Being where you are

Take a look into these eyes
They burn with fire
Until the end of time
I would do anything
I'd beg, I'd steal, I'd die
To have you in these arms tonight

Bon Jovi, in these arms.


Chapter one Standing alone on a street


In the little light that was there of coming through windows a small church, four people slowly realised they made it. More bullshit was about to happen soon. But at least for now, seeing the former President Davis being walked off, of course by a snide sarcastic remark from Miles, the stupid amount of time that flew by in just a couple of weeks, slowed down. As Rachel looked at Miles. Charlie found a smirk with layers of guilt and hurt and realising they were here on her smile. She also found the presence of a man she travelled many weeks and started all this close to her. Where he had been for such a long time now. And Bass, close to her, on the other side of the little church, looked at the ground. Remembered Connor, Neville. Scanlon. The wild raged tears that he had wiped of his damn face when he had to ride away on the wagon.

They walked outside. Blanchard and his General there to take things over. Bass looked at his best friend he would know, inside and fucking out, every fucking where. The tips of his fingers still aching to cut, shoot, kill. Revenge.

Bass walked outside the church. Finding her at the bottom of them. Standing tall, her hips. Legs. All of fucking her. Charlotte. he still called her that in his mind. A sweeter tone to it, the tone and warmth of a woman that had been with him for so long now that he had to remind himself of the fact that she had not always been there. It felt like it, just like it had with Miles. Where he had stood earlier, with her warm eyes on him, with so much new things in them that he could only stare. Be. And there, outside the church, Bass stood for a moment, side by side with Charlie. She did not talk. She looked at Blanchard and Miles. She had her eyebrow raised in the way that was so her. Her arm brushed against his. She did not seem to pull away. He looked at her, with eyes that were heavy with hurt, fatigue in his damn bones. She did not look up as he followed the line of her jaw, from her eyes to her lips. A strand of hair falling over her ear that he somehow almost brushed away. He didn't.

So Sebastian Monroe, stood there, next to Charlie Matheson.

Maybe, for someone outside, who would look at those two people, one slender frame with a weapon belt around smooth strong hips next to a taller rigid frame, with a black leather jacket and a gun strapped into his jeans, always leaning into his back, lined out against the Texan night sky, these were just two people. Maybe even friends. Maybe.

They were a lot of things now.

Some things had ended here tonight.

Some things would only just begin.

But it was late, or early, as the sun did not show itself.

Yet.

Present

Charlie feels fucking nothing. The room is dark, the dark walls, with a lot of wood in a bedroom that is not hers surround her, as she feels the heavy weight of a person on top of her. The town has gone to bed, and so has she, as she went home with a guy she barely knows. She should have felt lost into this, forget all the rest. The room, the bed. It all starts to feels unreal as the movements of the guy with her had felt impersonal, but with a common goal of being driven with the need to release. Now they only feel impersonal. And wrong. She can't endure the deep moaning and shallow breaths. And she can't be able to feel him anymore. An explosion of no surges up inside of her.

She had thrown herself into this. With fire, with anonymity. Just a guy, just a fuck. Just a way to blow off steam. But then his hands had been on her, and she had felt the start of panic. Panic because between panting and sweat that now seemed foreign to her, images of one man she met once when she was so much different, she once knew, came through. With so much force she forgets what she is doing. Until she can't do what she is doing. Until she pushes him of. Until she can't think of the guy she met once when she was so much different, she once knew and she has killed.

'Charlie?' His voice is husk as he leaves distance between them, sitting, panting on the bed. She does not even know his name. His touch now making her crawl, crawl with guilt and self loathing. She can't do this. She has to go. She leaves him behind, some guy she picked up at the bar, and rushes into her clothes and outside the door. As the walking turns into running.


Bass Monroe walks through fucking nowhere. How he had managed to follow Miles again, this time into this fucking place, he would never know. Maybe he was fucking crazy after all.

His small apartment would be waiting for him. Empty. Dark. Alone. Filled with self loathing and regret and what could have been. With loads of fucked up mess. Without his son.

