I gave up lying to myself a long time ago. It only leads you down into a tight little hole, one that runs deeper and deeper into the earth until you can barely find your way out of it again. It's like wearing blinkers, shielding you from anything that might pop the delicate little bubble of what you want to believe—blinds you to the truth staring you in the face, no matter how messy or scary it is.

What I can't deny, the truth I know better than to hide from, is this pull I feel toward Cillian. It's not love, that's for sure, but it's something. Not that I was expecting some sort of whirlwind Bonnie and Clyde style romance with this battered gangster I'd met only a few days ago. I just couldn't help but feel this draw to him, some unknown thing pulling at the steely strings of my heart that had me thinking about how much I didn't want to lose him.

I mean it's fucking weird, right? What do I know about him other than the fact he's a crook, devilishly handsome and been shot in the gut? And yet, here I am getting tingles just thinking back to the way he carried himself in the club. Like an arsehole, the typical bad boy that would waltz in and break your heart.

He's the kind of person who doesn't do relationships, I'll tell you that much. Doesn't buy into the idea of love, either. I can tell. And I hate that I care this much already. It's too soon, too reckless—but there's something about him that keeps pulling me in. Even when we've only had a handful of conversations since our chance encounter.

I've caught myself watching him more than I should—how he moves, how those broad shoulders tense when he's angry, like he's ready to tear the world apart. There's something primal about him, something that makes me wonder... what it'd feel like to have him close, too close.

My eyes have been glued to him since me and Charlie dragged him from that alley, before that even. Since he eyed me up back at Mars while I danced for the entertainment of every man in that room, but somehow the way he looked at me made it feel like the entire performance was for him. 

I know he's the type to enjoy a good, rough fuck. I mean, look at him. The way he talks, how he carries himself, the raw energy radiating off him—it's impossible not to imagine what it would feel like to straddle those strong Irish thighs. To ride him until he left tiger streaks down my back, though I can't help but wonder if that's all this is—just a physical need, or something more? Yet, in the shadow of his possible demise, those thoughts feel trivial, almost selfish.

And here I am, like a worried girlfriend, holding his hand and whispering that its going to be okay. He can't hear me, but he's not the one I'm trying to reassure anyway.

Just as I'm all wrapped up in whatever the fuck this is, Charlie speaks in a way that makes me think he might just care a little too much too. "How bad is it?"

Sam exhaled, and I could hear him pacing again as I glanced over my shoulder, his footsteps sharp against the concrete floor. "Bad," he said bluntly. "He's lucky he's still breathing. The bullet tore through some major muscle—missed his organs by a fraction, but there's internal bleeding. He's in shock. If I don't get it under control soon..." His voice trailed off, not finishing the thought.

"Shit..." Charlie breathed, his face tense as he turned to me. "If he... If he dies, what will happen to us?"

He was looking to me for an answer, so was that pretty doctor of his who, so far, knew pretty much fuck all about this whole thing other than what was shown on the news. For the smallest moment, I didn't have a clue what to say. Then I figured what the hell, why lie to them when they knew it too?

"We're fucked," I sighed, forcing myself to maintain a practical head between my shoulders. "He's the only one who can sort things out with his boss, whoever the fuck that is, so that they don't think they've got to shut us up."

Charlie's eyes flicked between me and Cillian, darting back to Sam the moment the doctor spoke. "Well, I better make sure he doesn't die then. For your sake."

Then I'm shooed away as Sam grabs his tools, instruments I hope he sterilised before operating on his poor patient—you know, the one guy we couldn't afford to let die.

He cut into the wound, undoing all mine and Charlie's hard work as he pulled away the old stiches and sliced through rotting flesh. I tried to draw my eyes away but they wouldn't budge. After a moment or two, I finally manged to focus on something else—on the incessant pattering of pacing footsteps.

I glanced at Charlie, my eyes finally moving thanks to his dumb pacing that was wearing on my nerves more than the way Cillian looked right now. The sort-of-doctor needed space to work, and Charlie's anxiety-filled steps were just making the whole room feel smaller.

"Charlie," I said, stepping toward him, "come with me. Let's let Sam do his thing, yeah?"

He hesitated, eyes darting from me to Cillian on the table, as if he'd die the moment we looked away. But after a second, he nodded and let me place a hand gently on his back as I led him into the next room. The air was cooler in here, quieter—no blood, no smell of infected skin and bleached medical equipment. Just silence, the kind that made you feel the weight of everything you were running from.

Charlie stood by the door, running a shaky hand through his tangled hair. His eyes were wide, almost wild, like he was teetering on the edge of something. I could see it—the panic bubbling just under the surface, ready to spill over any second. He'd managed to calm himself down before but now... now nothing would reassure him until he knew Cillian was okay.

