Alikae's words still hung in the air, sharp and merciless: "Or maybe… it just needs you. Before you're gone for good."
For a long moment, the room felt too small, like the walls were closing in. Rodey pressed his palms into his knees, fingers trembling, nails digging into fabric. His breath was uneven—short bursts that rattled against his throat, fighting to break free.
Images burned behind his eyelids. The alley.
That woman's scream.
The men's laughter.
The scalpel glinting red beneath the filthy light.
He tried to shut it out, but the sound of tearing flesh returned like a cruel echo. The smell of iron clung to him, refusing to leave, no matter how many times he scrubbed his hands.
He lowered his head, hiding his face in his palms. A muffled sound broke from him—half a sob, half a growl. His shoulders shook, and his chest rose and fell like he was fighting against drowning waters.
Alikae didn't move. She sat across from him, silent, her eyes fixed on him. Her usual smirk was absent now, replaced by something quieter… but not pity. She never pitied him. She just watched, like she was waiting—like she always did—until he either broke completely or pulled himself back together.
The room was so quiet, Rodey could hear the tick of the clock on the far wall. Each second stabbed at him, reminding him he was still here, still breathing, when others weren't.
"Damn it," he whispered into his hands, voice cracking. "I didn't want this… I never wanted this…"
His fists clenched tighter, pressing against his temples until it hurt. He could feel the heat of tears pushing against his eyes, but he bit down hard, trying to choke them back. He had seen too much blood to allow himself the weakness of crying.
And yet—his body trembled anyway.
He felt like a child again. Lost. Angry. Cornered by a world that chewed people like him raw.
Still, Alikae didn't interrupt. She leaned back slowly, crossing her arms, her gaze steady. The silence stretched between them—heavy, unrelenting, almost unbearable.
Finally, she spoke, her voice softer than before, but no less sharp.
"Rodey… if you keep bottling it up like that, you're going to explode. And trust me…" she tilted her head, eyes glinting faintly, "…I don't want to be here when you do."
Rodey stayed hunched forward, breathing ragged, his hands still covering his face. His silence stretched like a wound that wouldn't close.
Alikae leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, her eyes rolling dramatically. For a second she looked at him with something unreadable—then she sighed loudly and slapped her palms against her thighs.
"Holy hell, doc. Do you have to brood like some Shakespeare tragedy every night? You're making the air heavy. I swear, I feel like I should dress in black just to match your mood."
Rodey didn't lift his head. A muffled, cracked sound escaped him, but it wasn't quite a laugh.
Alikae tilted her head, squinting at him like she was studying an exhibit. Then, with a wicked grin, she leaned forward.
"You know, if people saw us right now, they'd think I was your poor, suffering wife. Sitting here while my husband drowns himself in guilt and bloodstains. I mean…" she gestured at his shirt, still stiff with dried blood, "…look at you. I didn't sign up to be the pseudo-wife of a wannabe gangster-doctor."
That made Rodey finally look up. His red-rimmed eyes met hers, disbelief flickering through them.
"Pseudo-wife?" he rasped. His voice was hoarse, shaky, but for the first time since he sat down, there was a trace of something else—confusion, maybe even irritation.
Alikae smirked, satisfied that she had pulled him out of the depths, even if only an inch.
"Yeah. What else do you call it? You bleed all over the floor, I nag you, I clean up your damn cups, and you ignore me until I yell at you. That's textbook marriage right there. Only difference is…" She wagged her finger at him playfully. "…I don't kiss you goodnight. Because let's be honest, Rodey—you suck as a lover."
He stared at her, eyes widening slightly. Her tone was mocking, teasing, but the faintest curl of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth despite the storm inside him. He shook his head slowly, the ghost of a bitter laugh escaping.
"You're insane," he muttered, voice rough.
"Of course," Alikae said brightly, leaning back in her chair again. "That's why you keep me around. To stop you from drowning in your own darkness. Someone's gotta keep you alive—and clearly, you suck at doing it yourself."
The silence that followed wasn't as heavy as before. Rodey's shoulders were still tense, his eyes still shadowed, but the sharp edges of his despair had dulled—if only a little.
The small curl of a smile faded from Rodey's lips as quickly as it had come. His gaze dropped to the floor again, and the shadows returned to his face.
"You don't understand, Alikae," he muttered, his voice low, heavy with something that pressed down on the air. "You've never seen the things I've seen. You've never—"
"Never?"
The word cut him off like a blade.
He looked up, startled.
Alikae wasn't smiling anymore. Her usual smirk had vanished, replaced by something harder, colder. Her eyes weren't mocking now—they were distant, staring past him, into a place Rodey couldn't see.
"Never, huh?" she repeated softly. She leaned back, her fingers drumming absently on the arm of her chair. "You think I don't know what it's like to be swallowed alive by something bigger than you? To choke on the weight of it, while everyone claps and smiles like nothing's wrong?"
Rodey frowned, confused, but she didn't give him time to answer.
"Let me tell you a story, doc."
Her tone was quiet, almost detached. Her eyes were no longer on him, but on the ceiling, as if she were watching a memory project itself there.
"There was this little girl once. She grew up in velvet dresses and golden shoes. Everyone called her lucky. She had chandeliers above her head, crystal glasses at her table, and a 'family' who loved to show her off like a trophy."
Her lips curled bitterly.
"But what they didn't tell her was that her whole life was a deal. That she was just… a pawn in some rotten arrangement between men who only cared about power. That her name wasn't hers, her choices weren't hers, not even the air she breathed belonged to her."
