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I was surprised by how fast the thought had come on. It’s almost as if someone else planted that seed there. My hands clench into fists at my sides. For a moment, I can almost feel the satisfaction of them connecting with his jaw; my fingers tingle at the thought.

I pause in mid-thought, my breath catching in my throat. I’d never fought anyone before, let alone attempted to physically fight back against Caleb when he hit me. I have always been one to retreat, to absorb and hide the pain and fear. So why, all of a sudden, am I imagining fighting this man? Why did the thought of violence now make me feel… enthralled?

It’s unsettling. I’m not a violent person.

Shaking my head, I force myself to focus, yet a picture of the masked man flashes behind my eyelids again, causing heat to rush down the back of my neck. I nearly shudder at the uncomfortable sensation, trying once more to remove him from my thoughts.

The hallway is quiet when I finally open the door… too quiet. I half-expect him to jump out from behind a corner, but there is nothing except the lingering smell of freshly brewed coffee I don’t remember making.

Each step toward the kitchen has my instincts betraying me. They scream at me to stop, but still, I move forward.

The kitchen is empty, but there is indeed a steaming pot of coffee sitting in the machine. I stare at it for a long beat, trying to remember if I might have woken up, made it, and then accidentally fallen back to sleep. It only makes sense that I had made it in the midst of my confusion this morning.

I grab a mug from the cabinet; the ceramic chatters against the counter when I set it down, and I curse at myself when I spill some creamer.

I decided to check the gaming room to see if the crime that was there before still is. I prepare myself to see him again, lying on the floor, lifeless. I’m not sure I can stomach seeing his dead body a second time.

The moment I open the door, I freeze, just like I did last night when I saw the man.

The entire room is empty. No TV, no gaming console, and no wires scattered across the floor. Zero signs of him. No traces of blood that had stained everything last night. It was like it had all been a dream.

It feels wrong. Everything is too clean; it’s all been scrubbed down to destroy any trace of what had happened. Does the air smell faintly of bleach, or is that my mind playing tricks on me?

I drop to my hands and knees, running my fingertips across the floor where I remember seeing Caleb’s body. Without thinking, I lean closer and inhale deeply. Beneath the wood polish, is there a hint of the metallic smell that had been so pungent last night?

I look closely, inspecting for any crack where blood might have seeped through or any stain that couldn’t be scrubbed away, but I found nothing.

My mind is spinning. I walk to the window, scanning the ground below for any signs of disturbed earth, but again, everything looks normal, sans Caleb’s missing car.

I’d imagined it all.

The thought feels absurd, yet I can’t shake it. The real question is: if it was all in my head, why does my body feel as if it’s been through a war? Why can I almost feel the man watching me?

The man in my… dream?… told me to say that Caleb had left. Was it the truth? It’s entirely possible that Caleb packed his things and left, but I just can’t understand why I don’t remember it. I can’t remember him saying goodbye or even a fight that led up to his leaving; it’s nowhere in my memory.

What the hell is going on? My brain had to have made this up. If there’d been a man in my house who killed my boyfriend, it wouldn’t make sense that I didn’t call the police. Hello, there would have been a murder. Of course, I would have called the cops.

It makes so much more sense that the breakup is affecting me. That I’m unwillingly making up this dramatic narrative.

Yet, I can’t get him out of my thoughts.

* * *

Three days a week, Lydia’s shift ends at noon, and someone steps in to cover for her. Today is my day.

Lydia is an elderly woman who postponed her retirement because of her undying love for the library. The older she gets, though, the harder it is for her to complete an entire shift. Still, she insists on coming in and working until she literally drops dead.

I push through the large wooden doors and immediately spot Hudson; he’s our only male librarian on the entire staff. His face lights up when he sees me, greeting me with his usual warm smile. It feels jarring to see after the morning I’d had.

I simply offer him a quick wave in return, curling my lips into a shape that’s supposed to be a smile but sits more like a mask I’m wearing too.

“You look tired.” Hudson’s eyebrows furrow together with concern.

“Yeah,” I sigh with a quick shrug. “Didn’t sleep too well.”

He studies me for a long moment—longer than feels comfortable. “Well, if you need anything…”

I nod and hurry past him before he can finish his thought, slipping into the office to put my things away. I’m hoping, more than anything, that the routine of work will help ground me.