I know I should let you go, should let you walk away from me right now, but I can't do it. I can't.

The sun rose a few hours ago, although it doesn't shine, a thick cloud covering blanketing the sky. Rain beats against the window. I lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the subtle noises of someone moving around downstairs.

My stomach is growling.

My chest is aching.

I can't get his voice out of my fucking head.

I've lost enough, Karissa. I won't lose you, too.

It has been twelve hours since I walked out of the house. He'd be awake now, the effects of the drug long out of his system.

I wonder what he thought when he woke up.

I wonder how he's feeling.

I wonder what he's going to do to me.

I hear a faint buzzing as I lay there. I ignore it at first until it strikes me that it's my phone. Sighing, I reach for my purse on the floor, rifling through it. Glancing at the screen, my blood runs cold.

Naz.

He's calling me.

I look at his name until it stops ringing. I'm about to toss the phone back into my purse when it vibrates again.

Voicemail.

I feel sick as I stare at the alert. My teeth gnaw at my lip nervously until I can't take it any more.

As much as it frightens me, I have to listen.

I'm a glutton for punishment and crave the sound of his voice. I have to know how angry he is, how much he hates me right now…

I have to know he's okay.

Pressing the button, I bring the phone to my ear. Silence greets me, strained silence, before he exhales loudly and the line goes dead.

He offers me no words, only a single breath.

Sighing, I toss the phone aside. I can still hear noise downstairs. I'm no closer to figuring out how I feel about them than I was last night, but I can't stay in this room anymore. I creep down there, hearing someone move around the kitchen, the scent of bacon wafting my way.

My mother's cooking.

John, on the other hand, sits on his couch, toying with his gun. He doesn't look away from it as he greets me. "Good morning."

There's nothing good about this morning. The sky is crying and something inside of me is dying.

Wordlessly, I sit down in a chair, not looking at John.

"Nothing to say, girl?"

I've got nothing to say to him.

My mother, hearing his voice, steps out of the kitchen. "Oh, good morning, sweetie."

"Morning."

There's still nothing good about it.

The day is a daze. I eat breakfast, eat lunch, humor my mother's attention, answer some of her questions, and try to pretend John is nowhere around.

I think about Naz.

And think about him.

And think about him some more.

I think about him until my head starts pounding again, and my heart feels like it's been crushed.

"I'm going to bed," I mutter, standing up. My mother's cooking dinner now and tries to stop me, but I say I'm not hungry as I head for the stairs.

She's making lasagna. John requested it. I wonder if either of them remember that's what they ate that fateful night. They act like nothing is wrong, like we're some happy family that has regular dinners and normal conversations.

The universe is fucking with me.

I climb into the bed and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping sleep takes me away from reality for a while.

Hoping, while I'm unconscious, the answers come to me.

Something pulls me out of a deep sleep so abruptly I'm disoriented. For a second, I forget where I am, the darkness thick and heavy in the room, smothering everything.

Tap

I blink a few times, trying to adjust to the void, as the hair on my arm stands on end at the noise. I lay completely still, straining my ears. I think it might be Killer, or am I hearing things?

Tap

I hear it again. It doesn't sound like the dog. My muscles tense up. It's getting louder, growing closer, restrained and methodic.

Tap

It hits me like a crack across the face. Footsteps.

Tap

I sit upright, heart racing. I'm on guard, eyes darting frantically around the darkness, as I inhale sharply. I barely have time to blink when the form is right in front of me, like a menacing black shadow hovering by the bed.

A scream bubbles up in my chest, just breaking free, when the darkness shifts. The cry barely pierces the silence when the form shoves against me, climbing on top of me to hold me down, a glove-clad hand roughly covering my mouth.

Trembling, I blink my tear-filled eyes, my chest burning as I inhale. A blurry face appears right in front of me, dark eyes piercing like daggers, the expression terrifying.

Naz.

Ignazio.

My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure he can feel it as he pins me to the bed. I'm on the verge of hyperventilating, terrified, tears streaming down my cheeks. He just lies there, restraining me, staring so hard I don't even think he blinks. Something marks his skin, a small streak on his jawline, with tiny flecks around his neck.

When he inches closer, I see that it's blood.

Blood.

There's fucking blood on his face.

I sob into his palm as the tip of his nose grazes mine. He's here. He found me.

Oh God, how did he find me?

"If I let go, you can't scream," he says, his voice gritty and emotionless. "Do you understand?"

I try to nod.

"I mean it," he warns. "The last thing you want to do is wake your mother."

My mother... is asleep.

Not dead.