Abused by him (Huke\mpreg)

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He was yelling again. Unintelligible on the other side of the bedroom door, but he was definitely yelling. Fear gripped Harry- an ice cold hand like a vice around his chest. His voice is cut off by the slamming of the front door and Harry begs his heart to stop beating like a kick drum against his ribcage. Harry willed for the tears to stay behind his eyelids. The bed he's in is suffocating. The sheets and blankets he'd chosen only months before have now seen him at his worst more often than not. He's disgusted by the bluish green sort of color. He'd chosen them in hopes of happier times. He'd been mistaken.

The moment Harry heard his car start up outside, he held his breath. Listening. Waiting. Finally, mercifully, he heard the sound of snow crunching beneath tires due for a rotation. He hear the car backing out of its assigned spot just outside the window of his and Jacob's apartment. His ears strain to follow it as it stops at the entrance before turning left. He follows the sound until eventually it blends in with the rest of the noise of a college town in the middle of the night. He's gone. Harry has no way of knowing for how long, but for now he's gone.

Harry pulls back the edge of the curtain just enough. He confirmed what he'd heard, that his car is gone. That he's safe even if it is for just a moment. He's gone. He pulled yourself away from the bed sheets that feel irreparably soiled and redress in the pajamas he'd pulled from the dryer just a few hours ago. Opening the bedroom door feels more like walking into a warzone than into his own living room. Harry felt a soft kick in his stomach. The baby was kicking.

Darcy.

Sweet Darcy. His little angel. His sweet girl. The only good thing in the small apartment that Harry shared with the man who was supposed to be the love of his life. Harry reached his down, placing his hand on his baby bump as he felt tnt baby kicking against his hand. He swears it's like she knows what happens behind that closed bedroom door. Like she knows that Harry's hurting in so many ways. Like she knows that she has the power to make him feel a little better just by existing.

Something clicks. Something tells Harry, finally, that he can leave. That he can go somewhere else. Somewhere that he can be safe for more than a few fleeting moments.

Harry's hands shake, more tears falling to his cheeks as he makes his way through the apartment. He needs to pack. He needs some clothes and some money.

Random pieces of clothing are thrown into a bag. Harry tosses his wallet on top of the heap before lugging it over his shoulder. It's heavier than it looks. He spares a glance through the window over the sink. When did it start snowing again? And why is it coming down so heavy? Fat, white flakes fall gently, coating every visible surface. Harry sees his own car in the lot, right beside the empty space that his usually occupies.

He's still gone. Harry's still safe. He still has to leave. Harry places his hand on his baby bump and tells her that it's going to be okay. That he's going somewhere good. Somewhere better. Somewhere safe.