Rodey leaned forward slightly, watching her carefully.
Alikae let out a short, sharp laugh—humorless.
"And then came the big day. A party. Lights, music, laughter. People clinking glasses, congratulating me like I'd won some lottery. Except what they were celebrating wasn't me. It was my future husband. Deniz." She spat the name like poison. "The son of Dylan's oldest friend. A smug bastard born from lies and betrayal. And me?" She pressed a hand against her chest mockingly. "I was the pretty bow on the package. The peace offering. The proof that no matter how dirty the secrets, they'd all stay smiling for the cameras."
Her voice trembled for the first time, and Rodey's chest tightened at the sound.
She paused, swallowing hard. Her eyes glistened faintly under the dim light, but her grin returned—sharp, self-deprecating.
"So, what did I do? I smiled too. I smiled, excused myself to the ladies' room… then climbed out the damn window."
For a second, she laughed again—this time wild and bitter, almost triumphant.
Rodey didn't speak. His throat was tight.
Alikae leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, finally meeting his gaze again. Her expression was fierce now, stripped bare of her usual armor of jokes.
"So don't you dare tell me I don't understand, Rodey. I know what it's like to be trapped in someone else's world. To suffocate in a cage built by power and lies. I ran from it, but the stink of it never leaves you. Ever."
The room fell quiet again, but it wasn't the same silence as before. This one was heavier, yet strangely shared—like a wound they both knew existed, even if it wasn't the same scar.
Alikae's words lingered in the air like smoke. Rodey didn't know what to say. For once, it was him caught silent, his throat locked.
But Alikae wasn't done. She leaned back, her arms crossing over her chest, her eyes far away again, drifting into memory.
"After I climbed out that window, I ran. No plan. No idea where I was going. Just running in heels worth more than most people's rent." She snorted. "I must've looked insane—branded silk dress, jewelry clattering, mascara running down my face. A doll trying to escape her glass case."
Her voice dropped, quiet.
"I ended up in a park. Middle of the night. I was freezing, shaking so bad I couldn't feel my fingers. I hid in a damn trash bin when I thought someone was following me. Can you believe that? Dylan's 'princess' in a dumpster."
Rodey's lips parted slightly, but no words came. He could picture it—her curled up in shadows, gold chains tangled against dirty metal.
"I stole a blanket from a beggar," Alikae continued flatly. "Pulled it over me like it could erase the perfume of that party still clinging to my skin. But it didn't. The whole street could smell where I came from."
Her voice wavered—just slightly—but she pushed on.
"That's when I saw you."
Rodey's chest tightened.
"You were out there… moving quietly, handing out bread, water, whatever you had stuffed in that old bag of yours. No camera crew. No applause. Just you and a bunch of people no one else bothered to look at."
She glanced at him then, her eyes softer but steady.
"And then you looked at me. Don't pretend you don't remember, doc. A girl with gold dripping off her neck, sitting in the dirt with stolen scraps."
Rodey swallowed hard. He remembered. Too well.
"You didn't ask me where I came from. You didn't sneer, or try to drag me back home like everyone else would've. You just… stared for a second, then held out food like I was just another human being. Nothing more, nothing less."
Her lips twitched into a small, bittersweet smile.
"That's when I knew you weren't like the rest. That maybe—just maybe—I could survive this world if I stuck around you."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy this time. It was fragile, tender, like a thread stretched thin between them.
For a moment, Rodey forgot his own pain. All he could see was the girl who once hid under a beggar's blanket, laughing now like she hadn't once cried herself raw.
The room was still. Rodey's hands, which had been trembling minutes ago, were steady now, resting on his knees. But his eyes were shadowed, studying Alikae like she was a puzzle he'd never bothered to solve until this moment.
Alikae stretched her arms above her head lazily, as if she hadn't just peeled open scars that still bled. Then she leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her gaze locking on his with sudden intensity.
"That night in the park," she said, her tone sharpening, "I saw something in you. Not the doctor everyone else bowed to. Not the man buried under rules and white coats. I saw the fire. The same fire I saw in Dylan once."
Rodey flinched.
Her eyes narrowed, unrelenting.
"Yeah, you heard me. Dylan. You want to know the truth, doc? He wasn't born a monster either. He was just a man who got tired of watching the world rot while everyone else looked away. Sound familiar?"
Rodey's jaw tightened.
Alikae leaned closer, her voice low and cutting, every word deliberate.
"You keep walking down this road—blood on your hands, anger in your chest—you'll become him. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But one day, you'll wake up and realize you wear the same face. And trust me…" Her lips curled into a grim smile. "…that face destroys everyone who dares to care about it."
Rodey shook his head slowly, the words scraping from his throat.
"I'm not Dylan."
Alikae studied him, silent for a beat. Then, with her signature sharpness returning, she smirked.
"Good. Because if you ever do become him—if I even catch a whiff of you turning into that bastard—I'll poison you myself."
Her tone was casual, almost playful, but her eyes didn't waver. She meant it.
For the first time that night, Rodey actually laughed—broken, shaky, half a sob—but a laugh all the same. He dragged a hand over his face, exhaling like a man standing on the edge of a cliff.
"God, Alikae… you're insane."
"Damn right," she said, leaning back with a grin. "And that's why I'm the only one who can keep you from going off the rails. You don't need saving, Rodey. You need someone crazy enough to drag you back every time you lose yourself."
The clock ticked on. The air was still heavy, but now it carried something else—an unspoken promise.
Rodey stared at her, his chest aching with something he couldn't name. And for the first time in days, the storm inside him felt… quieter.