i love you from here

CHAPTER ONE

hey! thanks for clicking on my word vomit! i really hope you like it!

Just so you know: yes, Jake is Bucky. Obviously. I know that's not his real name. Several people found that confusing.

9:49 PM

Charlotte is making soup and singing to music (Hips Don't Lie) when someone knocks on her apartment door.

"Just a minute," she calls, and sets down the spoon. Charlie opens the door. The stranger barrels inside and slams the door shut before Charlie can even react. "What the-" Charlie starts. The man clamps his palm against her mouth, and his other arm bars across her shoulders.

"Don't make a sound," he hisses. Blood drips steadily onto the hardwood floor. Charlie doesn't move. Shakira keeps on blasting. The man is wearing tactical gear in all black. He drops his hand to his side.

"Betadine," he says. "What?" Charlie asks. "I need Betadine, hydrogen peroxide, or rubbing alcohol," the man repeats. Charlie's heart thuds wildly. "Okay," she says. She tucks her dark hair behind her ears. "Now," the man orders. His voice is scarily quiet.

Charlie runs to her bathroom and finds a bottle of rubbing alcohol. She tries to find something she can use as a weapon in case he tries to attack her, but all she has in the bathroom is her Gillette razor and eyebrow scissors. The razor does some damage, Charlie knows- she constantly has healing slices in her legs from shaving.

"Here," Charlie says. She hands the man the rubbing alcohol. He instantly takes the cap off and dumps it over his injured thigh without blinking. His jaw tightens and he blows a breath out of his nose.

Charlie's fingers trace the razor in the back pocket of her Levi's. She turns off the music, but leaves her phone on the table. She doesn't want to risk trying to call 911. The man is more likely to just get out if she doesn't call.

"What happened to you?" Charlie asks. The man glares at her.

"At least tell me your name," she tries. Charlie bites her lip and watches the man pour more alcohol over his wound. The injury is a gunshot wound.

dontpanicdontpanicdontpanic

"Well, I'm Charlie," she says. A huff escapes the man's mouth as he tears his right pant leg, right over his wound.

"My real name is Charlotte, but most people call me Charlie," she rambles on. The man interrupts her.

"I need a needle and thread," he says. Charlie's nose scrunches. "I don't have any. What do you think I am, a colonial lady? I don't sew anything."

Charlie holds eye contact with the man. "You're lying," he says.

Charlie breathes calmly. "Do you want a needle and thread? Looks to me like you're bleeding a substantial amount," she says. The man stares at Charlie, incredulous. "Jake," he mumbles. Charlie smirks.

"Good job."

It takes a hot minute to find the needle and thread. Charlie eventually uncovers them deep in her desk drawer, beneath stacks of written-on notebook paper, twelve hair ties, a Glock 19 and several handfuls of 9mm bullets. Charlie loads the Glock and shoves it in the back of her waistband.