People don’t like me Michael.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been haunted by anything but Annabelle’s screams. For two days now, the look on Hayden’s face and her distraught confession has taken over. It should be a welcomed relief, and maybe it is a little, but after years and years of living like this, the change is too abrupt. I’ve lost so much of Annabelle. So much of her is fading. As much as I hate the nightmares I crave them too. I need them. I need my daughter. Hayden is stealing those memories away from me and it must stop. I should stop her before the dreams never come back.

I’ve been watching her out the window as she moves around. There’s something that is becoming increasingly clear. Hayden Graham is broken too. I get that, and maybe I understand it more than anyone could. I sympathize with her. That also needs to stop. She’s getting under my skin, and I don’t want that. She’s trying to slip beneath my guard and again, that too should stop. I can’t allow her to get close.

What I need is a plan. That’s how I’ve lived my life. Plans are how I’ve survived and made sure my club was safe. I like things clear cut. You see what needs to be done, and you do it. Simple as that. I need to figure out how to make it clear to Hayden that we aren’t friends. That we aren’t even neighbors. I’m here to be alone. That’s it. Once I set the record straight it will be okay and life can return back to normal.

“Can I come up?” I hear her from the stairway below. Motherfucker. The loft apartment has no door. You come through the door in the barn that leads to the stairs and the loft is all open. I like that it’s open and normally it helps me feel less caged in. Until today. Today, I don’t like it at all. Why the fuck didn’t I lock the door after I went out to my bike last night? Maybe because I was shit-faced. Jesus. I don’t want her in here. I. Do. Not. Want. Her. In—

“Hi,” she says, taking a deep breath. She’s holding her stomach, and smiling at me. She looks so young and innocent.

I want to scream at her to get out. I want to command her to leave. The words freeze, and instead, I grunt my displeasure and just stare at her. I’m sitting on the beat up old sofa and seeing her in my space is making it hard for me to even move. Leave. I try and will the word into her brain, even if I’m not saying it aloud. It doesn’t work.

“Shew! Stairs are rough on a pregnant woman. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

You are. For some reason, I don’t say that to her either, I just stare at her.

“Wow, this place hasn’t changed. My uh…brother used to stay here some. He was an asshole though, so I tried to never come over here. I was kind of glad when the front door was chained. I had hoped whoever he rented it from forgot about the place. I mean it’s been empty for so long. I liked being alone. Obviously though I mean, it’s good you’re here. I didn’t mean it like how that sounded. Well, not really,” she rattles on, with her face getting redder by the second. She’s obviously nervous. She keeps grabbing the end of her shirt with her free hand, curling the fabric under her fingers. Embarrassment is so thick on her face she’d glow in the dark. It’s kind of pathetic and that’s the only reason I don’t call her out and make her leave. The only reason.

“It’s just…I wanted to bring this to you. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment today, and I need to head out. I didn’t want to just leave this outside. I thought you might like some of them for breakfast,” she continues, walking around the couch to face me. She hands me a white plastic container. I take it from her, opening it, and finding blueberry muffins inside. “I uh…make them from scratch. The store had a sale on fresh blueberries the other day and well, I couldn’t resist. Even though muffins aren’t in big demand. People would rather have cookies and cakes…pies are big too. But well…I like muffins,” she says, her voice breaking off uncomfortably, and she’s avoiding my eyes now. The woman seriously talks ninety-miles-an-hour.

I want to throw the muffins back at her. I want to demand she leaves. Instead, I find myself taking a bite of one. Motherfucker. At first bite, blueberry flavor hits my tongue; the spongey cake around it is light and moist and better than anything I’ve ever eaten in my life. She’s looking at me expectantly and I open my mouth to once again try to make her go.

“They’re really good,” I tell her. My brain and mouth are totally going against my command, and that’s just fucked up. What the hell is Hayden doing to me? Those gray eyes of hers light up, and she stops wringing her hands together. Those pale lips, which I thought were way too thin, bloom out into a full-fledged smile and she looks almost…pretty. Christ.

“I’m so glad you like them. I have plenty of time, but I like to drive slow in my car. Better safe than sorry. So, I better get going. Me and Maggie have a date with a sonogram,” she laughs holding her stomach. “You have a good day, Michael,” she adds, turning to walk back down the stairs.

I manage to bite my tongue and not say anything. She’s on the fourth stair before visions of her driving down the road in that death trap come to mind. I can virtually see her pulling out at a stop sign and the piece of shit decides to quit and she gets t-boned. The vision is so clear, I growl and she jumps. Her hand tightens on the wooden rail as she looks over her shoulder at me.

“I’ll take you,” I mutter. “I have to go into town anyway,” I lie. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Oh…you don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine—”

“Let’s go,” I order, putting the muffins on the table, and grabbing my keys that are lying there. I’m fucking losing my mind. I prove that further by grabbing her hand and helping her walk down the stairs so she won’t fall.

I’m taking Hayden to the doctor. I didn’t yell at her for invading my space. I didn’t demand she leave me alone. I haven’t done one thing that I needed to do.

It’s clear I’m swimming in a bucket of fucking insanity at this point.