I don't know where I thought Charlie was going to take us but somehow this shithole both exceeded and fell short of my every expectation. In my defence, I've only known the guy a few hours.

He led us through dark alley after dak alley, trying to keep us off the main streets as we wound through the city's underbelly with an ease that spoke volumes to his character. It almost made me want to ask him just how he knew the streets so well, but then I remembered how I'd feel if someone I barely knew started prying into my past—fucked off. Some things were best left unsaid. Well, for now.

When we finally reached our destination, we were outside a more decrepit building than the one Charlie had been staying in. The kind that looked like it might just collapse if you breathed on it too hard.

Without a word, Charlie pushed open the rusted door with a creak that echoed down the empty road. Cillian and I shared a glance before he shrugged and followed Charlie inside.

When I tell you I grimaced, I mean I fucking grimaced. The brick walls were cracked and crumbling and the air—God the air was thick with this awful stench of mould and decay. Dirty, most likely bug-ridden mattresses were scattered about, every other one occupied by someone who looked even sketchier than us.

"This place is a dump," I muttered, eyeing a particularly suspicious stain on the floor.

Charlie shrugged, seemingly unfazed by the squalor. "I crashed here for a while when I was a kid. Don't get me wrong—it's a fucking shithole—but it's off the grid. No one will think to look for us here. At least, not for a while."

"Doesn't seem very safe." I looked around, taking in the huddled figures that shook and trembled in the darkest corners. Fucking junkies.

Charlie snorted. "Safe is a relative term. Trust me, the pigs won't bother with this place. Too much of a hassle for them. Lots of people to relocate, piles of paperwork... We'll be fine here."

Cillian, who had been silent up to this point, gave the place a once-over and then nodded. "He's right. It's a good spot to lay low."

I sighed, knowing that arguing was pointless. This was our reality, at least for the time being. If I knew I'd be knee deep in filth like this I'd have left him to bleed out. "Fine. But if something goes wrong, I'm blaming you."

Charlie grinned, a flash of his old bravado shining through. "Deal. Now, let's find a spot and check that wound of yours."

We picked our way through the debris and found a relatively secluded corner upstairs to set up shop. It was closed off from the rest of the place, in a little room that was just about holding itself together. The ceiling sagged, a thick crack running across it like a snake, and the walls weren't much better—crumbling brick with chunks missing, exposing beams and wiring that had no business being out in the open like that.

There were holes too, small ones and big ones where the brick had simply given up, letting faint drafts seep in. I could see through them and out into where some of the squatting junkies still sat around on their damp, mouldy mattresses. It was a miracle the wall hadn't completely crumbled yet but I guess some things are resilient even in the face of destitution.

Charlie spread out a couple of blankets, the cleanest he could find—which wasn't all that promising—and we settled in as Cillian huffed down onto one of the vacant mattresses.

When he lifted his shirt to peel away the bandages my gaze slipped and I couldn't help but find my eyes wandering, tracing the lines of his body. Smooth, scarred skin stretched over tensed muscles. Then the smell hit, like a crack of thunder jolting me awake.

"Fucking hell, it smells like something died in here."

"Something probably has," Charlie shrugged, his eyes quickly squeezing shut when Cillian's wound was out in the open, "but this smell is definitely coming from that." He pointed at Cillian's abdomen, which was more poorly stitched up than I thought and starting to take on an almost green colour.

Cillian gritted his teeth as he prodded at the broken skin and glanced around at the exit wound on his back. "Shit."

"That looks infected," I muttered, my voice tight as I leaned in for a closer look. "We need to clean it again, get you some antibiotics."

Charlie was already moving, his hands instinctively reaching for the bag at his side. He rifled through it quickly, pulling out his battered first-aid kit, which by now we both knew was barely stocked. "We need clean water, antiseptic, and fresh bandages. I can get some from the chemist down the road."

"I'll stay with him," I said, reaching for the kit, my fingers brushing against Charlie's before I took it. "Just be quick."

