Prologue

PROLOGUE

T he scent of flowers overtakes me as I push the door open and step over the threshold. I suck in a breath at the onslaught—holding it, even as my lungs scream, desperate to contract. Needing more air than usual as I stare into the void of darkness before me.

The wind grazes my back as it swoops inward, prickling the skin of my arms. Something cold and hard builds at the base of my throat, and my eyes twitch against the desire to close, but I can't quite manage it, even as I'm sightless.

My fingers tighten around my keys as I walk into the living room, where the fragrance is overwhelming. I reach down and feel around for the lamp I know is nearby. After flicking it on, I blink rapidly, adjusting to the sudden contrast.

As my vision flickers back in, my stomach sinks, twisting into a tight coil, throbbing to the beat of my heart.

My eyes scan over the endless bouquets of flowers littering the living room. Roses and tulips Peonies and sunflowers. Baby's breath and daisies.

"What the fuck…" The words catch in my throat, no more than a raspy croak.

"I didn't know your favorite," a voice whispers from directly behind me. I suck in a breath, and every muscle in my body tenses, preparing to flee, when an arm wraps around my waist and yanks me back into a hard body.

"Don't run," he whispers in my ear. I swallow the bile that rushes up, my eyes pricking. My breathing is so loud, I can't hear anything apart from the whistle of it through my mouth and the whoosh of my blood in my ears.

I feel so, so cold.

His fingers flex against my abdomen, unyielding and strong.

I slam my molars together to fight the quiver in my jaw, but it's far too strong, as are the tears that slip down my cheeks—hot trails of fear and shame for breaking.

He brushes them away with his other hand, and I flinch away. He tsks, then wraps them around my chin, forcing my head back and around to face him. His eyes are dark. Bottomless, soulless, black pits as he stares into me. Through me. Like I'm nothing more than a body with blood and breath and bones to break.

And it's that look in his eyes that makes me realize… my death will be my fault.

I didn't do enough.

I threw every note away, ignored the feeling of being watched. Blocked the phone calls and deleted every whispered voicemail. The cops didn't take it seriously, so I didn't either.

But they were wrong.

I was wrong.

He… He is very much real.

"Fiona…"

I've never hated my name before, but I do now. The way it sounds on his lips disgusts me.

He mistakes my shudder for something good—the sick fuck. "I'm Lars, baby," he breathes out slowly, and his breath hitches at the end. "I've wanted to tell you that for so long." He sounds… contrite. It befuddles me, my throat tightening unexpectedly.

But then, he seems to shake himself out of it, reaffirming his hold. "But that doesn't matter anymore. We can finally be together now." He buries his nose in my hair and inhales deeply. I shudder, fighting against the urge to vomit, to expel the fear, the overwhelming disgust and rage. But he has me pinned—and I can't see a way out of this.

He groans loudly, the deep vibration echoing throughout my body. "You smell so good, baby." His stubble burns as he rubs his cheek against mine. My body convulses, curling inward as I throw up at our feet. I gag and retch, eyes watering for an entirely different reason. The smell is putrid as it wafts upward, but it's better than the scent of those fucking flowers.

I glare down at my shoes, now splattered with bile. The carpet stained and ruined.

His arms tighten, keeping me pinned as I sag. "Feel better now?" And it's the scrape of his chapped lips on my face that draws the fight out of me.

I buck, using his tight hold on me to pull my feet up. I slam them back down onto the floor as I jerk my head backward. "Fuck!" he bellows as my skull makes contact with his nose in a sickening crunch. His grip loosens, and I fall to the floor—right in my own sick. I hiss as the teeth of my keys sink into the flesh of my palm. But that sharp bite of pain sparks my adrenaline anew, and I scramble backward, chest heaving as the echoes of my own heartbeat surround me in pulsing, iridescent waves.

He stumbles, groaning loudly as blood pours down his face. His eyes are clenched shut, arms waving wildly as he grasps for balance.

