❪ 𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖗𝖆 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ❫ ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𓂃
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙸𝙴  ⸻  ✧˖°.ᐟ
❝ CLAUSTROPHOBIC ❞

「𝜗𝜚 . ❝ every time he shielded her from danger, she could feel something stronger than gratitude—a deep, undeniable connection she couldn't ignore. ❜

𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐿𝐴𝑆𝑇 forty-eight hours had been the most hectic of Charlotte's life, a whirlwind of events that left her feeling like she was living in a nightmare.

It all started during one of her earlier shifts, when news broke that Nolan had been involved in a shooting. The rumors spread like wildfire—this was the first killing involving an officer in their department, and for it to be a rookie? The implications were dire for Nolan's reputation.

The station was abuzz with gossip, tension thick in the air as everyone was called in for questioning. The investigators wanted to know everything about Nolan—whether he was hot-headed and impulsive or calm and calculative.

Charlotte answered honestly, her voice steady but her heart heavy. Nolan was one of her closest friends, a rock both during their time at the academy and in the field. There was nothing bad to say about him, nothing that would suggest he acted out of line.

As if the situation with Nolan wasn't enough, things between Charlotte and Tim had become strained. The discovery of Isabel's stash of drugs in her apartment had thrown a wrench into their partnership. Charlotte could sense Tim's unspoken blame, a subtle shift in his demeanor that stung despite his denials.

Their interactions became laced with unspoken tension, each conversation a careful dance around the subject. Just as the air between them was starting to clear, Isabel was sent on a dangerous mission. She was to wear a wire while meeting the notorious drug lord Vance.

The mission went south, in the worst way possible. Hours passed with no word from Isabel, each minute stretching into an agonizing eternity. Charlotte's mind raced with worry, a sickening fear settling in her stomach.

Isabel had still not been found.

That same night, as if the universe hadn't already heaped enough on her plate, Nolan's house was broken into. The intruder was the brother of the suspect Nolan had shot, seeking revenge for his brother's death.

The break-in was a terrifying ordeal, a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked even off-duty. Nolan was exonerated of any wrongdoing, but the shadow of the incident loomed large, the threat of losing his job hanging over him like a dark cloud.

The scenes replayed in Charlotte's mind, each moment vividly etched in her memory.

"Charlotte," her T.O. murmured, his voice low and commanding, cutting through her thoughts like a blade. She turned to him, brought back to the present by the sound of his voice. He looked at her with steady eyes, his expression a mix of concern and authority. "I'm not letting you come with us if you aren't 100% in the game right now."

His words hung in the air, a challenge and a lifeline wrapped into one. Charlotte quickly shook her head in protest, pushing aside the swirling thoughts and fears. "I'm here. I'm fine," she replied, her voice firm despite the uncertainty that lurked beneath her skin. She straightened her shoulders, determination setting her jaw as she met his gaze.

"Got your backup piece?" Bradford asked, grabbing some materials from the trunk of the police car. Charlotte nodded, watching as West, Bishop, and Lopez geared up with practiced ease, their movements fluid and efficient. She caught Bradford's gaze, his eyes a little firmer as he waited for her answer, silently reminding her to stay focused.

She realized she'd been distracted, caught up in the adrenaline of the moment. "Oh—yes," Charlotte murmured, pulling up her uniform by her right leg to reveal a small handgun strapped securely to her lower leg. The cool metal felt reassuring against her skin, a reminder of the gravity of their task. Bradford nodded, a silent acknowledgment of her readiness, before he handed her a metal plate. She watched him begin to unbutton his uniform top, curiosity piquing as she mirrored his actions, slipping the plate inside her vest.

"What's this?" she asked, holding the plate up slightly, feeling its solid weight.

"Trauma plate for your vest. A little extra protection," he murmured, sliding his own plate into place. His voice was calm and steady, a stark contrast to the tension that hung in the air.

Charlotte chuckled, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly. "You really think we're gonna need this?" Her laughter trailed off, evaporating into the cool air as quickly as it had erupted when she met Bradford's hard gaze. His expression was serious, a silent warning that there was no room for doubt or underestimation.

"You know why they call this place the Bronson Estates?" he asked, raising his eyebrows as he nodded toward the looming building behind them. The structure was imposing, its façade worn and weathered, a testament to years of hardship and struggle.

Charlotte glanced at the building, then back at her colleagues. The others, now finished with gearing up, stood silently by, their faces a mix of anticipation and resolve. "Because a guy named Bronson built it?" she shrugged, making Talia and Angela chuckle and shake their heads, the sound a brief respite from the tension.

Tim buttoned his uniform back up, his fingers moving deftly over the buttons. "No. Back when you were in short pants, there was a movie called 'Death Wish.' Starred Charles Bronson," he explained, his voice steady as he imparted the weight of history. The reference was lost on her at first, a relic from a time before her own.

