Sighing, you turned over in bed, knowing today was one of those days where you didn't need to do much but say, "I love you," to your boyfriend and maybe admire the beautiful LA skyline.
Hearing the bathroom door shut, you knew Mark had just gotten ready for work, his boot-clad steps walking toward you as quietly as possible. You felt him prop himself on the bed around your body, leaning down and placing a soft kiss on your temple and running his thumb over your cheekbone.
"Mark," you mumble sweetly, looking up at him with one eye. He smiled, dropping down once more to place a kiss on your lips. "I love you."
"I love you, too, beautiful."
You flipped on your back, cupping his cheek in your hand. Getting a devious thought, you pulled him toward you, making sure to hit his arm closest to your side. He fell on top of you with an oof, one leg hanging off the bed and the other slotting itself between your own. You both giggled, a loving look occupying your faces.
"I really do love you, ya know," he whispered, placing a kiss on your nose.
"I know," you sighed happily, "I just don't want you to go in today. Stay with me."
"But I got to. The Chief needed me up there today."
"Fuckin' stupid Chief," you jabbed the badge adorning his right sleeve, laughing a little at the jolt of his arm's reflex.
"Some things must be done, my love. And sadly, as a police officer for LAPD," he snickered at his own joke, saying L.A.P.D like lap'd, "I have a duty I must fulfill."
"Alright, whatever. Just be safe, and come home for lunch. I want to see you on my day off."
"I'll come home," he assured, burying his head into the crook of his neck, allowing you to run a hand through his buzzcut hairstyle – stupid police station, making him have a designated haircut. At least he got to keep the red floof on top, that was always the plus to everything.
"Okay," he groaned a little, getting up and holding his hand out, "it's time for me to go. Will you walk me to the door, m'lady?" He tipped an invisible top hat, extending his hand a little more. Jokingly exasperated, you took his hand and let him pull you out of bed with a grunt, walking down the stairs and to the front door while standing behind you, his arms wrapped tight around your waist as much as possible.
At the door, you grabbed his crisply folded hat, running your index finger across the straightened folds before placing it on his head. He had his gun, his handcuffs, his suit, his shoes, everything. Making sure the white of his undershirt was barely visible underneath his uniform shirt, that his name tag was straight and not crooked, that his pockets were buttoned, and lastly that he had actually buttoned the shirt correctly, you lightly pat his chest.
"You better come home in one piece, mister. Be safe."
"You be safe. I love you," a quick kiss, "don't do anything stupid."
"Could say the same to you, ya dork. Now go, don't want to be late."
He grabbed his keys, kissing your forehead one last time before heading out the door and into his tagged police vehicle. You leaned against the window by the door, watching him pull out almost flawlessly, save for the unnecessary brake near the end of the drive. Softly chuckling to yourself, you pushed off the window and went into the kitchen, pouring yourself some already-made coffee.
"Oh man," you whispered, clasping the white mug with both hands and walking upstairs, saying hi to the golden retriever that had been neglected upon her dad's departure. You went out the balcony overlooking that beautiful LA skyline, seeing the crystal waters of the pool and the green of the slowly dying grass past that.
The sky itself swirled in burnt oranges and golden yellows from the sun's rays, winter blues and midnight blacks from the transitioning atmosphere, and the puffy whites and flat greys that were the clouds finding themselves travelling across the way as if the skyline was an interstate into the next state, country, continent, wherever they may be heading.
The scrapers of the sky were stood tall and the black and grey popped against the kaleidoscope that was its backdrop. Although silent from this distance, you could practically hear the flicker of the street lights, the revving of engines, the screech of skidding tires, the tired steps of the pedestrians. Even the screaming workers who were taking their rage out on the stupidity of drivers ahead of them, but in reality knew it was kempt up anger from their dumbass bosses giving them one too many things so that they had to take their work home with them.
Quite the beautiful, exquisite city, is it not?
The early autumn weather nipped at the tip of your nose, allowing for a frosted pink to adorn your cheeks. The way the trees past the outline of your backyard had slowly started turning the orange, yellow, and red of fall and disintegrating under the pressure of the mild cold. It was quite extravagant, the way nature decided to take a minute and let itself fall, as if opening up to people about its insecurities and allowing others to see what it was truly like.
