Time seemed to slow, the world around me dragging as each second continued for hours. It seemed as if I was merely an observer, watching as the earth ticked by at snail's pace, the red stain spreading like ink in water across Charlie's chest.

Jake's hand lowered, confusion etched onto his face as took a step back. My hands were shaking, eyes watery and arms so heavy I wondered how I would be able to stand again. I needed to stop this, do something.

But I couldn't.

Scott ran forward, Jake seemed too preoccupied to notice. I hardly glanced at him, so focused on Charlie, his eyes drifting to me for just a moment. I didn't even notice that Scott had grabbed onto my hand until he was hauling me up.

"I'm sorry," Scot said, his eyes meeting mine, looking at me with such intent it managed to tug me back into reality. He pulled me onto my feet and even if I wanted to, I couldn't fight it. Before I had even properly gained my balance, he ran, his grip around my hand tightening as he dragged me away.

I tried to suppress a cry as the pain from my bullet wound shot through my body. I stumbled, my foot catching on an uneven stone, still slippery from the storm. Just as I fell, my chin near inches from colliding with the ground, Scott pulled me forward, stabilizing me with his other hand before continuing to run.

BANG

Another gunshot, ringing even louder than before, the sound bouncing off every side and every corner of the towering buildings. I glanced back, watching as the ginger locked boy collapsed to his knees, staring up at the cookie-cutter bang.

BANG

"Ch-charlie-" I stammered, trying to wrench my hand away from Scott. I couldn't see him, they were just behind the corner. If I could go back I could take Charlie's place. But the grasp on my hand remained strong. I turned back to Scott who was trying to draw me away, "Pl—please Scott..."

"No," Scott said firmly, and without another pause, he continued to run. I was too weak to fight against him, too weak to pry away from his grasp. I shook my head, stumbling as I tried to stop Scott. I had to go back for him. I had to do something.

I wouldn't let Charlie die. Not when I was so close to saving him.

I didn't care about my life anymore, didn't care what happened to me. Didn't care about the pain in my side or the disconnection I now felt towards every step I took. I didn't care about surviving this. All I cared about was Charlie.

I stumbled over another loose brick, struggling against Scott's pull as he dragged me around another corner. I needed to go back, but I couldn't. Because even if I no longer cared for my safety, Scott did.

Soon, after what felt like hours of running, the towering buildings broke away into the rumble of the train station. The rain was heavy, cold, making every part of me feel numb. The world swayed as Scott pulled me up the steps, one step causing me to collapse in pain despite my side now merely the faint throbbing of a once unbearable injury.

"Dammit, Rebecca!" Scott cursed, lifting me to my feet as he hung one arm over his shoulder. There was a train in the station, the constant pounding of the rain disappearing as he helped me through the doors.

I collapsed to the ground, the faint robotic woman's voice fading into my mind. I felt the cold plating of the train wall against my back, the overhead lights which were so bright I closed my eyes. The ringing from the bullet still seemed to drift around my head. Like an alarm that wouldn't turn off.

I drifted in and out of consciousness, a blackness that consumed the waking world. I would wake up soon after, my side feeling as though it were rotting away. I seemed to imagine that the wound was growing, eating up my entire body before I completely died on the train.

"Rebecca?" Scott's frantic voice woke me from a dream I didn't know was having. I sat up, wincing as the wound in my side reminded me of its presence. Opening my eyes, I was sharply reminded of the harsh reality around me. Gently, Scott sat back, "Apologies. We're almost there,"

"Thanks..." I mumbled, each breath I took felt like it was my last. Scott stood, offering a hand to me. Hesitantly, I took it, and as he lifted me I tried not to cry out by the sudden return of extreme agony. He frowned, taking my arm around his shoulder again and pulling me closer with his other.

As we left the train, it was still raining, however now only a drizzle; the city swarming with people. I expected to be stopped, or at the very least, receive curious and concerned glances. But nothing of the sort came. Not when we left the station, nor as we began to walk home, not even when we almost walked directly into someone.

Everyone was so focused on their own thing, their own life, they didn't notice the two children stumbling down the street in blood-soaked clothes. They were reading their devices, caught up in thought, head down and hands buried in pockets.

I wondered how much it was possible to get away with if this didn't even receive a glimpse, not even a double-take. Perhaps I might have been one of those people, missing something vital happening right in front of my eyes.

The receptionist didn't even look up from her computer. A younger man stepped off the elevator as we walked up to it. He looked up, but only in the way one does not run directly into them, before he continued to walk.

