It’s weird being alone in this place without Sebastian. I’m surprised he let me stay here at all. I’d planned on sneaking out in the morning and being weird on my own rather than weird with him.

The biggest fucking lie I’ve ever told myself is that this is just sex. Last night was more than sex for me.

I woke up a few hours after I’d passed out, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. I was wide awake and so very aware of everything that happened. With his arm still around me, I wanted so badly to stay in that moment. The moment where it felt like he still wanted me.

I knew it would hurt down there, and at 4 a.m. every tiny shift in my body seemed to be connected to the ache between my legs. It still hurts now in the evening after. I knew it would. But I didn’t expect the emotional change, the emotional pain that comes with it.

Not able to sleep, and knowing I’d made a fool of myself, I thought I’d sneak out, leave him a note, and let him decide if he still wanted me. If I was worth still being around or with, or whatever it is that we have going on. I wanted to make it easy for him because I knew what I was doing, and it wasn’t fair to him not to tell him.

That was the conclusion I came to at four in the morning as I breathed in his masculine scent one last time and felt the warmth of his hard chest at my back. I closed my eyes and savored that moment, memorizing it, just in case it would be the only moment I had like that with him. Of all the things that have happened between us, that’s the one I wanted to hold on to.

Where he took from me what he needed, and I took from him what I needed.

With a deep and slow breath, I carefully crawled out of bed, taking my time and being as quiet and gentle as I could so I wouldn’t wake him. It wasn’t until my first foot hit the floor that I winced and seethed. It hurt more than I realized.

He woke up instantly, reaching behind him to turn on the lamp. He’s so fucking beautiful. It’s an odd word for a man, but it’s true. With sleep still in his eyes and his stubble longer than usual, he looked groggy but sexy as fuck. Maybe it’s the way the light hit him, or maybe it’s the hormones and lack of sleep, but I’ve never been more attracted to a man before. I don’t think I ever will be either.

“You all right?” His voice was laced with sleep and accompanied by the bed groaning as he sat up.

“Lie back down, I’m fine,” I whispered as if he was being ridiculous, although my heart pounded knowing I was trying to sneak out and failed.

I thought it through right then. He’d turn out the light and lie down, I’d go to the bathroom to clean up. After a while, when I thought he’d fallen asleep again, I’d sneak out and let him text me. I didn’t want to risk taking the time to leave a note and making it more awkward than it already was if he caught me.

I could walk to my house from here and at this time of day, no one would be up. There would be no one to bother me on the short walk home.

“You aren’t sneaking out, right?” Bastian questioned. “’Cause I want to wake up with you in the morning.” He said it so definitively, so sincerely.

If there was ever a moment where I knew I was his completely, it was then.

And that was over twelve hours ago.

Now I’m alone in his house wondering what to do with myself, other than snoop through his shit. Which has been a rather disappointing endeavor.

My phone pings as I close the last drawer in his dresser, finding nothing but a pair of his pajama pants. They’re flannel and smell like him, so I slip them on and with my baggy t-shirt, I couldn’t be more comfortable.

Sprawled out on his bed, I check my texts and bust out laughing. I’d texted Angie, Sex is better than masturbation.

And she finally responded. Tell me who, you whore!

I feel the blush rise to my cheeks, but the butterflies in my chest and belly are more prominent.

I consider telling her, but I’m not ready to share him, so instead, I tell her it has to wait till Monday. I assume the slew of texts afterward are from her, but I lie on the bed, staring up at his ceiling and wondering about how Bastian got to be the way that he is rather than answering them.

Every thought that comes only makes my heart hurt more for him.

The texts don’t stop coming and as I remember every detail I know about Bastian and the way he was in high school, they annoy me more and more.

Grabbing my phone off the bed where I tossed it, I’m ready to silence it until I see the most recent text.

Did you hear about Mr. Adler? They found him dead.

My blood runs cold and I swear I feel it all drain from my face. Angie’s still messaging me and threatening to do all sorts of stupid shit if I don’t confide in her right this second. But I couldn’t give two shits about her right now. Mr. Adler was next on the list. I feel fucking sick.

The message is from an unknown number. My fingers shake as I text the person back with the obvious question. Who is this?

Breathe, just breathe. I have to keep myself calm even as I start to shake from the adrenaline coursing through me. The fourth person on the list. Right in a row. One. Two. Three. Four. All found dead.

My phone pings and I look down to see a new text from the unknown number. All it reads is: That doesn’t answer my question.

I can’t stop trembling as I stare down at my phone.

Who else would text me? No one. No one else. The only other person who has my number is Marc because I had to give it to him.

I didn’t mean to frighten you.

Another message comes through and my heart beats faster. The front door is locked, I know it is, but still, I climb out of bed and check it. It’s hard to even swallow with my heart in my fucking throat.

Who is this? I text back and then add, I’m not frightened. It’s fine, I just hadn’t heard that Mr. Adler had died.

I almost write more. All lies though. Lies meant to deceive. Something to make it feel casual, normal even. Something that would prove I’m not terrified. But all that’s running through my mind is that the person on the other end is a killer. The killer the cops have been looking for and failing to find.

I repeat over and over that I’m not crazy, I’m not paranoid. I remind myself what Sebastian said, that I’m scared and looking for answers. Which I am. Four in a row. It’s a fucking hit list.

“Fuck,” I grip my hair and clench my teeth before calling Sebastian. My throat’s tight as I stand in the middle of the living room, vaguely aware that I’m on the brink of a panic attack.

I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy.

I don’t know what to think. Other than someone has a copy of that list, or made the same list, but how?

Voicemail. It goes to voicemail. An hour ago, I felt untouchable here; now I feel like I’m in a cage, unable to go anywhere and so easily seen by anyone who could be watching.

Please call me. I text Sebastian as another text comes through.

I shouldn’t have texted you.

Who is this? I ask again, but no reply comes. Not then and not thirty minutes later when I’m huddled in a ball on the sofa, wondering if calling the cops is even an option. There’s no news at all that Jeff Adler was found dead. Not on the news online and not a hint of it on any social media.

Is he even dead? And if he is, and the person who texted me knew, but no one else…

The number is still silent an hour later when I leave a voicemail on Sebastian’s phone. I wish it wasn’t real. I wish I could blink and the messages would be gone. I would rather know I truly am crazy than to be living this nightmare. I don’t mention any of it in the voicemail to Sebastian, I just beg him to please come back or return my call. The second I hang up, I lose it.

It’s a slow spiral of a breakdown, and maybe that’s what the person wanted.

I text the unknown number again and beg them to tell me who they are. And I get nothing. For hours, I have nothing but my own fear and a random text that was designed to inflict it.

Someone wanted to hurt me.

There’s only one person I think of over and over again who could be behind this and it proves I’m insane.

It can’t be my mother, but when I dig through my purse and find the list, a list no one else knows about, I can’t think of anything other than her and the nightmares.

My mother is dead. It’s not her, I tell myself over and over, resting my cheek against the flannel fabric on my knees and rocking back and forth. It takes everything in me to calm myself down, telling myself that I’m safe here with Sebastian. Whoever it was is an asshole. Someone who overheard me at the butcher shop maybe. Someone playing a cruel trick on me.

Whoever it is can go fuck themselves.

The anger and hopeful explanation are all that keeps me together. Just barely. I’m holding on by a thread and watching the clock tick by, wondering where Sebastian is and why he hasn’t messaged me back.

For hours.