Denied (One Night 2)

‘Miller,’ I say quietly, desperate for him to focus on me instead of the monster he sees behind me. ‘Look at me,’ I plead. ‘Just look at me.’ My voice quivers, no matter how greatly I’m trying to keep it together. Relief swamps me when he takes a tentative step forward, but then he starts shaking his head furiously and takes two steps back. He’s swallowing repeatedly and his hands are becoming increasingly hot. The waves of his lovely hair are becoming heavy under the weight of the sweat pouring from his scalp, his forehead, just about everywhere.

‘I can’t,’ he pants, gulping. ‘I can’t do it.’

I look across to William and see concern as he constantly checks his phone and looks to the stairwell, and when I look to Gregory, I see something that I’ve never seen from my best friend when Miller is in the picture. Compassion. I bite my lip as the tears begin to fall, choking on a sob when he looks at me and gives me eyes full of encouragement. Then he nods. It’s only just detectable, but I see it and I understand it. I feel hopeless. I need to get Miller out of this building.

‘You go,’ Miller says, pushing me into the elevator. ‘I’ll be fine, you go.’

‘No!’ I yell. ‘No, you are not giving up!’ I throw myself onto him, snaking my arms around him and silently vowing never to let go. I don’t miss the let-up in tension from his body under my hold.

My thing.

His thing.

Our thing.

I squeeze him, my lips on his neck and his face in my hair. Then I let go and pull more forcefully on his hand, begging with my eyes for him to come to me. And he does. He takes one slow step forward. Then another. Then another. Then another. He’s on the threshold. I’m in the lift. He’s trembling, still gulping, and the sweat is relentless.

And then I hear a loud sound from the stairwell, followed by William’s colourful curse, and I do what instinct tells me and yank Miller into the lift before smashing the button for the second floor and throwing my arms around his gasping body, immersing him in our thing.

The frantic pace of his heart beating in his chest must be verging on dangerous. I’m looking over his shoulders to the hallway as it slowly disappears with the closing of the doors, and the last thing I see before we’re alone in the terrifying box is William and Gregory stepping into sight, both watching quietly as Miller and I vanish from view. I smile at them through my sadness.

It wouldn’t be a surprise if the ferocity of his heartbeat hitting my chest leaves bruises. It’s relentless, no matter how hard I squeeze him. My attempts to calm him are fruitless. All I need to do is concentrate on keeping him upright until we reach the second floor, which right now is easy. He’s rigid as I watch the digital monitor tick down through the floors, each number seeming to take aeons to appear. We’re in slow motion. Everything seems to be in slow motion.

Everything except Miller’s breathing and heart rate.

I feel him jerk under my hold, and I attempt to pull away but get nowhere. I can’t let go of him, not for anything, and I’m suddenly panicked by the potential difficulty of getting him out of the lift once it stops. ‘Miller?’ I whisper, low and calm. It’s a vain attempt to fool him into believing that I’m composed. I’m far from it. He doesn’t respond and I take another glimpse at the floor indicator.

‘Miller, we’re nearly out,’ I say, pushing into him to force him to step away until his back is at the doors. The judder of the lift when it stops makes me jump, and Miller lets out a weak whimper as he pushes against me. ‘Miller, we’re here.’ I struggle against his fierce resistance, hearing the doors begin to open. It’s only now I consider the possibility of them waiting for us on the other side of the doors, and panic flares, my body stiffening as the doors begin to open. What if they are? What will I do? What will they do? My breathing pattern changes, catching up with Miller’s as I peek over his shoulders, my feet beginning to ache from staying on my tiptoes.

The doors open fully, revealing nothing but an empty hallway, and I try to listen for any signs of life.

Nothing.

Pushing against Miller’s dead weight, I get nowhere in my urgent need to shift him. How will he be once we’re out of this box? I haven’t got time to coax him out of this lift, let alone the building.

‘Miller, please,’ I beg, swallowing down the lump of desperation in my throat. ‘The doors are open.’ He remains frozen, stuck to me, and tears of panic begin to overwhelm my eyes. ‘Miller,’ I whisper, my shaky voice tarnished with defeat. They’ll be on their way back down soon.

She’s holding him. A chime sounds and the doors begin to close again. I don’t have time to shout for Miller to get out. He seems to jump to life, the sound of the doors closing undoubtedly the cause, and his body flies back as if someone has launched him from a cannon. I hold my breath as I watch him. He’s drenched, his hair stuck to his head and his eyes wide with fear. And he’s still shaking.

Not knowing what else to do, I reach down to retrieve the bag and move to the threshold of the lift, all the while keeping my worried eyes on him as he looks around him, familiarising himself with his surroundings. And it’s like the shattered pieces of my world suddenly fuse, bringing hope crashing back into our reality, as the mask falls, wiping away every shred of fear, and Miller Hart is back.

He flicks empty eyes up and down my body, catching sight of the bag, and it’s gone from my grasp in the blink of an eye. Then my hand is claimed and I’m out of the lift just as quickly. He breaks into a run, forcing my little legs to sprint in order to keep up with him, and he glances back every few seconds to check on me and for anything behind us.