.Perfect Fantasy. |H.S.|

Chapter 42. Into the Dark.

.Natalia.

My eyes opened suddenly, blinking twice in desperation of not being able to see or hear anything. Woke up right into the dark. The groggy feeling of dispair waving my senses into full conscience like I was being pulled out of a deeply unpleasant sleep—I was shaking from the muggy and damp air or maybe from pure fear, and I couldn't feel my body responding fully, still dulled by whatever drugs were forced into my system.
Sheer fright was shooting through me, feeling the strain in my eyes as they struggled to open and fears managed to permeate my foggy brain with the last flashes of me running after Harry and then, complete blackout.

Harry.
My heart sank to the floor.

It dissolved and melted right through me, and the tears came, wiping away pieces of my fortitude and rushing some torment about being utterly and completely clueless about my surroundings and context.
The absence of light enhancing the darkness a little the more I stared into the vacant space, realizing with unreserved dread that there was not one source of lighting.

My gaze landed on the edge of what felt like a cardboard box, and blistering pain sliced through me as I tried to move my stiff neck against it, the tug on my muscles probably from staying in the same position for whatever time I'd been passed out in that spot.

Every sense was on full alert, blood fizzed with energy, and stimulation coursed through my entire system, but there was no sensation in my body except the neck and shoulders. Oh, and my head, it was almost exploding in pain, the hard-throb coming from someplace on the right side and all the way to the back.

What the fuck just happened?
I really had lost track of time, unsure if the last memory was really the last memory or if I was completely making up stuff in my head now. All I'd managed to score was a grinding headache, now that whatever I'd been given was wearing off, starting to feel my body coming to life and wiggling my legs into erratic jerks to turn to the side.

Little by little the mind began asserting itself, vaguely feeling here and there—touching the dry blood that was stuck in my skin right by my nose and that obviously dripped to my mouth, the sharp aftertaste in my throat confirming—putting scrap with scrap, my right hand killing me with soreness, until returning memory poured in upon me like a flood, and I grasped the terrible truth that I was heavily sedated and probably locked up in some kind of closet.
It smelled like a closet or a storage space of some kind.

Yet, as I succeeded in staggering weakly to my feet, the movement and exertion served to quiet my apprehensions, as an ache replaced the sleepy feeling of my raw limbs. With outspread fingers and fumbling feet, I attempted to advance in the room, hastily making several steps before my extended left hand touched a cold soft wall right next to me and the box.
This time I followed slowly, passing exploring fingers with utmost supervision over each inch, from the floor to as high as I could reach standing on my tiptoes until I had made the dimension of the place and looked for any source of power to light the space up.
It was all the same, nothing in the wall; feet stumbling with some items as I moved clumsily around, my breathing increasing with anxiety and being the only sound around.

Everywhere I was confronted by the same outcome, creeping inch by inch across the floor, but with no better result, moving around with braver moves, daring to cross the space until the tip of my unsteady sneakers poked something in front of me.
Something hard.
I poked it again, trying to make out a shape as my stomach clenched with the awareness that it was a shoe of some type.
I stumbled again, trembling so that I was compelled to clutch the wall for support. Where the fuck was I?

"H-hello?" I spoke into the void, my body paralyzed with vulnerability at the thought of someone sharing that horrible and locked haunted silence.
"Is somebody there...?"
So I stopped moving and standing again on my tiptoes just stretched up to see if there was a light bulb on top.
I had come to the very end—to the moment where I found a thread hanging from a lonely source of light.
I flicked it once, blinking my eyes open, squinting to keep them protected from the bright golden light halo around and above me. I stood stunned at the small space of what seemed to be what I had in mind, sight adjusting to the unwelcomed shine. The first reaction was reaching for the handle in front of me, shaking the knob with enough force to open, but the door was locked.