked, placing a hand against her forehead and shining a light into her eyes without warning, making her flinch back,her hand raised to her face.

"Yes, I can hear you."

She spoke but her voice was hoarse and little more than a whisper. She cleared her throat.

"Do you remember why you're here?"

Zoe asked, and Connie watched her as she spoke, her lips seemed to move slower than the words came. Her face was illuminated a bright bronze in the light and her eyes seemed to sparkle as if filled with stars.

"No..."

She whispered, frowning again.

"No."

She repeated.

"Okay, can you look at me, Connie?"

Connie looked up.

"You've been unconscious for six days. You've got stitches along your forehead from a head injury and you'll feel some discomfort when you move due to internal bruising."

Zoe spoke slowly, clearly, but still she had trouble listening, as though she was being told a story but was too tired to listen.

"What happened?"

She asked eventually, drawing in a long breath, feeling the dull wince of a cramp that began to emanate from her pelvic.

Zoe looked to Tess and Connie followed her gaze, her head beginning to throb, the beat of it hurting her ears.

"You were found unconscious in your office."

Tess spoke quietly, and as she did so she held Connie's hand, her thumb running back and forth over her knuckles.

"We have reason to believe that you were sexually assaulted."

She added softly.

More very soon. Thank you for the lovely comments and requests for this to continue! It is something I have been thinking about writing for a while now so I'm relieved to have finally started getting it written down.

I hope you continue to enjoy it. It will get happier soon ;) xxx