The reality of his temporary blindness barrels into me, and I jump to my feet, tasting blood as I scramble around the couch. My eyes are zeroed in on the door, which seems to only get further and further away with every lurching step I take.

"Fiona!" he bellows, and my heart constricts, the burning edge of fear making it impossible to breathe. My pulse buries itself in my throat, and I try to pull on that tempo to get me through—to get me out.

I nearly sob as my fingers grasp the doorknob, but the deafening thud of his footsteps aren't far behind. Refusing to look back, even as every cell in my brain screams for me to, I yank the door open and stumble when it slams into his hard body. He flails from the impact, and I use the single second I have to slip through the gap.

My feet hammer down the short hallway and on the stairs as I fly down them, using my grip on the rail to jump over steps.

When the cool, night air slips over my skin, I shiver, teeth clacking and rattling my skull. I run toward my car with tunnel vision, clutching my keys like the lifeline they are.

My body yearns for relief when I yank the door open, when I slide the key in the ignition with a trembling hand, when I shift into reverse and slam on the gas. When my apartment disappears behind me.

When I make it two minutes, five minutes, fifteen, without any headlights behind me.

But even then, I keep each breath short, my grip tight, eyes strained as they continuously flick between the road before me and the road behind me. For minutes that bleed into hours.

I drive, passing cars on a blackened road, nearly vomiting all over myself when one draws up behind me. I take turn after turn, eyes peeled on the rear-view to make sure they don't follow—every single time.

I have no idea where I end up, but the shadows of trees morph into buildings as I drive into a city, eyes unfocused on signs and traffic lights and everything but the cars around me.

With the traffic surrounding me, I loop around, dizzying myself with my constant turning and back-tracking, but by the time the last dredges of my adrenaline fade, I'm pulling into a parking garage, surrounded by endless concrete walls.

I'm dazed and numb as I park, skin tingling as I stare out of my windshield.

He didn't follow me. I lost him. I'm alone. I got away.

The voice inside my head repeats those four sentences over and over, but I can't feel a thing. Not relief, not fear. Only agonizing numbness and the slow, pathetic thump of my heart beneath bone.

Shock, my brain so helpfully supplies. This is shock. You've experienced it before—when August went missing. You know what to do.

"Take a breath. Take a step. Move forward." I pull in air through my nostrils, hold it for ten seconds, then exhale loudly through my mouth. I turn the key in the ignition, pull it out, and fist it in my palm, the teeth finding the etch of a cut they made on my skin hours earlier.

The sting of their touch grounds me as I push the door open and force my legs to comply. I flex my toes inside my dirty shoes as they land on the concrete below. It's even colder out here, but I relish in the bitterness.

My eyes won't— can't— stop scanning the cold garage as I lock my doors and walk toward the stairs that take me down to the ground level. I feel eyes on me from every direction, but every time I turn, there's nothing but cars and echoes.

The bile resting at the base of my throat is a constant companion as I take the stairs and push open the door. The hotel is directly across the street—but it feels miles away with the space spread between where I stand and their front, revolving doors.

It's expensive—too much for me to afford for long—but… I need the safety it promises. I need a bed and a shower and to not be completely alone.

A sob breaks through my lips, and I gasp as I slam them together, holding it back. Keeping it in. Refusing to fucking break because of him—of this.

The city is a blur as I run as fast as I can, pushing my legs to their max as I dart across the street, not bothering to look for cars as I do.

Let them hit me—it'd be a relief. But I make it across and through the doors without dying.

I don't remember speaking to anyone, but the next time I blink, I'm stepping off an elevator and walking toward a door with numbers I don't remember seeing before. The key unlocks it, and then, I'm inside, sliding every lock into place. Taking a chair and wedging it under the door. Pushing the small side table against it, too—and the other one.

I stare through the peephole for a long time—so long my eyes burn and water, droplets streaming down my face. And I think maybe they're tears, but they don't hurt like tears do.

They're just… there.

And I'm just here.