Talia chimed in, her voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. "Yeah. For a long time, responding to a call here meant that you had a death wish." Charlotte shivered at the explanation, the weight of their task settling heavily on her shoulders. She looked over at Jackson, who silently gulped, his eyes wide with unease.

"But it's better now, right?" he asked, his voice tinged with a slight cringe. His question hung in the air, the silence that followed filled with unspoken doubts and fears.

Lopez tried to reassure her rookie, though her own voice carried a subtle edge of caution. "It's no longer the wild, wild west. Lots of low-income families live here. But it never hurts to be cautious." Her words hung in the air, a blend of promise and warning, as Charlotte and Jackson nodded, understanding the weight of their task.

"Alright, Von Liljah and I start on three. Bishop, you take two. Jackson and Lopez will ground floor it. Stay in constant radio contact," Bradford instructed, tapping the radio strapped to his belt. His voice was calm, a steadying force amid the uncertainty.

Once inside, the musty smell of the building hit them—a mix of mildew and old cooking odors, a testament to its age and the many lives lived within its walls. Bradford and Von Liljah began knocking on doors on the third floor, the residents less than pleased to see police on their doorsteps. Charlotte managed to sidestep a few attempts to spit on her shoes, the hostility palpable in the cramped, dimly lit hallways.

Bradford raised his knuckles to knock on another door, sighing when the owner asked who it was without opening. "Gas company," he lied, his voice casual but firm. The door swung open, revealing a woman whose eyes widened in recognition of their uniforms. She quickly tried to shut the door, her movements hasty and defiant.

"Cesiah Olivo. Just the woman we're looking for," Charlotte's T.O. said as he barged in, his presence commanding and unyielding. He didn't bother to close the door behind him, leaving it ajar as a testament to their authority. Charlotte immediately moved past him, making her way to the kitchen, scanning for any sign of Vance or his men. The kitchen was cramped, the countertops cluttered with dishes and a faint aroma of last night's dinner lingering in the air.

"Marcus isn't here," Cesiah protested, her voice edged with desperation as she clutched her round, pregnant stomach protectively, her fingers trembling slightly against the fabric of her black dress.

"Yeah, we're gonna need to be sure," Tim replied, his tone unyielding as he rummaged through drawers, each one squeaking as it was opened. His eyes flicked around the room, taking in every detail, searching for any hint of deceit.

"Hey, you can't—" Cesiah began to protest, her voice rising in indignation. But Tim turned sharply, his voice cutting through her objection like a blade. "SIT." His shout reverberated off the walls, a command that brooked no argument. Cesiah sank into a nearby couch, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Clear," he hummed to Charlotte in the other room, his voice now calm and steady. Charlotte returned, nodding in confirmation as she stepped back into the main room, the tension in her muscles easing slightly. "Clear," she echoed, her voice firm as she stood beside him.

"When's the last time you heard from Vance?" Tim's voice cut through the air, rough and demanding, each word carrying the weight of their mission. The room was silent except for the distant hum of traffic outside, a constant reminder of the world beyond these walls. Charlotte stood slightly behind him, her gaze focused on Cesiah. The pregnant woman looked worn and weary, her life surely a chaotic blur, juggling the impending arrival of a baby while entangled with a dangerous man like Vance.

"Yesterday," Cesiah murmured quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes flicked to the floor, as if the truth was something too heavy to meet directly. "He was supposed to come over last night. He never showed up." Her words hung in the air like a confession. Charlotte watched as Tim's posture shifted almost imperceptibly, his jaw tightening, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. She knew how on edge he was, especially with Isabel's situation hanging over him like a dark cloud, no matter how much he tried to deny his feelings.

Tim's professionalism wavered slightly, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface of his calm facade. "You know who he is? What he does for a living?" His words were sharp, a mixture of disbelief and frustration seeping into his tone. Cesiah nodded softly, her eyes filled with a mix of embarrassment and guilt, the burden of her choices evident in her downcast expression.

Charlotte stepped forward, hoping to give Tim a moment to collect himself, to reign in the anger threatening to boil over. "And you're okay with that?" she asked, her voice softer, more gentle, trying to bridge the gap between interrogation and understanding.

Cesiah hesitated, the internal conflict playing out across her features. "No. But I was pregnant by the time I found out," she admitted, a hint of resignation in her voice. "And he made me move in here so his guys can keep an eye on me. Make sure I don't go anywhere." Her hands rested protectively on her rounded belly, her fingers fidgeting with the fabric of her dress, right where the curve of her pregnancy ended.

"So you're a prisoner," Tim scoffed, his voice tinged with sarcasm and disbelief. His words felt like a punch, and Charlotte shot him a warning glare, urging him to tread more carefully.

