you’d been forced time and time again by your boyfriend to be used as bait for his robberies. it was horrible and you hated it, but if you didn’t obliged, he’d beat you half to death. so as you pretended to get knocked over by a cart for the second time today you’d just lay there again, pretending to whine and be hurt. till you locked eyes with the driver and his partner, a loud irishman.

something in your chest beated a bit faster, something in your head throbbed with an unfamiliar feel. he had a worried sight on his face.

“yer alright, ma’am?” he said, his accent thick with irish. his hand brushing against your to help you up. “this may be a wee bit rude, but yer very pretty, sorry for knocking ya over.. i’ll buy yar a drink?” he says with sweet an apologetic eyes and a sweetheart smile.