Okay, what the fuck is going on… I thought.

I hesitated–then shook his hand, forcing a sheepish smile.

“Jessica Valentino.” 

Zed or Zayne’s hand tightened just slightly around mine before letting go, something unreadable flashing in his eyes.

“You can call me Zed or Zee for short,” he added quietly.

I almost flinched.

But I kept smiling like an idiot, cause what else could I do?

Maybe our whole relationship had been a lie.

Maybe I was not the only one who wanted to give the other person trauma.

Maybe I was not the only person with secrets.

“Alright! Nice to meet you, Zee.”

…

Days blurred together.

Every morning, Zed would leave–sometimes dressed sharp, sometimes in black, sometimes in blue–and looked like he was carrying a lot of weight on his shoulders. Every evening, he came back to the safe house with soft smiles, food he claimed he “just happened to pick up,” and told me all about his day.

I sat there day after day, drinking tea I didn’t ask for, listening to his day that I didn’t deserve to hear.

And at the same time, I was surprised because, first of all, this bitch was working in the mafia, which I guess is not much of a surprise. And Second of all, WHY THE FUCK WOULD HE TELL ME HIS CRIMINAL BUSINESS, ME A STRANGER!

Anyways…

This was karma catching up to me. I thought.

I didn’t know why I stayed. I could’ve run–I should’ve run. But somehow, every time my fingers brushed the doorknob, I found myself sitting back.

Maybe because of how Zed kept looking at me, like I was something precious, like I was someone worth loving.

Maybe I stayed because a part of me wanted to believe that I deserved to be loved like that.

It was torture.

And then one night the door slammed open.

I jumped to my feet.

Zed stumbled inside, blood seeping through his sleeve, his face pale.

“Z-Zee!” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Zed smiled faintly, like even that slip of concern was enough.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “ Ran into some trouble.”

He swayed, and I was there before he could fall.

I grunted, half-carrying, half-dragging Zed towards the couch.

“Where’s your first aid kit?” I demanded, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

Zed, dazed, half-smiling, pointed vaguely towards the kitchen. “Under the sink… I think…”

I clicked my tongue in annoyance, but I was already moving, tearing through cabinets until I found a battered red box shoved behind some cleaning supplies.

I rushed back, dropping to my knees beside the couch, opening the kit with trembling fingers.

“You’re such an idiot,” I muttered under my breath, grabbing gauze and disinfectant. “Who gets injured and walks home!”

Zed just chuckled softly, his eyes fluttering half-shut.

“For you… I’d walk through worse…” he mumbled.

I froze for half a second–just a breath–then shoved the words down where they couldn’t reach me.

“Stay awake, Zee,” I said sharply, tapping his cheek lightly. “You hear me? Don’t you dare die now.”

Zed’s hand clumsily found my wrist, holding it like he was afraid to let go.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he slurred. “Not when I just… found out taht your alive.”

I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood as I tore through Zed’s shirt, hand surprisingly gentle despite the roughness of my movements.

The wound was fatal, thank god. A clean shot through the shoulder. But it was bleeding too much.

“You got shot! You stupid stubborn idiot!” I hissed under my breath, pressing gauze firmly against the wound.