"Can we... go to my apartment?" I asked, clutching my side as I continued to try and hold myself up with Scott's support. He nodded, pressing the button to my floor. I wanted nothing more than to sleep, but with all the concerns drifting through my head, even without the injury, it would be impossible.

I was worried about Charlie, about Lillian, about Jake. Something was wrong with Jake, because it couldn't be out of nowhere that he changed like that. I was worried about the questions Jake asked and the answers Scott gave.

I was worried about Scott.

He had practically carried me here, even with his injury. He remained firm when I tried to run back, remained calm when I was panicking, and even staring down the barrel of the gun he had still tried to save me.

And I wanted to know why.

Stepping out of the elevator, everything seemed to change. My whole body began to sway, the pain so intense I wondered how I was still conscious. I tried to hold onto Scott but I had no strength. He tried to pull me up, but it was clear he was struggling. I glanced up at him, my head swarming.

"I'm-..." I struggled to speak, each breath growing more strained and difficult. I was shaking, unable to stand as he continued to try and hold me on my feet. I took a deep breath again, "...fine..."

But I should have known I couldn't lie to Scott.

He scowled, staggering down the hall without another word. Finally, at the door I was able to unlock it with my watch, Scott twisting the door handle with shaking hands and pushing it open. We staggered towards the sofa, and just as my legs gave way I fell against the padded backing of the lounge.

"Don't move," Scott said, standing back and scurrying to the kitchen. I closed my eyes, trying to bring my focus away from the pain in my side and the issues in my mind. I listened. I could hear Scott rummaging around, likely for a first aid kit. I could hear my breathing.

And I could hear the rain.

It had picked up again, hammering against the window like tiny pebbles being thrown against it. A sense of calm washed over me, and I couldn't help but think back to the day Scott and I had spent at the junkyard. Just sitting together, listening to the rain. Thinking back to that time, I felt so safe.

And it wasn't just because it was raining. It was Scott who had made me feel safe.

Without a word, Scott placed down the first aid kit on the coffee table, unlatching the sides of the box before he began to take out alcohol wipes. He seemed panicked, I thought for a moment that it would be far easier to just go to the hospital.

But neither of us could do that.

If they found out what had happened, Jake would be punished, and me being his partner would be punished accordingly; whether that be through demotion to a Lower, or worse. Perhaps Charlie would get in trouble, being killed for obstruction of law enforcement.

That was if he hadn't been killed already.

"Sorry I-" he seemed to pause, slightly embarrassed as he realized that I needed to take off my shirt to have access to the wound. I should have thought of it earlier, yet throughout the mess of today, how I would fix myself didn't even cross my mind.

"No- it-it's alright..." I sat up higher against the end of the sofa, my legs awkwardly cramped at the end as I began to unbutton my shirt. My fingers were shaking, cold, and even though I was inside I still felt like I was being hammered with rain.

At the third button, I couldn't help but yelp, my arm brushing my side. The pain had worsened, my whole body too weak to even properly undo my buttons. Scott moved closer, taking my hands in his.

"May I?" he asked, and I nodded. Gently, he moved forward, unbuttoning the rest of my shirt. I felt awkward, embarrassed, but the nauseating pain on my side overwrote any shame I felt. But Scott didn't make a scene, didn't cause a commotion, and the moment my shirt was off he began to inspect my injury.

He frowned, and I knew it must have been bad because, despite his panic, he paused, staring at my side which was coated in blood. Slowly, however, he began to clean it. The alcohol stung and I tried to make as little sound as possible. A few times, I struggled to stay awake, the pain so unbearable that I wanted nothing more than it to end.

"Sorry, can you please sit up?" Scott said, gently holding my hip as he helped me up. He took a bandage from the medical kit, slowly beginning to wrap the bandage around my waist. Already my side was feeling better. It still hurt like hell, but now it was far more manageable than it had before.

As he bandaged my waist, I saw his shoulder. It had stopped bleeding, but now, it looked like it was going to get infected. It seemed painful, and given my wound, I could only assume that he was still hurt.

"Your- shoulder..." he looked at me, his eyes locked as I spoke. My heart skipped a beat for a moment as his unwavering gaze held me in spot, his hands around my waist as he paused.

"You're more important," Scott said, before looking down again and continuing to wrap. I was exhausted, and even in the early afternoon, it was like today had gone on for weeks.

"But- I need to-" I tried to reach forward, try and get a better look of his shoulder, but he pushed my hand away, hooking the ends of the bandage into the rest and sitting up properly.

"All you need to do right now is rest," he said, the corners of his lips lightly tugged into a smile, "I'm fine. Luckily I'm right-handed,"

I nodded, and as he helped me lay down, I was overwhelmed by complete exhaustion. Within seconds, I had fallen into a sleep, my body craving the rest it deserved. And, finally, I was able to escape if only for a few moments.