Cesiah shook her head, her eyebrows knitting together in a tight frown. "No. But he had a son who died in a car accident. He needs to make sure nothing happens to our baby." Her voice was filled with a quiet desperation, a tremor that hinted at the depths of her fear and uncertainty.

The room was tense, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and the faint tang of cigarette smoke clinging to Bradford's jacket. Tim glanced at Cesiah, his expression softening as he tried to offer a lifeline. "You want out, we can get you out," he suggested, his tone gentle but firm, as if willing her to see the hope he was offering.

Cesiah's response was immediate, her voice sharp with resolve. "Only if I give him up. Forget it." She quickly dismissed the offer, her hands clasping protectively over her stomach, as if shielding the unborn child from the very idea of betrayal.

Bradford opened his mouth, ready to counter with another angle, but Charlotte intervened. She sat down next to Cesiah on the worn couch, the springs creaking under their combined weight. The fabric was frayed, a testament to years of use, and it felt scratchy against Charlotte's arm. She leaned in close, her voice a soothing murmur.

"Cesiah, do you really want a guy like that taking care of your child? There's no guarantee that he'll keep you around after this baby is born." Her words were carefully chosen, each one meant to plant seeds of doubt about Vance's intentions.

Cesiah's eyes welled up, her lower lip trembling as she shook her head. The room was quiet, the ticking of a distant clock filling the silence with an unbearable weight. Charlotte reached out, taking Cesiah's fidgeting hands in her own, feeling the clammy coldness of her skin. "All you have to do is call him," she urged softly. "Say you're not feeling well. You're worried about the baby."

Bradford nodded in agreement, his face set in serious lines. The tension in the room was palpable, like a tightly wound spring ready to snap. Cesiah's eyes darted between them, her breath hitching as tears threatened to spill over. Her voice was barely more than a whisper when she spoke. "It's one call. We get him out of your life for good, make sure you and the baby are safe." Charlotte's voice was gentle but insistent, her grip on Cesiah's hands firm and reassuring.

Cesiah hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on her like a physical burden. Her eyes were wide and wet, reflecting the dim light of the room as she looked up at Charlotte, searching for any sign of deceit. "You promise?" she almost whimpered, her voice cracking with emotion.

Charlotte nodded firmly, her expression unwavering. "He hurt someone my friend cares a lot for. He's going away forever," she assured, her voice filled with a quiet determination. Bradford stood nearby, his brows slightly furrowed as she mentioned how Isabel got hurt, but he nodded in agreement, backing up Charlotte's promise.

With a trembling hand, Cesiah picked up her phone. The room seemed to hold its breath as she dialed Vance's number, each ring echoing loudly in the charged silence. She forced a wavering smile into her voice as she spoke, masking her fear. "Vance, can you come over? I'm worried something might be wrong with the baby," she lied, her voice shaking slightly. "My stomach is aching."

To Charlotte's disbelief, Vance agreed with only slight hesitation, his voice crackling over the line as he assured Cesiah he would be there soon. He hung up, leaving the room in a tense silence once more. The air was heavy with anticipation, the faint hum of traffic outside barely breaking the stillness.

Charlotte jumped as the sharp crack of gunshots echoed through the walls, her heart leaping into her throat. The sound seemed to reverberate, making the small apartment feel even more claustrophobic. Tim quickly snatched up his radio, his voice urgent. "7-Adam-19. Shots fired at Bronson Estates." The radio hissed static in response, and Bradford's frustration was palpable as he tried again, his voice tense. "Control, respond."

Cesiah's voice was soft but steady, cutting through the tension. "Marcus has a frequency jammer in the basement. One of his guys brought it back from Iraq." Her words made Tim sigh in frustration, shaking his head as the reality of their situation set in. "We gotta get out of here," he urged, his eyes darting around the room, searching for a way out.

Cesiah immediately sprang into action, her movements quick and purposeful as she began packing baby-related items into a bag. Charlotte moved to help her, pulling diapers from a drawer and adding them to the bag. The air was thick with a mix of fear and urgency, the sound of their hurried movements filling the small space. Bradford, watching the scene unfold, shook his head again, his voice insistent. "We don't have time for packing. We gotta go."

Charlotte hushed him, her voice calm but firm. "I need things for the baby. I can't leave without them," Cesiah protested, her voice tinged with panic. She moved with a frantic energy, her hands shaking slightly as she tried to gather everything she might need.

Charlotte placed a reassuring hand on Cesiah's shoulder, trying to calm her. "It's okay. We're gonna get you to a safe place," she promised, her voice soothing. She paused, looking at Cesiah with concern. "When are you due?"

Cesiah's eyes darted to the floor, her voice barely above a whisper. "A week ago." The admission made Charlotte's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, a new layer of urgency adding weight to the situation.