Taking a sip of your scalding coffee, your slightly chapped lips felt numb from the strange mixture of temperatures attacking them all at once. Your tongue didn't take too well to the early-morning burn, trying to get away from the liquid as quickly as possible before allowing itself to be drowned in the sweet bitterness that was your morning dose of caffeine.
You knew you could've stood out there all day, propped up against the balconies glass panel railing and looking out over the beautiful sky and small glimpse of LA skyscrapers, but there were things to be done, and now would the a great time to start. Sighing, you checked your morning glimpse off the mental checklist, slowly stepping off the balcony, but not risking letting it go until you were truly ready by gripping the metal bar on top of the glass.
Shaking your head, you went back inside, softly walking to your bedroom to get ready for the day ahead. You were just going to be running errands – getting groceries, cashing a check, then coming home and typing some stuff up for work – true days off don't exist; you're destined to work every day of your life.
Getting into something comfortable, styling your hair into a bun, and sliding on some sneakers and one of Mark's jackets, you decided that you could go to the store and get groceries now, while everyone was still either asleep or just heading to work and get that out of the way.
Getting a list piled together of everything you'd need, you pet Chica and gave her a little kiss on the nose, grabbed your small backpack, then headed out. There weren't many groceries to get that were worth remembering, but there was definitely the occasional snicker when you saw Mark had left notes scattered throughout the little notebook you used to jot down the lists.
God, you loved that man. He wasn't perfect, no one was, he didn't cling to you, but he had his moments, and he was understanding of all your struggles, problems, of your past. He was just the one you wanted to always have in your life.
When you came across the aisle filled with coffee beans, creamer, and the K-Cups, you saw the one tub you wanted was on the top shelf. Huffing, considering the height of the top shelf, you reached up and placed your fingertips underneath the lid of the tub, slowly pulling it forward. But, apparently, most of the weight was on the side you were pulling on, because next thing you know, there was a red tub of coffee falling on top of you and you had to catch it before it spilled all of the floor.
Letting out an "Oof!" you caught the tub, sighing and blowing a piece of fallen hair out of your face while leaning over the handle of your cart to put it up. Jeez, what does it take to lower the shelves around here? We're not all Lebron James. Or Wade.
The rest of the shopping was rather uneventful, save for the occasional grunt from squatting or reaching for something. Heading for the checkout aisle, you were thrown into small talk when the clerk asked if you'd be feeding a big family.
"Oh, no," you laughed dryly, "only me and my boyfriend."
Her eyes went wide upon your response, her mouth shutting itself until she was forced to say the obligatory "Have a nice day!" You walked out, giving a smile to the lady standing at the sliding doors, then went to your car, loading all of the groceries in. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, telling you that there was a text waiting to be read.
Sighing and finishing off the grocery shopping by pushing the cart into its rightful line of buddies, you got in the car and checked your phone, seeing it was from Mark.
Coming home for lunch
You typed back a quick okay, with an additional "I love you," then turned the phone off and dropped it into the cup holder.
"To the house because meat is a pain in the ass."
After everything was done, the groceries were stored in their places and Chica was fed, you looked outside, seeing the sky blending together in an array of blues and whites and silvers. The sun had lost its orange tint and was bright up in the sky, shining over the rest of California with a confident light.
Stepping back out into the brisk air after saying bye to Chica, you went to your car and made sure you had the checks and the phone. "Check? Check. Phone? Check. Okay. Keys? Fuck." With a quick trip back in, you placed one more kiss on Chica's snout and walked back out with keys in hand.
Your phone went off with another text, also from Mark.
Nevermind. Something came of
*up
You sighed as you had been the slightest bit excited for his lunch trip home, then went on with heading to the bank.
Once you had gotten there, you grabbed the checks and went inside the bank, inwardly groaning at the amount of people standing in lines, tapping their feet, and the tellers with the blank faces of agony. Making sure your backpack was on right, you went to the line that led to a familiar teller, only three people in front of you.
Your eyes wandered to the random things decorating the wall, the cash behind the men counting money, and the obvious discomfort and strain the paint and posters were probably experiencing on the old bank. It was strange, really, how old school this bank had been styled.