I don't know how long I'd been asleep. A few minutes, half an hour; but when I did, I was harshly reminded of the wound which still sent sharp pains through my side. I looked forward, my eyes struggling to stay focused against the harsh light.

Scott was placed on the end of the sofa, his shirt half unbuttoned exposing the bullet wound. He had a cloth in one hand, wincing as he tried to clean it with a rag. I propped myself up on my hand, causing him to turn and look at me.

"What are you doing?" I sat up, my mind swarming with the beginnings of a headache. He turned to the side, moving the gunshot wound out of sight. I tried to move closer, gently resting a hand on his arm.

"It's fine" He winced as I slowly turned his body to the side. It was deep, clearly painful, and already I felt guilt in the fact that he had put his pain below mine. I took the cloth from his hand, moving closer again to get a better look, "Please don't-"

I began to clean it, trying to be as delicate as I could as Scott seemed to jump every time I moved. I ignored the pain which still pestered my side, ignored the fact that I was still wearing only a bra. All I focused on was fixing him.

"You're the injured one," Scott said quietly, watching as I placed down the cloth on the coffee table. I rummaged around in the medical kit until I finally found gauze and a bandage. My heart was racing, paranoid that at any moment the door would open. 

"So are you," I said, glancing up at him for a moment. I could feel my heart pounding just looking into his eyes, "You saved my life,"

"And you saved mine," he didn't skip a beat, the small smile from before returning for just a moment. The rain hammered harder, yet it was hard to even hear it over the hammering of my own heart, before I gave a small smile back.

I looked away, the intensity growing with every passing second. I was scared of what might happen if I didn't keep myself in check; what dumb things I would say just because I felt safe for once. I didn't meet his gaze, slowly beginning to wrap his shoulder.

"Listen...," Scott said quietly, the smile now gone from his face as he stared at me, watching me, "What Jake said-"

"He clearly wasn't okay," I said, cutting him off as I avoided eye contact. I could still feel those calculating eyes examining every movement I made as I continued to wrap his shoulder. "I didn't understand half of what he said-"

"But you understood what he meant," the way Scott said it, not only the words he said but his tone made me realize that it was pointless. Pointless trying to pretend that I didn't understand.

I looked up at him, past those glasses, and trying to understand him like he seemed to understand me. I wanted to know how he read me so well, how he understood things I didn't. But more than anything, I found myself terrified.

"I would never manipulate you," although what he was saying was reassuring, it was clear he wasn't done. So I waited, and after a few seconds, he continued, "I did once... when we first met, I mean... but things changed,"

"I know," I paused, not sure how to process what he said. I tucked the ends of the bandage underneath the dressing before I stood up, "I need to grab some towels... I-I'll be right back,"

"Alright..." he nodded. I turned to leave but knew wherever I went I would still find myself thinking about Scott Preston.

The bathroom seemed just as I had left it. Clean, pristine, yet as I walked over to the sink, I caught my reflection in the mirror. Everything but her seemed to be the same. I stared up for a moment, caught in my thoughts and worries, and only now just realizing.

I didn't recognize my own reflection.

It wasn't something that would make me question my reality: I knew it was me. But it didn't feel like me. I still looked the same as I always did; the same hair, face, eyes, mouth, nose, lips. I was still weak, still self-centered, still bossy, judgemental, and selfish.

My hair rolled down my chest, dried blood caught on the ends and my scalp hurt just remembering how easily Jake had grabbed me by it. I felt so weak then, so useless. It was as though my whole body had turned against me, using my own hair to torture me.

I was paler than when I had last seen myself. I was more broken, more bandaged. Even in just a bra and pants, my own body appeared surreal to me. Just another person in the crowd. Another cookie-cutter girl.

I glanced down for a moment, a pair of scissors placed on the side of the sink. I moved forward, picking them up. They seemed heavy, heavier than scissors ought to be. I remembered the way that Marie had cut her hair, how easily she had done it, how free she said it made her feel.

I could almost hear her egging me on.

I held up the scissors, my hands shaking as they hovered over the strands of hair. I didn't see myself reflected anymore. It was someone else who stood there, another girl entirely than the one who had woken up this morning. A girl who was weak, a girl who had been dragged by her hair like an object, a girl who had left her friend to die.

And in that moment, I decided I no longer wanted to be that girl. Be the girl who only looked out for herself. I wanted to be more than that, be someone that could make a difference, be someone who would be proud to see my own reflection in the mirror.

And I began to cut.