Bradford stood by the door, peering through the peephole. His posture was tense, every muscle coiled like a spring. He watched as multiple men, all armed, positioned themselves behind the corners, preparing for an assault. "Your boyfriend's here," Tim murmured, loud enough for the others to hear, his hand resting on the butt of his gun. The room seemed to close in, the walls pressing down as the reality of their situation crystallized.

Charlotte quickly joined him at the door, her eyes meeting Bradford's. They exchanged a silent understanding, preparing for the worst. The sound of a fist pounding on the door made them all jump, the noise loud and threatening. A voice called out, rough and demanding, Vance. "To the police officers inside, I'm here for Cesiah. She walks out, you walk away. Otherwise, we're gonna come in and take her."

The ultimatum hung in the air, the tension so thick it felt like it could be cut with a knife. Charlotte's mind raced, weighing their options. The apartment felt like a trap, the small space offering little in the way of escape or cover. She glanced back at Cesiah, who was clutching the bag to her chest, her face pale and eyes wide with fear.

Bradford's jaw clenched, his eyes hardening as he looked back at Charlotte. They were outnumbered and outgunned, but there was no way they were handing Cesiah over. The thought of what might happen if Vance got his hands on her again was unthinkable.

Charlotte took a deep breath, steadying herself. She knew they had to act fast, and every second counted. The smell of gunpowder and fear lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of baby powder from the items Cesiah had packed. The moment felt surreal, like the calm before a storm, every sense heightened.

Bradford's voice was tense but controlled as he addressed the men outside. "No, you're not. You can't risk her getting hit in the crossfire. You give up, we'll make sure she goes to the hospital when the baby comes." He gritted his teeth, watching the shadows moving beyond the door with a calculated wariness.

Vance's response was sharp, a hiss of anger seeping through the door. "Forget it. I'm not leaving here without my kid."

Bradford huffed, his tone final. "Then I'd say we're at a stalemate." He turned slightly, catching Charlotte's concerned glance. Von Liljah, standing beside him, looked equally worried. "What the hell are you trying to do?" she whispered, her voice tight with anxiety.

"I bought us a little time, but they're coming through that door soon enough," Bradford murmured, his voice low to keep the conversation private. He lowered his head slightly, casting a quick, furtive glance around the room, assessing their limited options. "And I'm not sure we can stop them."

Suddenly, Cesiah let out a soft, distressed sound, clutching her stomach as she leaned against a chair for support. Charlotte was at her side in an instant, slipping her arm around Cesiah's shoulders and guiding her to the couch. Her eyes flicked to Bradford, a worried question unspoken between them. "Contraction, big one," Cesiah murmured, her face pale and drawn with pain.

Charlotte's concern deepened, her mind racing. "How long until somebody knows we're missing?" she asked, looking up at Tim with a sense of urgency.

Tim shook his head, frustration evident in his posture. "It might be a while. We're on special assignment here. They don't expect us to check in regularly." His voice was tinged with disappointment, the reality of their isolation settling over them. The quietness outside was unsettling, a silence that felt unnatural. Tim moved back to the door, peering through the peephole, only to find it blocked.

"Dammit. They blocked the peephole," he muttered under his breath, his frustration palpable. He glanced back at Charlotte, who had settled Cesiah on the couch and was now looking at him with wide eyes.

"So we're blind?" she asked, the fear in her voice barely concealed. The room felt smaller, the air thick with tension. The scent of sweat and anxiety mingled with the faint aroma of baby powder, a stark reminder of the stakes involved.

Charlotte's mind raced through their options, each one seeming more desperate than the last. The shadows outside the door shifted, a constant reminder of the threat lurking just beyond their makeshift sanctuary. She squeezed Cesiah's hand, offering what comfort she could, while her thoughts raced ahead, planning and preparing for whatever came next.

As if the situation wasn't stressful enough, Cesiah's voice cut through the tense atmosphere, catching Charlotte's attention. "Charlotte?"

Charlotte quickly turned around at the sound of her name, her eyebrows slightly raised in curiosity and concern. The room felt thick with unspoken tension, the low hum of equipment and the murmur of hushed conversations creating a backdrop of unease.

Cesiah's eyes were wide with a mix of fear and panic, her hands clutching her stomach as she stood by the couch. The air seemed to hang heavy between them, charged with the weight of the moment.

"My—my water just broke," Cesiah stammered, her voice a trembling whisper.

if this chapter sucks it's because i forced myself to write it BAHAHA

please feel free to engage with the story !!
– comment, like, & interact. your participation keeps me motivated! thank you!!

❪ 𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖗𝖆 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ❫ ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𓂃
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙸𝙴  ⸻  ✧˖°.ᐟ
❝ 29.08.24 ❞