THE NIGHT SHIFT

TO END: THE CLUB OF DARKNESS (final part)

I'm in the truck and I can't help but stare at Alex, I've never been shot before, God I've never seen anyone get shot. I can feel my breath caught in my throat. I'm applying pressure to the bleeding wound and every time he winces I too wince out of empathy.

"You dumb idiot" I mumble under my breath. I'm mad at him for bringing a gun and I'm mad at myself for not preventing everything from happening as if I could've.

Suddenly the door bursts open to reveal Carter, he looks satisfied, even proud of himself, flashing a cocky smile he clearly borrowed from James, though it vanishes as soon as he gets a glimpse of the situation.

"Hey, what's going on here?" He asks, jumping on the truck and closing the door behind him.

I sense him scanning Alex and his wound, then he turns to me with concern in his eyes as he sees my blood covered dress.

"Are you ok?" He asks softly.

"It's not my blood" I answer. He seems relieved by my answer.

"What happened to him?" He asks firmly.

"He shot a guard" I admit, though I wish I didn't have to snitch on Alex "The other guard found us and shot him" I continue.

Carter frowns at the mention of a gun.

"I thought I'd been clear about the no violence thing" He yells mad. "What happened to the other guard?" He asks.

"I- I shot him" I reply a little embarrassed, as if that didn't literally save us.

"Ok. There was a third guard, right?" He continues, infuriated.

"Also... dead" I answer without looking him in the eyes.

"Fuck" He whispers. "Lemme get this straight, I said no violence, you were supposed to threaten them and leave them unharmed, and now we have three bodies?!" He continues yelling.

"Yes." I'm not going to apologize, I didn't bring the gun and I didn't shoot the first guard, so why do I feel so guilty? I try to look confident but the shame and guilt of my actions it eating me.

"Ok." Carter answers surprisingly calm, then looks at Alex, "We'll talk about this later, we're taking you to the warehouse to get sewed up" He says before sitting next to me and helping me apply pressure, our hands touching, not that it matters.

Forty minutes later we're back to the apartment. Carter's been silent the whole ride back.

He sets his expensive looking jacket on a chair and leans on the wall for a moment, staring at me.

"Are you ok?" Am I? I saw a friend of mine get shot and I took two lives, but I'm fine. I have to be. As long as I ignore my feelings I'm going to forget that I've had this like for maybe a month.

"Yeah, how did you do?" I ask with a tired look on my face.

"Great, Gabriel seems to love giving away important information after a drink or two," he jokes.

"I'm going to sleep, I'm exhausted." I reply, giving him a comforting smile and he nods understandingly.

I sluggishly walk into my room and take off the dress. The sudden contact with the harsh fabric reminds me of the cut I have on my back. I throw on a shirt to not go to the bathroom in a bra since it's shared. I close myself in and start looking for a first aid kit. I open the cabinet that's next to the mirror on the sink and look around, but I can't find it: toothpaste, cotton pads, soap, dental floss, but no first aid kit. I close the small wooden door and  about to give up when I see something on top of the cabinet. It looks like  a white box, it must be it. I clumsily climb onto the sink to reach it, but I only manage to push it even further. I grab a toothbrush and try to use it to grab the box.

Finally I manage to push it off the cabinet, but it falls on my face making me fall back and land on my butt. Mentally I'm histerically laughing, probably out of exhaution, though the reminder of Carter being a door away is enough to stop me.

I gather the contents off the floor before hearing a knock on the door. I freeze.

"Is everything ok?" It's Carter, embarrassed I get up before answering.

"Yes" I answer, trying to sound as convincing as I can, though I feel like an idiot. I wait a moment before taking off my shirt, just to be sure he's gone.

I twist my body in the weirdest ways possible just to be able to see my cut in the mirror. The gash runs across my back, a stark reminder of the night's chaos. As I fumble with the antiseptic, the door creaks open slightly. Fuck I thought it closed.

"I thought you might wanna-" Carter says, stepping in without waiting for a response. His eyes widen in surprise when he sees my shirtless reflection in the mirror and the view of the cut.

Carter's concern overrides any awkwardness. "What happened?" he asks, his voice softening as he takes in the extent of the injury.

"I, um, had a little accident with a guard," I admit, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks as I rush to grab my shirt, now on the sink, and covering my bra.

"Let me help," he says, his tone gentle but insistent. He takes the antiseptic from my trembling hands, his touch firm and reassuring. I shiver, not just from the cool air, but from the unexpected closeness.

As Carter carefully cleans the wound, his fingers brush against my skin, sending a different kind of shiver down my spine. His touch is tender, almost reverent, and I find myself leaning into it, seeking the comfort he offers.

"You didn't say anything about it" he murmurs, his breath warm on my neck. His comment is somewhere between a scolding and consern , and it tugs at something deep inside me.

"I'm used to handling things on my own," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. The intimacy of the moment catches me off guard, and I feel a warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with the antiseptic.

"You're not alone," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not anymore."

He finishes bandaging the wound and turns me around to face him. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist. The tension between us is electric, charged with unspoken words and lingering glances.

"Thank you," I say, my voice trembling slightly.

Carter's hand lingers on my arm, his thumb brushing softly against my skin. "We'll get through this," he says, his eyes searching mine.

"I know," I whisper, feeling a surge of hope and connection.  He moves slowly and carefully and I find my self holding my breath. As I'm expecting a kiss, or really just any more physical contact he looks into my eyes, with what seems like pure desire, and openst the door, exiting quietly. As if he'd never been there. As if it didn't happen.

The night's events seem to fade, replaced by the warmth of this shared moment. Together, we'll face whatever comes next.