Gunner released the stranger as quickly as he had seized him. The man stumbled away, coughing violently, gasping for oxygen that had been stolen from him. His eyes wide with fear, not daring to say a word as he fled into the shadows.

"What the fuck Gunner? You were going to kill him?!”

“Imma fucking kill you, bitch!” he shot back, taking a menacing step closer, resulting in a stare-off between us. The stench of alcohol clung to him like a dreadful shroud. "You think you can ignore me while flaunting your ass around some loser like a fucking homo that you are?!"

"Gunner I swear to god, if you don't-” I started, but my words were cut off as Gunner’s hand clamped around my neck.

The pressure was more than I expected, a fierce grip that made it hard for me to breathe. In one swift motion, his lips crashed against mine—not a kiss, but a collision, as if he were punishing me with his mouth. Devoid of tenderness, only the raw fire of his rage, burning away any remnants of affection. I fought back instinctively, one hand clawing at his grip while the other swung wildly, landing blows that seemed to hurt me more than they affected him. My fists struck his chest and shoulders, but it felt like I was hitting a brick wall.

In a moment of desperation, I found strength I didn’t know I had and drove my forehead into his face with all my might. His grip faltered, and I broke free. His nose started to bleed as a wicked, open smile spread across his face. With his fiery eyes, he looked at me while running his tongue across his lower teeth. A wave of fear washed over me, and I felt the sting of tears at the corners of my eyes, terrified of how far this conflict might go.

“Don’t fucking touch me, bastard!” I gasped, my breath shaking as I struggled to regain my composure.

“Or what?” he sneered with his now bloody teeth and yanked on the collar of my shirt, pulling me closer.

Panic surged through me, and I pushed his face away, my fingers dug into his cheek while I tried to escape.

"Aaargghh! Syl!" He roared in agony and threw me to the ground.

My left forearm struck the edge of the footpath with a sickening thud, and I winced, biting back my tears.

“Hey! People are trying to sleep here!” came a distant voice, muffled and uninterested.

But Gunner just laughed, a low, mocking sound that echoed through the night. “Huhhh?! You want a piece of me? Come and get it, bitch!” Gunner taunted back with his arms in the air, wanting to feel big.

I lay there, the cold concrete biting through my mid-season jacket into my skin, wailing... Not only from the pain but from the overwhelming embarrassment that flooded through my entire being. I felt small and vulnerable, wishing for nothing more than to disappear.

My cries reverberated with ache and shame through the night, which turned Gunner's attention from the distant voice to me. He knelt down and lifted me, cradling me into his chest and started walking, I assumed in the direction of my apartment. I squirmed, fists pounding against his sturdy torso.

“Stop…” he said, his voice a strange blend of irritation and authority, neither gentle nor harsh.

I chose to ignore it, fueled by a mix of fear and stubbornness, desperate to break free.

Frustrated, he shook me hard, as if I were weightless. "Stop it!" his voice rising with anger that startled me into silence.

The fight within me suddenly faded, and I buried my face in his chest, sniffling like a child caught in a moment of weakness.

Somehow, the steady and strong rhythm of his footsteps, mixed with the thump of his heart against my cheek, began to soothe me. It was a strange comfort, a warmth that seeped into the coldness of my misery. In his powerful arms, I felt safe from the pain, from the embarrassment, and even from him.

Lost in my sorrow, I pressed my face deeper into his chest, oblivious to where we were. The world outside felt distant and muffled, swallowed by the heaviness in my heart. He moved with purpose, carrying me without a word until I was flopped down onto my bed, the mattress sinking beneath me.

Gunner moved through my apartment with an unsettling familiarity, as if he owned the place. His movements were quick and unsteady, due to the alcohol that still heavily lingered in his system. Finally, he found the first aid kit, its bright red colour standing out against my muted surroundings. With a firm grip, he seized my left arm, the one that had struck the ground so hard. His touch was rough, driven by the urgency of the moment, but I was too numb to feel the sting of pain. He cleaned my scraped wound, his hands shaking slightly, a reminder of how far gone he was. I could only stare at him, taking in the way his brow furrowed in concentration. Once he wrapped up my arm, he turned to his own bloody nose, clumsily dabbing at it with the same roughness, as if it were just a minor inconvenience. I sat there in silence, observing this strange scene... Gunner, in his drunken state, was both a protector and a threat.

When all was done, he looked at me with an intense gaze. I tried to read the emotion in his eyes, but it felt like trying to decipher a language I didn’t know. Suddenly, he leaned in his lips dangerously close to mine, but I stopped him with my hand, my palm pressing against his chest.

"What’s wrong…?" he asked, his voice low and thick as if he were genuinely confused.

I stared at him, my heart raced with anger and heat flooded my cheeks, unsure whether he was playing dumb or if he truly didn’t understand. I chose silence, hoping he would take a moment to think about everything that had happened between us. But instead, his expression crumbled, and he began to cry, sniffling like a child who had lost his way. The sight shocked me but beneath the surface, a toxic side of me felt a twisted sense of pride. Seeing this man, reeks with masculinity, usually so strong and commanding, reduced to sobs because of me.

“Syl, please…” His voice trembled, thick with desperation, as he tried to lean in again but I pushed him away once more.

“Please don’t do this to me…” His voice cracked with despair. “I need this… I need you…”

He tried again, and again, and again. But I held my ground, like a dam holding back a flood.

“Please Syl...” his tone more frantic this time. “My unit got deployed for training. I’ll be gone for three months. Please...”

The confession hit me like a slap in the face. Why was he telling me this just now? Rage surged within me. Growing even stronger. I felt like I was about to explode. I wanted to scream at him to leave me alone, yet the thought of him being gone for months gnawed at me. It stung more than I wanted to admit. Why did it hurt so much? I didn’t understand myself in that moment. It was as if the universe was bullying me... As if it had conspired to throw him at me only to tear him away from me right after.