5 | the cut that always bleeds

A/N: Please vote! It really does help, and it lets me know that you like my story, giving me more motivation to write. I appreciate comments as well. Thanks for reading!

The atmosphere in Sergeant Grey's office was heavy with tension as Tim and I took our seats, the weight of our shared secret lingering between us like an unspoken accusation. With a sigh, Sergeant Grey settled behind his desk, his gaze flickering between us as he prepared to broach the subject at hand.

"Thanks for coming in, Tim, Lucy," he began, his tone businesslike but tinged with an undercurrent of seriousness. "I've got a proposition for you both, one that requires a certain level of discretion and commitment."

Tim and I exchanged a hesitant glance, bracing ourselves for whatever request Sergeant Grey was about to make. As he outlined his plan, my heart sank with a sinking realization of the magnitude of what he was asking. Undercover as a couple? In Las Vegas? The very idea seemed ludicrous, but as Sergeant Grey explained the necessity of the assignment, the gravity of the situation became all too clear.

Tim and I exchanged another awkward glance, our discomfort palpable as we grappled with the implications of the task before us. But despite our reservations, there was an unspoken understanding between us—a shared sense of duty that compelled us to set aside our personal misgivings in service of a greater cause.

After what felt like an eternity of deliberation, Tim and I finally nodded in reluctant agreement, our voices barely above a whisper as we voiced our assent. "That sounds... doable," Tim murmured, his expression a mixture of apprehension and determination.

Sergeant Grey nodded in approval, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. "Great," he said, his tone brimming with confidence. "You can head home now and start preparing for your undercover trip to Las Vegas. I'll fill you in on the details closer to the time."

As Tim and I rose from our seats, the weight of our newfound responsibility settled heavily upon our shoulders. But as we exchanged a knowing glance, there was a sense of solidarity between us—a shared understanding that together, we would weather whatever challenges lay ahead.

Me and Tim said goodbyes to eachother and went to our cars. Mine was still parked infront of the station from last night.

I couldnt believe what i did. I realized i really didnt like Chris. We never had sex like that. He never let me came.

Sitting in the driver's seat, tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the world around me into a hazy mess of confusion and regret. The weight of my actions bore down upon me like a crushing burden, suffocating any semblance of rational thought. What had I done?

The memory of my encounter with Tim haunted me, the uncertainty of its meaning gnawing at my conscience like a relentless predator. Did it mean anything to him? Did it mean anything to me? I couldn't say, lost in a sea of conflicting emotions and unanswered questions.

And then there was the looming specter of Chris, his inevitable discovery of my betrayal hanging over me like a sword poised to strike. Panic clawed at the edges of my consciousness, threatening to consume me whole as I grappled with the consequences of my actions.

I wiped away the tears that stained my cheeks, the sting of my own betrayal a bitter pill to swallow. With trembling hands, I started the car and began to drive, the rhythmic hum of the engine a comforting distraction from the chaos raging within me.

But as I pulled into the parking spot outside our apartment complex, a sense of dread settled over me like a suffocating blanket. I looked at the clock on my phone. It was already 6.14. What a night. I couldn't face Chris, couldn't bear to see the disappointment and anger etched upon his face.

With a shaky breath, I reached into my bag, fingers closing around the familiar weight of the knife I kept hidden away for emergencies. It was a coping mechanism, but not a healthy one.

With a resigned sigh, I removed my pants, the cold metal of the blade biting into my skin with a searing pain that mirrored the turmoil in my soul. Blood welled up from the wound, a crimson testament to my inner turmoil, but it offered a twisted sense of release that I craved in my darkest moments.

I always felt like a psyhopath when i cut myself. I knew it was not okay, but I didnt know to handle it.

After my whole thigh was covered in blood I stopped. I realized what I did and Tim will probably see that I relapsed. Fuck. And Chris too. He is alredy making fun of me beacuse of it.

I bandaged the wound as best as I could, the sight of my own blood staining the fabric a stark reminder of the darkness that lurked within me. But even as I dressed and made my way up the stairs to our apartment, the dread of Chris's reaction weighed heavily upon me, a constant reminder of the tangled web of lies and deceit that threatened to unravel my carefully constructed facade.

(a shorter one but i hope you liked it. please leave a vote and comment if you like it!!💕💕)