Breathless ✓

Three ✔

A strange fire shoots through my veins and I raise an eyebrow at him. "You were fine? If I remember correctly, you collapsed half dead in front of my car, practically begging me to save your ass."

He is about to open his mouth to counter my, may I go as far as to say, perfect argument, when we're interrupted by the shrill sound of the front doorbell. The sound cuts through the tension hovering thickly in the air and I sigh, raising one finger and dashing from the room.

I would have loved to hear his argument.

"Didn't we fucking have this conversation already?" I huff and make my way to answer the door.

I open the door, shooting the mailman an irritated look. He hands me a stack of envelopes and packages, completely oblivious to the internal turmoil I'm dealing with. I mumble a forced "thanks" and quickly close the door, my frustration still simmering.

Returning to the room, I find him sitting on the couch, looking slightly more composed. I toss the mail onto a nearby table, giving him a pointed look.

"Alright, spill it," I demand, crossing my arms.

He takes a deep breath, looking genuinely apologetic. "Look, I know I may have seemed fine when we first met, but I wasn't. I've been dealing with some health issues, and it caught up with me that day. I didn't collapse to manipulate you or anything."

I raise an eyebrow, still skeptical but willing to hear him out. "Health issues? You collapsed like a sack of potatoes, and you want me to believe it was just health issues? I narrow my eyes at him, not entirely convinced by his explanation. "Health issues or not, you conveniently forgot to mention the gunshot wound. What's that about?"

He winces, clearly uncomfortable with the question. "Okay, that's a bit more complicated. I'm involved in some... let's call it a messy situation."

I roll my eyes, "Fantastic. So, not only do you have mysterious health issues, but you're also dodging bullets. Care to elaborate?""I didn't want to involve you, but I appreciate you saving me."

He hesitates, glancing around the room as if making sure no one else is listening. "I'm in a bit of trouble with the wrong people. Got caught up in something I shouldn't have"

I scoff, "And what does this have to do with collapsing in front of my car? Were you running from someone? Should I be expecting armed men to show up at my door?"

He shakes his head, "No, no, it's not like that. I wasn't running from anyone that day."

I cross my arms again, growing increasingly frustrated with the lack of clear answers. "You're not making this easy for me to believe, you know that? I'm tempted to call the cops right now."

He raises his hands defensively, "Please, don't. I can't involve the police in this. I'm begging you to trust me, just a little bit."

I'm about to reply when his eyes suddenly glaze over, and he slumps sideways on the couch, unconscious. I stare at him in disbelief.

"Are you kidding me?" I mutter to myself. "You pass out mid-conversation? This is ridiculous."

I grab my phone, contemplating calling the police, but my curiosity gets the better of me. Instead, I decide to search his pockets for any identification or clues. I find a wallet and carefully flip it open, discovering a name that matches what he told me earlier. There's no telling if it's real, but for now, I'll play along.

I sigh, realizing that I've gotten myself into something way more complicated than I bargained for. I grab a nearby chair and sit down, waiting for him to regain consciousness. It seems like I'll have to get more answers before deciding whether to involve the authorities.