My heart races as I slide into position, pressing myself against the wall. The cold seeps into my skin as I melt into the shadows, the knife shaking in my hand. Meanwhile, Sam stays in the doorway, her eyes on the stairs.
The footsteps are louder now, each one a hammer against my chest. Closer. Closer. My breathing is shallow, my heart racing so fast it feels like it might give out. Then the door creaks open, and time seems to stop.
The intruder steps inside. They’re taller than I expected, their silhouette filling the space, and my heart clenches as I move, my steps light against the floor.
The knife strikes, and the sound they make is raw and guttural. They stumble but don’t fall. Instead, they turn, their eyes catching the faint light. Rage burns in their gaze, and they lunge at me.
Everything is a blur. They’re stronger, faster. With a more manly build. And my movements are clumsy at best. Pain slices across my arm, warm blood dripping down to my hand. I scream, but it’s swallowed by the chaos.
“Run!” I yell at Sam. She hesitates, and it’s enough to make me scream again. “Go!”
This time, she listens.
I’m relieved when I see her sprinting away.
The intruder’s hands wrap around my neck, cutting off my air and my vision swims as I claw at their grip, my legs kicking uselessly.
Darkness closes in, but I force the knife into their arm. The blade sinks deep, and they hiss in pain, their grip loosening just enough for me to take a breath. The adrenaline surges, and I drive my knee into their stomach with all the force I can muster, sending them staggering back.
Definitely a man, I note.
And I run, my body screaming with every step, but I don’t stop. The kitchen window is ahead, shattered and jagged, and my only way out. But they’re on me again, their hand yanking my hair and dragging me back. I fall, my body weak, my vision blurring.
As I brace myself for the impending horror, a of movement crosses my blurred vision. From the corner of my eye, a figure approaches the foggy window of the door. The world tilts as the door swings open, and Liam bursts in.
His eyes widen at seeing me. His hair, a mess of curls as if he has just gotten out of bed.
The pyjamas he’s wearing just prove it.
Suddenly, the intruder is gone, vanished into the night. I don’t want to dwell on the details of the horror that has just unfolded. Instead, I allow myself to lean into Liam’s embrace, feeling his arms around me, the warmth of his body.
Then I break, my shoulders trembling in fear, in panic. In helplessness. But I cling to Liam, the tears staining his shirt, my fingers digging into his back as if I can somehow hold onto this moment forever. I know it won’t last.
TWENTY-FOUR
I‘m shaking, trembling so hard it feels like my bones might shatter from the force of it. Sobs wrack my body. Harsh, angry sobs that rip through my chest like they’re trying to take pieces of me with them.
Liam’s voice is somewhere in the background, and it’s steady. Like a distant heartbeat I want to lean into but can’t quite reach. His words slip past me, and I can’t seem to grab a hold of them. They’re here, but I can’t make sense of them no matter how hard I try.
And my scalp hurts.
I don’t even remember moving, but now I’m on the stairs. The cold wood presses into my back, and it’s here that I start to feel his presence—really feel it. Liam sits next to me, and he doesn’t even need to touch me for me to feel his warmth. I’m suddenly thankful Naomi called Liam of all people—there’s something about him that reminds me of the sun. Not a morning sun, more like the sun right before it sets. You don’t know when it’ll finally set, but it’s beautiful and warm, and watching it brings you joy. That’s what Liam is.
An evening sun personified into one human being.
“H-he…” My voice cracks, and I choke on the words. Liam’s eyes are on me, intense, silently willing me to keep going.
His gaze lands on the cut on my face that I bet looks as bad as it feels, and I know what he sees: a mess.
“He had a knife.” The words crumble like ash in my mouth. I glance down at my hands, bloodied and shaking. “I tried to fight him off.” I see the memory somewhere painted in my mind, and I picture myself taking a can of white paint—the best kind—and throwing it all over the canvas. It leaves a mess, but it does the job. And at least I don’t feel like throwing up anymore.
“I had to…” My voice drops, and I stare at my hands, their red a colour I’m slowly beginning to despise. “I stabbed someone.” In these hands, I held a weapon. With these hands, I used it. Tears blur my vision, and I wipe them with the back of my hand.
His eyes darken, a storm brewing behind his calm exterior. His jaw tightens, but his voice, when he speaks, is gentle. “You did what you had to do,” Liam says, and I know he’s right. I just never thought it’d come to this.
I nod, but the words don’t reach me. They’re lost somewhere between my soul and the mess in my head.
Then his tone shifts, becoming sharper. “Where the fuck are your sisters?”
