Chapter Five

My eyes flutter open, staring up at a plain white ceiling. A glance around tells me I'm in my bedroom, but I'm utterly confused over what woke me since my alarm isn't going off. I roll over to look at the clock that says it's past eleven. I jolt up, causing my head to pound so hard my vision darkens, and I get that whooshing sound in my ears. I press my palm to my forehead and take a few slow breaths. In and out. In and out. The pain slowly fades along with the sound. When I open my eyes again, I glance at the window. It's dark.

It's eleven at night, not in the morning.

I let out a relieved breath. Thank god I'm not late for work.

But why the hell am I waking up at eleven pm? I usually haven't gone to bed by this time… Yet, I feel like I've been sleeping for hours.

I throw the blankets off me and realize I'm in clothes. My work clothes.

Work clothes?

Did I finally have a breakdown and Bradyn got me into bed so I could sleep? Did I get drunk and pass out? I huff a breath into my hand, then inhale… doesn't smell like alcohol.

What the hell…

I throw my legs over the side of the bed and glance toward the hallway. The bright light floods in through the few inches my door is open. Maybe Bradyn is here.

But… wait. That doesn't make sense. He dropped me off at my car after the movie we went to. That was today, wasn't it? I drove home, pulled into the driveway, then—

A chill runs up my spine. My heart pounds extra hard as I listen to what's going on in my house. I don't hear a sound, but that means nothing. I was attacked outside my front door. And not by just anyone, but by a shadow. Not Ves, but one like him. What if they're in here? I look around my room but see nothing in the shape of a man. Not like the shadow figures.

I think harder, playing out the events in my head. That shadow was going to kill me, but something stopped it.

Something saved me. Fought the shadow.

Was it Ves? Is Ves capable of producing bright light? The thought is enough to get me on my feet and rushing to the door. I open my mouth to call out to him but stop myself at the very last second. What if it isn't him who's here? What if it's the one who attacked me? Or what if it isn't a shadow at all but something else?

Something worse.

There's not a single sound. Maybe I am alone after all.

It could have all been a bad dream. I've been off lately. It's possible I'm starting to lose my mind.

The only way I'll know is if I go out there. Search the house.

I can't imagine someone attacking me, then tucking me into bed.

That's absurd. Who would do that?

If anyone is in this house, it's Ves or Bradyn.

I should stop overthinking and check. Standing here isn't doing anything but increasing my anxiety.

Carefully pulling the door open, I pop my head into the hallway. I glance to the right, then to the left. No one. Nothing. Dead end hallway to the right, kitchen to the left. I'm getting worked up over nothing. There's no one here other than me.

I step into the hallway and peek into the bathroom across the hall. Empty. I step back out and go toward the kitchen, ignoring my mother's room when I pass it. The door is closed, as it's been for weeks. I haven't been in there since she died, and I don't plan to. That's… where it happened. Where she was murdered. I can barely handle thinking about it, never mind going in there and feeling it.

Once I get the payment for her life insurance, this house is going up for sale because I can't stand to be here. I now understand why my mother couldn't handle being in the house my father died in—why she packed up and made us move within a week. It's going to suck leaving the good memories behind, but the haunting ones are too much to take. I'll never move on unless I start fresh. I am hoping to stay in the same neighborhood, as I don't want to move far from the park, but… I probably shouldn't let Ves influence my decisions. He doesn't even acknowledge me.

Should I visit him tonight? Probably not after the attack. I guess I'll see how my search of the house goes and decide then. Every night I've gone to the park, hoping he'll give in and talk to me. Skipping one night won't hurt…

I push the thoughts from my head and focus on what I'm doing. There's an eerie chill in the air, and I'm not fully convinced it's only my nerves, but it wouldn't be the first time I'm wrong about trusting myself. The living room is coming up on the right. A few feet from that, the hallway opens to the kitchen. The house isn't big, just enough for me and my mother, and there are only so many places someone could be—if there is someone here at all.

I stop inches before the living room doorway. It's a double-sized archway, so not just a standard door I can sneak past. If someone is in there, they'll see me pass by all too easily. I take a breath, holding it in as I listen. Nothing. Still nothing. Just silence. The breath leaves me slowly and I move my head around the corner, freezing when I see a body on my couch! My eyes widen and I jerk away, pressing my back to the wall. My heart is thundering in my chest. Sweat breaks out on my forehead. I think I'm going to pass out.

Holy shit. There is someone in my house.A man. A big, scary, muscular man.

Each second that ticks by is more tense than the last. I expect the person to rush around the corner and finish the job, because that's obviously why there is a strange man who I don't recognize in my house. This man is going to pop out any second to kill me, and I can't move. I'm stuck to the wall like the paint. I push through my panic and realize it's well past the time it would take him to get to me. A few strides and he'd be out the door. He could do that in a second or two. There are no footsteps. No shouting. No cocking of guns.

Did I make it up? Did I really see someone or is my stress causing me to hallucinate?

My head is fucking with me, and I don't like it. This is ridiculous!

This is my house! Why am I standing here and allowing fear to control me?

I take another breath, straighten my back and step into the doorway, ready to force the man out. I open my mouth, prepared to shout at him, scream my head off so he thinks I'm crazy and will leave willingly, when I realize he's asleep. The scream comes out as a soft choking sound instead. How pitiful.

The strange man is asleep on my couch. In my living room. In my house.

This man, who is unnaturally attractive—something that shouldn't even cross my mind, considering the situation—is just sleeping on my couch. He's resting back, head tilted upwards, legs spread, palms on his thighs. His chest moves slow and deep as he breathes, his full lips parted slightly. White-blond hair is short and neat on his head, his eyebrows perfectly shaped and trimmed. There is a barely noticeable shadow of facial hair on his face that's much darker than what's on his head, which makes me think he's dyed his hair that color and it isn't natural. What really has me intrigued are the tattoos running up his neck and beneath his jaw. The swirls of ink along his hands and down his fingers. He seems perfectly at ease, dressed in a pair of well-fitted jeans, white long-sleeved Henley, and black boots. Certainly not assassin clothing. He isn't a shadow. Not a cop, either—unless he's the kind that's employed by a strip club. I don't know him, so he isn't a friend. Too old to be a high school kid.

A flicker from the corner of my eye has me bringing my attention to the TV, which is when I realize it's on but muted. Is he supposed to be watching me, to make sure I don't escape?

Shitty job he's doing.

I turn on my heel, ready to bolt for the kitchen. My keys are hanging by the door, so I'll be out of here in less than ten seconds. I'll go right to the police station, and they can handle it. But before I take that step toward the kitchen, I look back at this guy on my couch.

I'm tired of running—tired of all these men in my life, in this world and others, thinking they can do whatever they want to me, while I lay down and take it.

Ted took more from me than he ever should have. My innocence and my mother.

Bradyn too. Took a piece of me he doesn't deserve.

And my father… I hate putting blame on my father, but he selfishly took something from me too. Part of my childhood is gone. Pieces of my mother—gone.

And Ves… I can't even get started on him.

It's unfair.

Which is why I'm not leaving. I'm not running.

I do go to the kitchen though, only to pull out the eleven-inch French knife that my mother had handmade years ago when she was in culinary school. It's sharp as all hell because she took such wonderful care of it. I turn it over in my hand, wondering if this is the right thing to do. When I glance back toward the living room, seeing the man on my couch, a new sense of determination has me walking back that way. Even if I don't come out of this alive, at least I fought back. Because if I'm anything, it's a fighter.