Charlie gave a curt nod, his eyes flicking between me and Cillian. As he turned to leave, Cillian's voice cut through the quiet, low and firm. "Pay in cash. They can track your card."

Charlie paused for half a second, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Got it. Cash only." 

Without another word, he slipped outside with one wary glance over his shoulder. I watched him vanish around the corner, then he was gone. A heavy silence settled after he left, the sounds of the city distant and muted in this forgotten corner of the world.

Rubbing my temple, I turned back to Cillian, who was eyeing me with a dangerous curiosity swimming in his eyes. "Why did you help me?" he asked, his voice was low and rough around the edges, like it hurt just to ask.

I shrugged, not meeting his gaze. "Seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Now? I'm not so sure."

He let out a breathy chuckle, a low, painful sound. "Well, whatever your reason, I'm grateful. Just... don't end up dead because of me."

I ignored the knot tightening in my chest and pulled out a small bottle of alcohol from the kit, one me and Charlie tossed in before we fled his dumb apartment. "Hold still," I muttered, unscrewing the cap. "This is gonna hurt."

He gritted his teeth, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the mattress. The sharp hiss he let out as the alcohol hit his wound cut through the silence, but he didn't flinch. Not once. As I worked, cleaning and dressing his wound with what little we had, my mind drifted. I couldn't help but wonder what kind of life he'd led to end up here, bleeding out in some junkie-infested slophouse, trusting two strangers to keep him alive.

I sat back on my heels and breathed a sigh of relief when no new blood immediately began to seep back through the tattered bandage I'd tied around him. "This should hold until Charlie—" I sighed, realising only now that I too was putting my faith in a total stranger, "If Charlie gets back with more supplies. Just... try not to move too much."

Cillian nodded, his eyes full of silent gratitude as they flickered over my face. "Thanks. Really. You didn't have to do this."

Damn right I didn't, but for some fucking reason I had. I'd made my bed, now I'd just have to lie in it. It would be a pain to just let him die now anyway.

"Yeah," I said, "Well, let's just make sure it's worth the trouble."

He smiled faintly, a shadow of a grin that softened his hard features. "I'll do my best."

We settled into an uneasy silence, the distant hum of the city fading into a murmur behind the walls of our makeshift sanctuary. I leaned against the crumbling wall as we waited, my eyes darting anxiously around the room, ever vigilant for any sign of trouble.

Despite Charlie's effort to find us this secluded corner, I could still the dim outlines of figures looming in the darkness beyond through the holes and cracks in the walls—junkies, most of them slumped in varying degrees of unconsciousness. The thought of one of them stirring just enough to realise we were even there made my skin crawl.

As much as I hoped Charlie wasn't the sort to put us in more danger than we already were, I didn't know him well enough to be sure. For all I knew he'd just run off and snitch on us to save his own skin. Not that there was much I could do about that now.

I wish I had a clock to look at while the time passed us by. Every minute felt like an hour as my anxiety continued to coil like a snake in my stomach. There was only one thing to do if Charlie tried throwing me under the bus and that would be to throw him right under it with me.

He and Cillian here had kidnapped me, that's what I'll say. I was scared for my life. I'll bat my lashes and hope for the best. It worked more often than not, after all. Men were easy enough to fool, so long as you didn't wind up making them angry instead.

Just as the silence became unbearable, the faint sound of nearby footsteps reached my ears. Someone was heading right for us. My heart leapt into my throat, and I tensed, ready for anything. I can't tell you how fucking relieved I was when Charlie's stupid face appeared in the doorway.

He had actually come back.

He was carrying a plastic bag, its contents clinking softly as he crossed the room. No doubt bottles of medicine and, with any luck, something to eat. "Got what we need," he said, dropping the bag next to me. "Now, let's fix him up properly."

As Charlie started to unpack the supplies, I glanced at Cillian, who was watching us with a wary, almost vulnerable look in his eyes. Despite everything, a part of me couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, we could get through this mess in one piece.

Sketchy — unreliable or unsafe.

Shithole — a disgusting, run-down, unappealing, or objectionable place.