She should have listened to him, given his desperate pleas some level of consideration before running out the door the night before. There were only a handful of times she hadn’t, over the course of their nearly ten-year friendship. These instances, while few and very far between, had never ended well. This time, however, had been the first where repercussions of a physical nature had been sustained on her part. There was no telling how he would react, particularly in light of the conversation they shared before departing for her Order mission, one that had gone terribly awry. She hoped to prolong his discovery of this and all that would entail for as long as possible. To give herself enough time to assure him that she was alright, if she could manage it. But she couldn’t, and Charity knew better than to entertain the thought. Even if she could manage to believe that herself, there would be no convincing him - one of the few drawbacks of having a best friend who knew you far better than you knew yourself.
The first signs of morning had started to loom upon the horizon, and Charity had finally arrived back home. Stumbling up to the doorway, her injuries having rendered her unable to apparate inside its walls as she otherwise would have. Wanting to prolong Caradoc’s awareness of her arrival for as long as possible, she immediately rushed towards the bathroom, shutting the door behind her as quietly as could be managed, given the creaky interior of their flat. Ultimately, she knew she wouldn’t be able to evade him for long. Even if her late arrival hadn’t raised a series of questions, her prolonged presence behind a closed door certainly would have. It would only be a matter of time before he woke, assuming that he even slept at all. The former was an entirely bold assumption, and an unrealistic one at that. True to form, it was but a few moments before the sound of creaking floorboards could be heard in the narrow hallway, just before he burst into the room. Charity had anticipated just as much, but her heightened awareness and the adrenaline that accompanied it caused her to jolt backward against the wall in response. Try as she might, she scrambled to find the words to say, as if some well-articulated explanation of her wounded state could somehow soothe his rightful concerns. Or hers, for that matter. What little strength had remained left her in that moment, and she could offer neither of them such an assurance. Charity said about the only thing she could manage, the only thing that mattered. “You-I-I’m… I should have listened, Doc, and…and now, I…” Voice cracking, she stopped herself in an effort to maintain some level of composure. Despite her efforts, she could return his gaze no longer, the troubled look on his face far more pungent than the physical blows she had sustained. If only he knew. “W-will you help me? Please?”
@docxdearborn
