How?
My hands curl into fists.
The anger I couldn't find earlier? It's here now. Rising up from somewhere deep. Hot and sharp and righteous.
He's been watching me.
The realization lands like a punch to the gut.
That's the only explanation. The only way he could have known.
The whole time, he knew exactly where I was.
The whole time, he could have shown up at my door.
He just chose not to.
Until now.
Until he needed something.
I want to scream.
I want to shake him awake and demand answers.
I want to throw him out of my apartment, bullet wound and all, and let him bleed out in the hallway.
But I can't do any of those things.
Because despite everything I'm not the kind of person who lets someone die.
So I sit.
And I wait.
And I plan exactly what I'm going to say when he wakes up.
He better have a damn good explanation.
Because if he doesn't, I'm going to kill him myself.
A sound breaks the silence.
Low. Rough. Barely audible.
I freeze.
He's moving. Just slightly. His head turning on the pillow. His brow furrowing like he's fighting something. A dream. A memory. Pain.
His lips part.
Another sound. Clearer this time.
A word.
My name.
"Marina."
