^^ Sheriff ^^

That Smiler can be a persuasive bastard when he wants to be, which is why I am now sat opposite Skids in the cafe where I first saw him. Now I'm here however, I am having serious second thoughts.

If my life was a movie, I'd be the one screaming at the screen to just bloody tell him. After all, who could keep me safer than the Bulldogs MC? Right? So why am I now filled with doubt? Just a few hours ago, with Smiler tracing my ink again as I lay naked in my bed, I'd been so sure. But now my independent streak has come out to play, and I'm almost convinced I can handle it on my own.

I know Skids can tell something is wrong. He's watching me like I'm a scared animal that's about to bolt. And to be fair, he wouldn't be far off. I take a deep breath and am about to take the plunge when my phone buzzes. I frown. Only the guys have my number, and they never use it. They'd call Skids if they needed anything. I flip it open and my heart jumps so far up my throat, I'm surprised it didn't fall out of my mouth and land on the table.

That's it, that's all there is. And it's from one of those anonymous websites. Shit.

"What?" Skids asks. I know my face is as white as a ghost right now.

"Who's got my number?" I ask around the lump in my throat. Dammit, my heart needs to get back into its rightful place.

"Just the guys. And the sheriff,"

"The sheriff?" Shit. Shit. This isn't good.

"Yeah. In case he needed to contact you about your bike,"

I stand from the table. I'm about to bolt until I realise that we got here on his bike. Fuck. Skids grabs my wrist and pulls me back down.

"What the fuck is going on?"

I gulp. I haven't got a choice now. He knows exactly where I am and who I'm with. Shit. Fuck.

"I didn't just want a fresh start. I ran. He went to prison for assault. Eighteen months. He'll be out soon on good behaviour," I know I'm rambling, but the words are just spilling out. "He's found me. I thought I'd been so careful. How did he find me? First my car, then my bike. I don't understand!" I'm hyperventilating now. I put my head in my hands. "Why is the fucking room spinning? It needs to stop!"

Skids pulls me up from my seat and drags me outside. He leads me to his bike and takes my face in his hands. "Hey!" I look up at him. "I'm gonna take you home, okay?"

I shake my head. "No. He knows where that is. I have to run again. I don't want to run. But I have to go!"

"No more running! No more!" Skids says firmly. And in that moment I believe he can keep me safe. He was so sure. I nod, and when he climbs on the bike I wrap my arms around him. I lean my head on his shoulder and squeeze my eyes shut tight. No more running. Right?

***

It all goes to shit when we pull into the clubhouse car park, just as the sheriff is getting in his car to leave. I'm not really sure what my thought process is at this point, but I find myself pulling Skids' gun from the back of his jeans and jumping off the bike before it stops. I think I hear him swear as the bike wobbles. The next thing I know, I'm pointing a gun at the sheriff's head.

"Who paid you?"

He puts his hands up and looks around him. I think the guys are there. I'm pretty sure I hear them talking. Maybe they're talking to me. All I see is the sheriff, pale faced and sweating.

"WHO FUCKING PAID YOU?" I'm screaming now. I've lost it. This is what a psychotic break feels like. I'd always wondered if people were aware when it happened. I'm aware, but I can't stop it. I walk closer to the sheriff, the gun only inches from his face now. What the fuck am I doing? Shit.

He stutters. "It was anonymous! Just an email. Payment for your number and location."

It all makes sense. Why he asked about the conviction. He didn't need to know, but the name threw him off. He needed to make sure I was the right person.

"You've killed me," I tell him. I watch him shake his head and look around. I think the guys are still talking, but I'm not sure. I feel the gun against my temple and realise I'm holding it to my own head. Now I can hear the guys shouting. I can see Jay and Banjo holding Skids back as he fights to get to me. He's got tears streaming down his cheeks, and that's the last thing I see before I close my eyes. It's all just noise, and I want it to stop. Just a little squeeze and it will all be over. No more noise. No more pain. No more fear. No more running. "I'm sorry. I'm better off dead than with him. I'd rather be dead."

I tense and my finger moves on the trigger, but then someone is holding my hand. I pause. I'm imagining it, right? This is some kind of sign that I'm right to do it. Someone is helping me. Maybe it's my mum. No, she wouldn't help me do this. I'm so confused. But then they're pulling the gun away from my head. Wait, that isn't right. That's not what's supposed to happen. I feel an arm around my waist and I'm pulled back into someone's chest. His voice is quiet, but I can hear it clearly above the shouts of Skids. I think the guys are still holding him back. I don't want to open my eyes. Ever.

"Let go, baby. I've got you. You're okay."

