Page 5

“I… yeah,” I huff, feeling defeated.

“Good girl.”

The door clicks shut, and I peek out from behind the shower curtain, checking every corner to make sure the bathroom is truly empty. When I find no lurking men, some of the tension in my shoulders eases, and I put down my weapons.

I turn off the water and grab the largest, softest towel I own. As I wrap myself, I realize my biggest mistake so far. In my haste to follow his instructions, I forgot to grab a change of clothes.

Is it safe to leave the bathroom in nothing but a towel? Should I put my dirty, blood-covered clothes back on? But then I’d have to shower again. The thoughts of what can happen if I step out there unclothed circle my mind like vultures, each one more terrifying than the last.

I open the door a tad and look down the hall. The house still looks the same, but the energy is so different now—every shadow could be him hiding, ready to attack me next.

I tiptoe the entire way to my bedroom, trying my hardest to stay as quiet as humanly possible. I feel triumphant until I bump into something solid at my doorway. A gasp involuntarily escapes, and I grasp at the towel around me, holding it tighter to my body.

He’s standing there, tall and still, yet again. Even without seeing his face, I can feel his eyes on me, taking me in. The fear claws at my insides, waiting for him to pounce. After what feels like an eternity, he turns his head away, his jaw tightening visibly through the mask.

“I promised you I wouldn’t look, and I keep my promises, but it’s hard to look away… seeing the bruises…” He growls, trailing off.

I couldn’t help but glance down at the handprint still visible around my bicep. It’s yellow-green now, but still clearly in the shape of fingers. There are others on my ribs from where he’d shoved me last week, on my shoulders from the previous night. My skin is nothing more than a road map of a relationship gone terribly wrong.

“Can… Can I please get dressed?” My voice is a quiet tone I’d learned to use when I didn’t want Caleb to get more upset.

“Of course.”

He steps away, keeping his face turned in the other direction. I squeeze past him, my body pressing against the doorframe to avoid any contact.

I lock the door the second I get in my room, very well knowing it’s pointless. If he can get through the bathroom lock, this one won’t stop him either. However, the gesture makes me feel as if I have a semblance of control. I know it isn’t true; I haven’t had control over anything in a long time.

I dry off quickly and put on my favorite pajama set, dark green fleece sweats that Blaire had given me for my birthday at the beginning of last year, when I finally told her what was happening between Caleb and me. She knew there was no pulling me out of that relationship until I was ready, so instead she got me these.

“For the hard days,” she’d said. I held her tight in a hug as I sobbed.

Wearing them is like having a piece of her comforting me during those hard times. They’re a sweet reminder that someone in this world actually cares that I’m warm and safe.

I collapse onto my bed and crawl under the covers, pulling them up to my chin as if they could shield me from what was on the other side of that door. I’m desperate to block it all out as my mind loops through the same images: blood soaking into the floor, Caleb’s dead body, the masked man standing in the doorway.

I’m almost positive sleep will be an impossible feat, but it’s the only escape from the world I have now. Even if my dreams are nightmares, at least they’d potentially offer me different ones than the ones I’m living.

I close my eyes, trying to remember what normal feels like, but normal is already fading and becoming something that belonged to yesterday’s version of myself—and that version had faded from the person I was before Caleb. The normal me.

I pull the covers over my head, desperate to disappear.

2

Darling

Iwake up later than usual, blinking hard at the harsh sunlight spilling in through the sheer curtains. The clock reads almost 10:00 am, far later than I allow myself to sleep in on workdays.

The birds are chirping louder than usual for early October, and the sun feels warm and bright. I would’ve taken that as a good omen on a typical day, but after everything that happened last night, I’m terrified to get out of bed.

I turn over, gazing at the ceiling, trying to listen outside the room. Everything seems so ordinary yet feels completely off-kilter. It’s as if the horrors of last night didn’t happen within the house, but my body is still braced for full impact.

I hesitate to get up, but I do it with a heavy huff. My legs feel heavy as I swing them over the side, and the floor is cold against my feet, sending a shiver up my body. I stand at the door, staring at the wood, as if it were able to give me the answers to my questions. If the man is still out there, what am I supposed to do? Call the police? Call in sick to work? Pretend nothing happened and live out the rest of my days with him hidden throughout the house?

The image of the masked man standing in the doorway when I open it plays in my head. I’m almost certain he will be there waiting for me. The thought of having to face him again makes me want to vomit.

If he’s out there, I’ll fight him, simple as that.

The idea surges through me. Sure, he is bigger than me, definitely stronger, but I’d refuse to back down. I can’t.