With one person left, you started to get impatient, glancing over your shoulder to see if anyone had gotten behind you. But no one had, and many were getting their accounts set up or leaving because they were so happy to be done with all the bullshit that were banks.
Shuffling the two papers in your hand, you huffed, finally experiencing relief in this godforsaken place upon the person in front of you left their position in front of the emotionless teller. Walking up, you sighed and placed the checks down on the table. "Hey Jim."
"Hi. How're you?" His voice was completely void of any type of joy, replaced by the monotonous sound of sorrow and dysfunctionality.
"Just great." There wasn't a need to ask how he was, as it was obvious, so you just kept quiet. Then your purse buzzed, your heart jumping a little at the thought of it being your boyfriend. "Hello?"
"Hey, y/n."
"Hey, Marki," you said happily, watching Jim roll his eyes. Ass.
"So, sorry about the cancellation, but, how about later tonight, I make it up to you with dinner at... I don't know, Coreno's?"
"That sounds–" You were suddenly caught off guard by a high pitched shattering ringing through your ears and screams echoing throughout the small lobby. Everyone suddenly went down into a duck and cover position, you being dragged down by some stranger.
Everything was going to fast for you to comprehend; Mark was asking if you were still there on the phone that had glued itself to your ear, your heartbeat was in your brain and your legs, people were whimpering to God to help them through whatever was happening. Then two loud bangs went off, a cracking sound heard from the ceiling as something that seemed like bullets buried themselves into it.
You dropped the phone, hearing Mark start to yell for you upon hearing the loud sounds. The sound of his desperation was drowned out by more glass shattering, shouting, and shotguns being cocked.
"Stop screaming! Shut the fuck up old lady!" Four men were standing in the now too-crowded lobby, dressed in black and holding heavy shotguns. They were stood in front of every row, two of them with their shotguns butting into their shoulder and the other two standing like they were gods meant to be feared.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," you whimpered to yourself, quickly reaching for the phone as Mark's digitalized voice was slowly becoming the only sound in the lobby besides cracking glass and heavy steps. Pressing the red button, you cut off the yelling, attracting the attention of one of the men. "No, no, no, no, don't come over here."
He took two steps toward your direction, keeping his ear out for any other suddenly-cut-off sounds. "Who had the phone!? Who had the fucking phone!?" You stayed silent. "Goddammit! Answer me! Who had the fucking phone!?"
Jim suddenly stood up, mumbling, "It was me, I had the phone. It was me." A heavy, weighted sound of the shotgun being cocked, a couple pieces being touched, then ringing. Everything was ringing, the floor lighting up in a bright yellow for a millisecond before a substantial thud was heard. Your hearing faded back in, but this time to be filled with cries and gasps, then shouts of "Shut up!"
Your eyes then began to prickle with tears, your breath catching in your throat. The shock had passed into terror, the terror into straight out fear. You feared for your life, the other peoples lives around you, and the soon-to-show cops' lives. Too much was happening, too much, too much, too much.
You shook your head against the floor, starting to whimper a little louder than you meant to. "Hey! Hey! Hey! Shut up or so help me God, I will blow your brains all over this goddamn floor!"
Your mind was echoing with those words, the gunshots, the thuds, the cracks, the shatters, the words you last heard from Mark on the phone. This was the day, you knew it. Today, the day that started off good, that started off perfect, was the day you were going to die. You were going to get shot, dropped on the floor, and be left to bleed out because that was your destiny.
"I'm going to die," you whispered to yourself. Then you mentally scolded yourself for opening your mouth.
"'Ey! The cops're here!"
"Fuck! Okay, we're not going to leave. I'm here for more than just the money."
Another whimper left your mouth. He wasn't going to leave, you weren't going to be able to go back to Mark, and everything was going to fall apart. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."
"Aye! Grab her!"
Closing your eyes, you tried to curl into the smallest ball possible but was stopped by a sudden pain erupting in your scalp. Hissing in pain, you felt the muzzle of the shotgun against your head. "What do you want me do to with her?"
"Hold her. You know what? Everybody leave! Get out of here!"
Everyone scrambled to their feet around you and the man gripping your hair in his fist held you against his chest, his breath cascading over your shoulder. Chills went up and down your spine, your body becoming rigid with pain and foreign feelings.
