It was the weekend, which meant I didn’t have to work, but I was anyway, making up for whatever I’d missed in the past week or so. Me and Melve were on the couch again, him with another one of my books. And it wasn’t like I noticed how he was reading the books I’d said were my favorite.

I could almost hear Violet smirking at me in my head, she always caught me in my lies. I was missing my friends quite a lot, even if I hadn’t felt it that much at first. I was used to Violet and Conor visiting at least twice a week though, usually at the same time, and I was starting to feel the difference. At least I wasn’t alone though, because that would suck.

You’d really rather have a murderer staying with you instead of being alone?

It sounds bad when you say it like that!

Because it is bad!

I scratched my wrist, staring blankly at my screen, wondering idly if I could email Violet or Conor. What if Melve saw? Would he get mad and kill me? Would he kill them?

Think about it rationally, though. Even if you could email Violet and tell her the situation. First off, you know her, she’d storm up here and get herself killed. Second, if she did go get the police, take a look at her record. She’s been in overnight jail at least five times for bar fights, and she’s got a couple of theft records from her teen years. The police aren’t going to listen to her!

And Conor’s grandma would kill him if she found out he went to the police…

In summary. It’s too risky.

I cast a shifty glance at Melve. He was twisting a strand of his hair through his fingers, his eyes trained on my book in front of him, his unnecessarily long legs stretched in front of him (Although, my brain couldn’t help but add, they were still bent enough to prevent touching me).

I scrolled Tumblr, the only social media I had, as an attempt to distract myself. I didn’t follow a lot of people, but I also very rarely used it, so I had at least a month’s worth of feed to read through, which was perfect for me to focus on, instead of the man sitting in front of me.

At some point, I looked away from my computer screen only to find Melve staring directly at me, and I jumped slightly, suddenly feeling very awkward. I, a coward, did not say anything, only stared back at him, with what I’m sure was a frightened-rabbit look on my face.

Melve’s face twitched, into what could have almost been a smile. “I was wondering something,” He said, leaning the book down, so his attention could be fully focused on me.

I swallowed. “Oh, um, what is it?”

Melve made a humming noise, observing me in a way that made my skin feel like it was covered in ants. “How old even are you? Surely you can’t be more than twenty-five.”

A cold feeling crept up my skin. “I’m, uh, I’m twenty-four.”

Why do you want to know?

Melve blinked at me, and then I watched as his eyes flitted quickly around my apartment. “Impressive you can afford this place all on your own. Unless you’ve got mommy or daddy helping you out?” His tone turned mocking, and his words echoed in my head.

Mom and Dad.

A spark of rage flew through me, and I was hardly even aware of my face curling up into a sneer. “No, I don’t.”

This time Melve’s blink was one of surprise, although that was the only sign of shock he made. He raised one of his hands as if showing surrender, the other still loosely holding onto my book in his lap. “My apologies then.”

The apology might have meant more if there wasn’t the ghost of a smirk on his face.

I didn’t say anything, and aimed my glare at the computer instead of him. Of course, I should have known my annoyance would be all the more entertaining to Melve, who, after a couple of seconds of my aggravated silence, extending his stupidly long leg out to push gently against my knee, which my laptop was resting on.

I didn’t see it coming, as focused as I was on being irritated, and I jumped the second he grazed me, probably more than I should have.

“I was only messing with you, don’t be angry,” Melve said, still somehow managing to come off as an asshole even with his gentle movements.

It was only a joke, Theo, jesus, you’re so uptight.

I sighed, pressing the heel of my palm against my forehead as if to smudge away the words. “Of course not,” I muttered as a response to Melve, suddenly rather tired.

My desire to work was gone, and all I really wanted to do was go lay down in my bed and sleep. But I still had things to do, like putting the clothes to wash, and cleaning the dishes, and doing bills.

I wanted to at least finish editing the chapter I was on, not to mention small things like going through my email, folding towels, and cleaning Balthazar’s cage. I needed to call Violet and make sure she wouldn’t come back up here, although I didn’t know how long I could hold her off. I needed to at least send an email to Conor because besides a brief statement a week ago, I hadn’t talked to him at all. Just so many things all on top of one another, coupled with the fact that I had to do it all with a murderer sitting on my couch.

I shut the lid of my laptop, setting it on the coffee table before forcing myself to get off the couch so I could wash the dishes. My mood must have shown on my face, because I’d barely reached the sink before Melve was behind me, hovering, and my eye twitched.

“Do you want me to-”

I snapped. “Could you back off for like three seconds? It’s bad enough you’re staying here, but do you seriously have to interrupt me every time I’m trying to get shit done?”

I whirled around when I said it, and maybe if I wasn’t so pissed off myself I would have noticed the changes that flashed in his eyes. Maybe I would have immediately apologized, or taken it back. But as it stands, I hadn’t.

Which is why all I saw was a single blink before his entire face transformed, mouth curling up and teeth showing, eyes filling with dark anger, all of the edges of his face going hard and mean.

His mouth wasn’t even wearing a sneer, like when I’d first meet him. No, now it was plain hostility, and the difference was so startling my face immediately dropped whatever look it’d been wearing, and turned to pure fear as I took a stumbling couple of steps away.

His mouth opened, his figure towering over me, casting a shadow as for the first time, I really actually thought he was going to kill me. His hand reached out to grab my shirt, and I pressed myself back against the counter as if in slow motion, regret coursing through my system.

I’ve never seen hatred from him directed at me, and I never would again, not like that, but the effect was enough to imprint it in my mind forever.

So this is what terror feels like.

And just as his hand reached the collar of my shirt, just as he was going to grab a fistful and probably drag me with it, just as I was about to face the repercussions for my actions-

There was a knock on the door.