"This is fucked, Roxy. We shouldn't be here. I never should've dragged Sam into this." His voice was tight, breath quickening as he backed into the wall, eyes closing shut as if he thought when he opened them, none of this would be real. "I don't know how to deal with this. I don't... fuck, what are we even doing?"

I crossed the room in the blink of an eye and grabbed his arm before he could spiral any further into a full blown panic attack.

"Get a grip," I snapped, the words shooting out much harsher than I meant them to, but I wasn't in the mood to sugar-coat things. Not now. I stared up at him, holding him even tighter, forcing him to meet my eyes. "Freaking out won't help anyone, least of all you. So breathe, alright? Just breathe."

He stared at me, eyes wide for a second before he inhaled, deep and shaky. I could feel his lean muscles soften under my hand, tension easing away with every breath.

"Good," I murmured, softening my voice as I loosened my hold. "Breathe. It's gonna be okay, we'll figure it out." I said it more for his sake than mine, though we both knew it was a lie.

Charlie nodded, his breathing steadying a little as he let himself slide down the wall, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. Without thinking, I sat down next to him, my shoulder brushing his. He looked like he needed the company—maybe I did, too.

My stomach twisted. I couldn't shake the feeling that this was on me. If Charlie hadn't followed me into this mess, he'd be miles away by now. I mean I could've let him run off back when we first met outside Mars. But who the fuck am I kidding? If I had, he'd only have told the police everything they needed to know to find me and Cillian by now—if we would've even made it this far.

"Sorry," he mumbled after a long silence. "I just... I've never... I don't have a fucking clue what I'm supposed to do."

"You don't have to," I said leaning back. "You got us this far, right? Just relax and hope this doctor of yours knows what he's doing. You do trust him, right?"

Charlie sighed. "Of course I do. Sam... He's patched me up more times than I can count. Always been there for me when I needed him. Even now, after..."

When he stopped talking I knew better than to pry, even when I knew he'd probably spill everything if I asked him to. I wasn't a stranger to taking advantage of people, but Charlie? Sometime told me he'd been taken advantage of far too much already.

"Hey, this is new for me too. Look around, does this seem like a normal day for me to you?" I chuckled, hoping to ease his anxiety, even if only a little.

For a moment, we just sat there, and the tension from earlier seemed to fade into something far more bearable. I could feel the faintest warmth between us, a tiny fire of hope in the way our shoulders brushed together, his breathing matching mine. It wasn't much, but it was enough to help ease my mind too.

"You're not useless, you know," I added, glancing at him. "You did good, getting Cillian out of that alley. Getting us here even. Cillian would probably be dead already if it wasn't for you. Don't let your head fuck with you on that."

He looked at me, and for the smallest second, I saw something in his eyes—gratitude, maybe something more. His gaze lingered, longer than it should've. But then he blinked, shaking his head. "Thanks. I just—thanks."

I smiled a little, bumping his shoulder with mine. "Don't mention it."

We sat there in the silence again after that, listening to the faint clatter of Sam's tools from the next room. Every second stretched out, weighed down by the uncertainty of what would happen next.

Charlie shifted beside me, his hand nervously rubbing his jaw. Then, without warning, he spoke, his voice quiet but loaded with a vulnerability I hadn't expected from him.

"I screwed things up with Sam," he started, eyes fixed on the floor. "It wasn't always like this between us. We, uh... fooled around a bit. Nothing serious, but we had something, y'know? And I fucked it all up."

I stayed quiet, giving him the space to continue if he wanted to. He seemed like he needed to get it off his chest.

"One night... I was in a bad place, needed cash fast. I'd been banged up by one of my clients, and Sam—he was always there, fixing me up, letting me crash at his. But this time... I stole some drugs from his stash. Prescription stuff. Sold it to some lowlife for a quick buck. I thought it was harmless, didn't think anyone would find out, but..." He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

"But it wasn't," I filled in, knowing how these things go.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It got traced back to Sam. I don't even fucking know how, but I should've known it would. And Sam... he could've thrown me under the bus, but he didn't. He took the fall, kept my name out of it. So they revoked his license. Hell, he was lucky he didn't go to prison." He sighed deeply, running a hand through his messy hair. "We haven't really talked since. Not properly, anyway. I couldn't face him after that. He lost everything, and it was all because of me."

I glanced at him, feeling a pull to say something—something that wouldn't make him feel worse than he already did. But I also wasn't going to feed him empty reassurances. He knew the gravity of what he'd done.

"You still care about him," I said softly. It wasn't a question.

Charlie nodded, his eyes clouded with regret. "Yeah... I do. I just don't know how to fix it."

I leaned back, letting the moment settle. "Well, you're here now. That counts for something, doesn't it?"

He shrugged, the smallest glimmer of hope flickering in his tired eyes. "I guess so."