"We hold her until the police do somethin' about it, you hear me!? If you let her go, I swear on the great state of Texas I will slit your goddamn throat with my thumb!"
The man tugged you up until you were on the tip of your toes, your eyes shut tight and your jaw clenched in agony. Leaning down to your ear, he harshly whispered, "Listen bitch, you move, you do anything to go against me, we both die. Keep fucking still, don't thrash, and maybe you'll get that pretty little ass of yours out of here alive."
Your eyes welled up with tears, the watery droplets slowly making their way down your face. This was too much. Everything had been great, you were just living your life with your loving boyfriend, your beautiful dog, and your amazing house. And now you're here, stuck in the clutch of some man threatening to end your life if you move. Maybe if you hadn't decided to cash that check today, maybe if you would've chosen to stay home or make Mark stay home, none of this would've happened.
It's all your fault you're in this situation. All your godforsaken fault.
Banging at the glass door ripped you from your self-loathing thoughts, allowing you to open one eye, just because the pain was starting to numb. There he stood, your boyfriend, a gun in his hands and his eyes looking inside the building. He took a second to look at the four men standing in the lobby, clenching his jaw and ramming the door with his shoulder.
The lock wasn't all that sturdy apparently, as the door swung open with a violent intent to destroy the wall beside it. Mark's gun came up right after, five or six men coming up behind him with a little heavier firepower.
You tried to watch his brown eyes examine the scene, but your vision was too blurry to see much other than his figure at that point. You heard a sharp intake of breath, making you blink the blurryness away the best you could. He was focused on you, gun staying in his hands like it was superglued.
"Motherfucker," he gruffly whispered, narrowing his eyes at the man holding you.
"Mark! Please, hel─" you were cut off by a slap to your cheek, causing a screech almost inhuman to leave your mouth.
"Shut the fuck up, you bitch! What the FUCK did I tell you!?"
"Hey! Don't you fucking touch her!"
You couldn't see anything going on, the voices were mashing together, and your brain was slowly cutting itself off. The torment – although your body had gone numb – couldn't take much more before you were to go unconscious.
"HEY! Over here, lover boy!" It was the first guy, the one that had shot Jim and told the man holding you to grab you. "You listen to me! I want to make a deal!"
"I don't make deals for goddamn criminals! Either you give her over and we arrest you, or we take her and we kill you. Pick one."
Mark's voice was slowly escaping from your ears, your already-closed eyes beginning to get heavier and heavier. You were fading out, about to pass out in this dude's hands because you couldn't keep up, your heart was beating too fast, and you were about to have a goddamn heart attack.
"Let her go!" Mark's voice was slowly flowing into that of desperation. He wasn't about to lose you. Not here, not now.
"Ma-ark," you whispered faintly, falling limp in the man's hand.
"Y/n! You son of a bitch! I told you to let her go!" Mark lifted his gun, giving a signal to the men behind him, and fired. Each bullet was fired into the mens' chest, and before the one holding you fell, Mark ran over to your body and lifted you up, pushing your hair back and starting to tear up.
The paramedics came in moments later upon hearing the gunshots, almost going to pull you out of Mark's arms before being yelled at that he would take you. "No one else is touching her!"
Everything else was a blur on the way back to the hospital, pictures coming in and out of Mark's mind as he thought of you. Once there, though, and after waiting about thirty minutes for the doctors to do their thing, he came in your room and listened to the heart rate monitor, watching your chest go up and down, and loving the soft texture of your cold-ish hands in his.
"You're safe now, y/n, it's okay. I promise it's okay. God, I just need you to wake up and tell me you love me. Because I feel like all of this is my fault. But, please, just be okay. Just be okay."
──
sorry it was so long, guys. this is another one that took me too long to finish, but i think it was okay. kinda all over the place and a little too detailed in some places and not detailed enough in others, but whatever. i'm learning. anyway, hope you have a great rest of the day/night!
EDIT ; hi! well, as you can see, this is the 100th imagine. also, uh, i may have accidentally published another random thing BUT THATS BESIDES THE POINT.
i'll just say thank you for letting me get this far, and thank you for being patient with me through these long ass imagines. OKAY.
LOVE YOU GUYS.
ASH OUT.