John Collier was running and he had been running for a very long time. By now he was used to leaving in a hurry and escaping bad situations. He had learned how to protect himself and he always told himself he had to what he had to do to get by.

He sunk to rock bottom after his parent's marriage broke down, it seemed both his parents had moved on and he would often question where he fitted in with their lives. His sister had learned to adapt, she was young and she couldn't see what he did. He envied her carefree attitude, after a few months she had settled in well at their new home and after a while their father was nothing more than a distant memory for her.

He had relieved his girlfriend of the stolen medical bag and with each step he took it would bash against his side, serving as a cruel reminder of the new low he had sunk to.

He didn't like to think of himself as a bad person, he felt remorse for what he just done. Holding a knife to someone was never something that would come easy to him, he acted like he was tough and that he would do it if he had to, but he never did. Nine times out of ten he would run, not because he was weak or cowardly, it was because it was the only way to survive. He'd seen the result of violent street fights and he learned from them, the knife was a last resort, always.

He didn't want to hurt anyone, least of all his father's wife. John was clever though, he knew what he wanted and if getting it meant threatening the person his father loved most, then he was not afraid to prey on that weakness.

He ran for what felt like a lifetime, he used to be full of boundless energy now he struggled, his heart rate felt like it would beat out of his chest, every breath was agony and the throbbing pain in his side was threatening to slow him down.

"John lets stop." Rachel insisted pulling them into an alleyway so they were out of site.

Relief filled him as he sank to the ground his back up against the wall for support. He took deep breaths trying to steady his breathing, clutching at his chest as he did so.

"It's alright." She soothed, rubbing his back in attempts to calm him.

"Our stuff, we've got nothing."

"We can go back for it."

"How Rachel? we've stolen a bag of drugs and held a knife to a paramedic." He despaired a look of anguish in his eyes.

"We don't have that much as it is, we'll be fine."

"Pictures of my sister, our clothes, the email I printed out." He frantically listed becoming ever more anxious.

"It's the withdrawal talking."

"I need that Email."

"It's time to let it go, you know it word for word."

"My dad sent it to me, I need it."

"The same man we just mugged, the same man whose house you burgled?" She bitterly spat.

"Just empty the bag and separate it." He argued back turning his face away.

She nodded before unzipping the kit and empting the contents out onto the floor. Out poured several bandages, pressure dressings, a pair of scissors, a small oxygen cylinder, defibrillator pads, latex gloves and a saline drip.

"There's nothing in here." She furiously announced.

"There's got to be."

"It's just a glorified first aid kit."

"There's got to morphine or anything." He said a hint of desperation present in his voice as he scrambled through the contents of the bag in search of something.

"John stop!"

"No there has to be, there has to be." He cried out becoming ever more frantic.

"That's enough now!"

"No, no, no." He raged before slumping down onto the floor.

"You're going to be fine, what you got will last us tonight, we'll get some more tomorrow." I promise she comforted as she pulled him up into her arms.

"I don't feel well." He stated, wiping away the sweat off his face his breathing becoming deep and shallow.

Apprehensively she removed the substance from his pocket, she kept one hand on John, to control his shaking.

He clenched his fists together the craving become too much to take, his body temperature had risen to a high level causing him to break out into a cold sweat.

"It's alright I'll give it to you." She reassured, holding him down as his shaking became more violent.

He lay on the ground whilst Rachel prepared, he tried to face her yet his vision had blurred and his hearing was poor, causing everything to sound like a poorly tuned radio. He fought against the strong feeling of nausea that overwhelmed him, his efforts weren't enough as he retched over the ground, being violently sick. Rachel hardly turned a hair she had seen the sight many times before, they both had.

He felt her fingers stroking his hair, in attempts to comfort him. He felt her pull up his sleeve, he took a deep breath in and braced himself.

Rachel was always quick, she never hesitated and that time was no exception. He gasped as he felt his arm being pricked before relaxing into her arms relishing the feeling.

She held him for a few seconds allowing the drug to kick in before she placed him down.

"Can you walk?" She questioned.

He took a few steady breaths before nodding.

"C'mon then we need to get out of here." She instructed, helping him to his feet.

Slowly he got up, for a moment a wave of light-headedness hit him causing him to stagger to the left before steadying himself on a wheelie bin.

"I've got you." Rachel said, wrapping a firm arm around his waist and leading him out of the alley.

They headed off back onto the streets looking for a place to sleep that night, to shelter from the cold weather.

"I'm sorry Dad." He said aloud before reciting the email to himself, the only thing that had kept him going in their time apart.