I tense. My head is swimming and I don't know where I am. All I know is that I can feel his heartbeat pounding against my back. He sounds calm, but his heart shows the truth. It races, and I wonder how long it can last going that fast. Surely it would wear itself out, right? But he is strong and steady, lowering my hand. He kisses my head and I relax my hand. I feel him take the gun and hear it skid across the ground. I briefly wonder if Skids will be pissed about that, watching his gun fly across the car park. Then he's turning me, and my head is buried in his chest. And then everything is black. Maybe I imagined him, and I'm really dead. Had I done it? Did I pull the trigger?

***

When I wake up, my chest feels heavy. I thought it was always just a saying, but I can physically feel it. Then the weight moves, and I feel like a bit of a twat for not realising it was Sammy. He moves to the bedroom door and whines as I sit up. At least my mind and body were my own now. Shit. I'm a bloody dickhead. What the hell had I been thinking? Well, I hadn't been thinking. That's the point I suppose. Christ, I should be in a padded cell, not tucked up in my bloody bed. Were they crazy too? Why hadn't they locked me up or something? Surely the sheriff should've arrested me? I threatened him with a bloody gun! Although I suppose then he'd have to explain why I'd done it. And several witnesses heard him confess to selling me out.

Crap. Nothing has changed. He still knows where I am. My head pounds and I press my hands into my eyes to try and stop it. Sammy whines again and I look at him. It takes me a moment to realise he needs to go out. I need to get my act together. And now I have to face the guys and try and prove I'm not completely insane. Although I'm still undecided on that. I can feel a giggle try and break through and bite my lip to stop it. Oh god, I'm hysterical. Someone should slap me. That's how you stop hysteria right? Sammy barks, making me jump, and the urge to giggle disappears. Right, that'll do it too apparently.

I get out of bed, wobbling slightly on legs that felt like jelly. I open the door to let Sammy out and he bolts down the corridor. Well, they'll know I'm up now. Might as well face the music. Shit. I stand in the doorway trying to decide if I'm strong enough to face them when the decision's made for me. Footsteps. Lots of them. Running straight at me. Crap. I'm about to jump back in my room and slam the door when I'm grabbed into a strong pair of arms.

"You bloody stupid cow. Don't you ever scare me like that again!" I have a flashback of being fifteen again. I had tried to sneak back into my house at five a.m, thinking my dad would be passed out and I'd be unnoticed. I hadn't realised Skids had been there waiting for me until he said those exact words to me.

"I feel like I'm fifteen again," I tell him. At least I try to, but my words are muffled where my face is squished against his jacket. He understands me though because he laughs and moves back to look at me.

"Aye well, I'll take a drunk fifteen-year-old sneaking in over that performance any day!"

Yeah. Me too! I risk a peek over his shoulder and see the corridor filled with guys. No one moves until Jay shoves Skids away from me and steps towards me.

"I don't know whether to hug you or hit you." His voice is steady, but I can see his hands shake.

"I'll take the hug please," I say, smiling through tears as he grabs me and squeezes me tight.

"Next time you get the hit," he tells me.

I shake my head. "There won't be a next time."

He squeezes me tighter. "Get dressed, I'll put the coffee on."

I look down and realise someone had undressed me and put me in the t-shirt I sleep in. I nod, stepping back. I catch Smiler's eye as I step towards my door. His face is blank and that scares me. I don't know how he'll react. The guys move back down the corridor but he stays where he is. I take a step back into my room but leave my door open. It's up to him. He doesn't follow me in so I get some clean clothes and a towel out and head into my bathroom for a shower. I can't blame him. I'm damaged goods. I ignore the feeling in my chest that strongly resembles a broken heart.

I stand under the hot water, relishing the burn as it hits my skin when I feel his hand on my waist. Nothing is said as he pulls me around to face him. He places a kiss on my forehead and reaches behind me for the shampoo. I've never had any man wash my hair that wasn't a hairdresser. It's weird. But so good. His fingers massage my scalp, and I can feel the tension seep out of my body. As I tip my head back under the water, I feel his fingers trail down my throat. He turns me again and I feel his hands kneading my shoulders before he places a kiss on the wet skin. His arms wrap around me again and I'm pulled back against him. No words are said, he just holds me. I'm convinced he's trying to hold me together. And I think it's working.

We stay there until the water runs cold, and then he's wrapping me in a towel. He leads me to my bed and sits me on the edge before crouching down in front of me so that our eyes are level.

"I'm sorry," I tell him. "I'll tell you all everything. But you won't like it,"

I look at the floor, but his fingers tilt my head back up to look into his eyes. His lips brush mine gently, and it feels like a promise. He pulls back and wipes away a tear that has escaped down my cheek.

"I know. I guessed that when you said you were better off dead." His voice breaks, and he clears his throat. He kisses me again, his hand moving to the back of my head, holding me in place.