Hope was scarce these days. Whiskey wasn't if you knew the right people. And he did. Plus, there was a best fucking friend. With the same desire for burning nothingness in his throat. And dammit, didn't he know all the places Miles hid his damn whiskey. God forbid the girlfriend from hell should catch a grown man drinking. He felt his mood dip even lower.

His mood was already to hell when the kitchen had been empty without her in it, irritated at himself that he had noticed, when he had arrived at Miles to drink and share a bottle earlier this evening. That mood had even gone more to hell when he had heard from Miles she was busy somewhere, as Miles had made a hand gesture towards the town with a don't ask anything more Bass look on his face.

The thought of her, somewhere, not with him, but definitely with somehow had made him breath out harshly, look at the kitchen counter and feel anger. Hurt. Clenching his jaws, his back towards Miles, his brother not being able to see. He could not face Miles. Not now. He had no right to say anything. Just like he had no right to say anything when Charlie was ready to follow the old man into town to get more men right when they came back from Vegas. He had been fucking pissed at her stupidity. But that was not all. Just like he had fumed at Connor in Vegas. It was not about Miles and Rachel. It was more.

He had downed his first glass to make him forget about it all. Forget about her. She did not want him. Not in the history of fucking ever. She would not allow him. Period. That's the ballgame folks.

Bass realises he has forgotten his jacket at Miles at the next corner as he shuts his eyes and curses.

'Dammit,' he sighs. Now he has to drag his ass back. This whole night has to end soon, with him being passed out. Like now. He turns back with the exhaustion written all over his face in deep lines that carve the pain, an amount no one knows one man could carry, on his face.

He walks all the fucking way back with his shoulders low. And when he grabs the jacket, shoves the door to the porch open he sees her.

Charlie is standing right before the house. On the street. Alone. It is dark. He is about to walk over to her, past her, probably getting a look from her, if he is lucky tonight, expect all of fucking that when he sees her.

Tears in her eyes. Tears that wash over her, like a grey day with rain. The pale look on her face. It takes a while for her to see him.

When she does, it is like he feels a hot surge of breath cutting right through him. Instincts yelling at him to move closer, his experience with her telling him no.

Charlie looks up. And then she does not only see him, she fucking burns right through him.

She looks at Bass. As the house of her mom and Miles, who says he does not live there but the idiot really does, stands behind him. It had been her first place in mind to go to. But the more she has come closer to the house, she has been hesitating.

She did not want to come here. But she has no other options. It takes her a while to realise she is staring. Everything goes in slow motion, making her feel sluggish because what she feels is too heavy.

Bass looks at her, doing a quick scan of her body, an old habit from his days in the field, to rule out any kind of hurt on her body. Although he is starting to realise that this hurt, its deep, and inside of her.

He scratches his beard, looks from her to the house. Thoughts of Miles in there. He needs to get him. But then Charlie talks.

'I...' she starts, her mouth making a round movement, before she falls quietly again. She feels so much but does now know what to say.

He is with her, feeling desperate because he does not know what to do. If she wants him here. He turns her body towards her, to walk her inside. Charlie does not move.

She nods her head. 'No,' her voice sounds tired, filled with hurt and Bass catches it.

And then she realises where she is. Who stands in front of her. How fucking stupid this is. Tells herself to get a grip. She nods, this time not to feel, but to stop the feel.

But then she realises she is back where she has started. She looks at the house she does not want to go in. She feels the feelings she does not know how to feel. And then she feels Monroe. Fingers close wrapped on her shoulder.

As she finally feels another human being, another touch. And she did not know she was aching for it until she feels his hand, Sebastian Monroe's hand, on her shoulder there in the Texan night.

It feels more personal than she has ever felt.


Authors Note Hey lovely persons, thank you for reading! A new story, and this scene, the scene with Charlie in that dark room and the start of the story, was something I had swirling around in my writing mind for a while. This story will be about not being able to outrun your feelings, and another person who knows about just that.

Lovely to see you here, feedback is always welcome, I adore hearing from you.

Love from Love