Seperation // Gally x Reader

Chapter Twenty - Chuck

A sense of claustrophobia suffocated me as the tube, filled with water, warped my view. I tried to breath, but my lungs were constricted, unable to expand. The water level was full to the brim, no hope of an air pocket. I thrashed around, trying to free myself, but the tube was too small, too secure.

The doctors watched, their faces impassive, as I struggled to stay alive. They peer at monitors beside them, betting how long they think I'll last before I succumb to this watery grave. I felt my heart racing, my vision blurring, my lungs burning. This is it. My death.

I cough, water entering my previously dry mouth. My eyes droop closed, engulfed in the comfort of black.

End of Y/n's dream

The harsh, pulsating beat of my headache was the first thing I registered as consciousness slowly seeped back to me. My head throbbed, and my vision was blurry. As it cleared, I realised I was sitting on a cold, hard floor. A wave of nausea rushes over me, and I groan, clutching my temples.

I feel a hand in mine, small beads of sweat exchanging between them. I squint my eyes and can barely make out Enzo's features as he brings his face closer to mine. He waves his hand in front of my eyes. "Hey, n/n. You alright?" He asks with a soft voice, the corner of his lips tilting into a smile. I nod and my lips mimic his.

When my eyes finally focus, I saw a horrifying scene. Jorge was standing over a man who was slumped pathetically in a chair. Blood smeared across his face, eyes swollen, and clothes torn. Jorge's fists were clenched, and his breath was ragged. His eyes were filled with rage... and joy?

The man in the chair looked like the one who'd lured Thomas, Brenda, and I into the club, although it's hard to tell with all the damage that had been done. He was attempting to stand, but his movements were slow and unsteady. Jorge stepped closer, his fists raised.

I look away, focussing on the faces of my friends. Some looked away, others scowled, but one was missing.

"Where's Chuck?" I ask, turning my head to Enzo. His face turns a ghostly pale.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, y/n," he sputters, grasping my hand tighter. "What? What happened? Where is he?" I ask, my voice significantly louder. "He... he's not coming back. I'm so sorry." I rip my hand away from his.

He was just a kid. A fucking kid. My kid. Chuck, heart and soul. And how he's gone. Ripped from this shitty, broken world by the same monsters that have hounded us since before I could walk.

I can taste the bile rising in my throat, thick and hot. It wants out, to claw its way up and burn this world down with it. I'm a volcano, pressure building and building until I explode, and there's nothing left but ash and ruin.

They took him. Those heartless bastards. They took my sunshine, my reason to keep fighting. And now all that's left is a gaping, echoing void where hope used to be. I want to scream until my lungs collapse. I want to lash out, to destroy everything in this room. I want to feel their fear, their pain, a fraction of what they've done to me. But all I can do is sit here, the weight of the world crushing my chest.

I'm a ghost in my own skin, a hollowed-out shell of the person I used to be. And the worst part? I know I'll never be her again. This isn't living. It's existing. A barren wasteland where nothing grows.

"No, no, no," I gasp, each word a dagger to my heart. "You're lying. You're all lying." But I know the truth, etched into my soul with an icy hand. They wouldn't lie about something like this. They couldn't.

Anger, a white-hot fury, consumes everything, a wildfire in my veins. I clench my fists, nails carving crescents into my palms, as if I can hurt them through the distance.

"You left him," I accuse, my voice a venomous hiss. "You fucking left him." The words hang heavy in the air, a toxic cloud between us. "You promised to look after him, but you left him. You fucking left him." Their faces, once filled with concern, now mirrored my own rage.

"We didn't have a choice," Lorenzo defends, his voice barely audible. A choice? There's always a choice. And they chose wrong. I can't look at them anymore. "How could you?"

"There was nothing any of us could've done, n/n," he replies, placing a hand on my shoulder. His touch felt like fire, and I shrug it off immediately. "I would've! I would've fought like hell to keep him alive, and you know that. Don't tell me that 'there's nothing you could do', because you and I both know that's complete bullshit. There's always something, you just didn't have the effort."

I turn away, the world crashing down around me. Chuck is gone. A part of me gone with him. And all that's left is a cold, empty void, leaving a heavy weight in my chest. I always knew the first casualty of war was innocence, but I never thought it would take the embodiment of the word from me. I should have hope, but there's none. Somehow, deep in my gut, I know he's gone. Strung up, drained, lifeless.