She wakes up dizzy and confused, her head pounding and feeling all too light at the same time. She desperately tries to remember what had happened to leave her feeling this way, but her thoughts are muddled and hazy.
She struggles to sit up, trying to force her shaking arms to cooperate. Something lands near her arm.
"Drink." Monroe says without emotion. She is startled by the realization that she is not alone. Much more than that, she is accompanied by the man she hates most in the world for his responsibility for the death of her dad and Danny. Slowly, she remembers the bar, the men who wanted to hurt her, and the intensity of Monroe's gaze and she lost her battle with consciousness. Oh god, Charlie thinks. She is at once overwhelmed by the fear of what almost happened to her and what now is going to happen in the presence of Monroe.
There's no way she can stay here. Ignoring the dizziness, she forces herself to her feet, stumbling as her feet can't cooperate. She feels overwhelming weak and vulnerable, just like how she felt at that hellish bar. She hates the feeling.
"Take it easy, take it easy." Monroe looks at her coldly but his words seem to hold honest care. She's confused and her head is too light for her to think about it. Instead, she decides to put all of the hatred and anger she can muster into her harsh gaze. "You've got to flush the drugs out of your system. Drink."
There's no escaping or killing when she can't even sit up right. She reluctantly takes the canteen, briefly suspicious of what it holds. She never wants to accept a drink from another person again. If Monroe notices her hesitation, he doesn't show it as he pokes at the fire.
"How did you find me?" Her voice is carefully steady. She does not want to give him the satisfaction of allowing him to see a single emotion on her face.
"You're not as hard to track as you think."
Charlie is offended. She hates being treated like some helpless child who needs rescuing from Monroe or Miles. Even more, she hates that she did need his rescuing and is grateful he was there. "How long was I out?"
"A full day." He pauses then seems to make a decision. "Don't worry, I was a complete gentleman the whole time."
She is surprised but hides it. She had never even considered that. Charlie chooses to believe that Monroe knew he could never touch Mile's nephew and get away with it, but she wonders if there is anything else to it. He seems too concerned now for it to be a choice of self-preservation.
She believes him but needs to know more, needs to be able to remember what happened to her.
"Those men in the bar…" She can't think of the words. She refuses to put any emotion into them. "They didn't get to…"
Monroe saves her from saying the words. "I didn't let them touch you, Charlotte." His crystal blue eyes lock onto hers, proving his honesty, and she struggles to associate this man with the monster she tried to kill so many times. Charlie is overcome with relief, but refuses to give into the little pricks in her eyes that could all too easily become tears. She does not want to show this monster her gratitude.
She decides to nod once. "Why are you doing this?"
He has those stupid sad puppy eyes on and she almost wants to laugh, quickly forgetting her previous relief. "A show of faith," he replies, keeping his eyes fixed on her. "I need you… to take me to Miles and your mom. I know I could never make it up, but I have to try."
Her hate for him awakens with rage. He does not care about anyone but himself, and he only ever stepped foot into that damn bar to try and prove something to Miles. He is sitting in front of her, asking her to bring him back to her family, or the parts of it that he hadn't already killed.
"Wow. Can you make your eyes water like that, just at will?" She puts all of the hate she can into her voice.
"What?" he barely whispers. He has the audacity to be surprised that she will not help this murderous monster. The homicidal maniac thinks she would ever bring him to her family.
"Well this whole poor, wounded Monroe thing...it's pathetic." Her scathing words burn him. It only fuels her. "You're a sociopath. You say what you need to get what you want. Behind the mask you're cold, empty…" she wants to drive her message home "and a killer." She doesn't care that she is still dizzy, light-headed, and weak. If she can't attack him with her crossbow, she'll use all she's got. "That's all."
She glances down at the knife she has kept her eye on. She is feeling a little bit stronger, and she can't stand to spend another second in the presence of Monroe. Long ago, she had decided to do everything in her power to hurt him the way he had hurt her family.
She dives for the knife. His boot finds the knife faster than she can wrap her fingers along the hilt. She mourns the loss of this opportunity, afraid of what will happen next. She barely has time to regret anything before he is harshly yanking her up her arm.
He grabs her by the shoulder, his grip bruising and unrelenting. His hands are rough but warm against her cold, bare skin. She has no idea if it is the drugs or their vast different in size, but he is far stronger than her. She has no chance of escaping as she thrashes her shoulders against him. She despises her vulnerability, how easily he can pin her down. Her stomach turns and she thinks she might be sick, but that might be the drugs combined with her sudden movement.
His jaw tightens with his mouth in a horribly condescending sneer. "You're right about one thing. I am good at killing, I'm very good." And looking into his hard eyes, she believes it. All she can do is tilt her head to meet his eyes and hide her fear. "Even better when I'm with your uncle. For the time being at least, we're all on the same team. Those U.S. guys, they're going to be a problem- a big one."
She doesn't care what the threat is, Monroe could never be worth the risk. She would rather die than take him to Willoughby. "What if I tell you to go to hell?" She hopes her voice is intimidating, commanding. That it doesn't crack and that he doesn't notice how much she hates how he is holding her; how vulnerable she is.
His hands tighten around her biceps painfully. His face is contorted with unmasked anger, mere inches away from her own. This is the side of Monroe she is familiar with, the general in charge. Part of her wonders if she is better equipped to deal with him like this, letting her hatred grow unchecked. "What makes you think you've got a choice?"
Those words echo in her head, confirming what she already suspected. They are not friends, nor partners. He is in charge and he will not let her go before he gets to where he wants to be. She wants to fight him. Take both of her hands and shove him off of her, get his repulsive body as far away as possible. But she finds that she lacks the strength and energy. Instead of continuing to fight against him, her body betrays her and she would have fallen without Monroe's hold. She keeps her eyes on Monroe, let him try something, but she is now looking at three of him.
He notices. He must notice (and it makes it all that much worse) because he helps her sit down while continuing to hold her shoulders. Her knees fold like paper and she feels worse at the movement. She leans over and pukes into the wet ground beside her.
Charlie hopes he will be disgusted. Hopes that he will leave her alone to recover from the drugs. Unfortunately, he holds her long, wavy hair back with one hand while the other finds its way on her too-warm forehead. He is neither calming nor impatient as he waits for her to finish. Maybe he knows how humiliating it is for her to be forced to accept his help, or maybe he believes this has to be part of the show of faith to Miles and her mom. It doesn't matter, she is revolted either way.
"Charlotte, you need to drink water." His voice has returned to being emotionless.
She knows he's right, and she hates him so much for it.
"Just leave me 'lone." she mumbles. To her surprise, he does, and he backs away carefully to the other side of the fire. She blearly sees him keeping watch over her as her eyes involuntarily slide shut, and all she wants is to be far away from here.