He lifts me onto the counter.
I pull my legs together and turn my face away from him, rocking back and forth, trying to gather the pieces of myself. Trying to breathe. Trying to come back.
It was him.
The voice is the same.
He saved me then, and he saved me now.
But that still doesn’t explain who he is. Or why he’s been torturing me.
He cups my face gently and turns me toward him. His knee slips between my legs, easing them apart as he steps closer. Myeyes lock on his, and something inside that blue feels familiar, but I still don’t know who The Caller is.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Breathe.”
I shake my head. My chest rises, my heart beating so hard it feels painful. He tries to steady me, but I keep staring at him like I’m not here, my thoughts running directionless.
I remembered Daniel. I remembered every single thing he did to me. Yet I still can’t remember this man standing in front of me.
Maybe I made him up.
Maybe he’s something my mind created so I could survive it. A stranger turned into here or a fantasy I built to make the horror easier to bear.
His hands tighten slightly against my cheeks as he draws me closer.
I swallow, and my gaze drops from his eyes to his lips.
“Who are you?” I ask. My voice is trembling.
“Just a stranger,” he says, his eyes moving over me, then settling on my lips.
Does he want to kiss me? Why do I want to kiss him?
Please. Kiss me.
Make me remember who you are.
But he steps back instead, shaking his head as he clears his throat. His jaw tightens.
“Don’t ever lock yourself in again,” he says, taking another step away, already turning from me.
I look down and notice the cabinet door hanging loose, torn completely from its hinges.
He ripped it off. Forme.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I say, the words slipping out too fast. If I had thought for even a second longer, I would have said something else. Something honest. Because I’m terrified of him.
He laughs. “And why is that?”
“Because I can think of ten ways to kill you and no one would ever know it was me,” I say. My voice steadies just enough to carry the lie. “I read books, you know.” I clear my throat. “About murder and stuff.”
He laughs again, turning back to me, eyes narrowing slightly as he studies me. “Ten ways, you say?” One brow lifts.
“Yes.”
A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Kitten,” he murmurs, almost amused, “you should be terrified of me.”
“You’re not that scary.”
