She blinked. Once. Twice. Everything was foggy.
Another blink—Victor's living room.
Her mind spun in circles. How… how did I get here?
The last thing she remembered was his text: Spend the weekend with me. She could almost see the message glowing on her screen, his name at the top. She had answered. She knew she had. After that… nothing. A blur. A blank space where her memory should be.
Her palms were clammy against the floor. She forced herself to her feet, legs trembling, balance off. The room swayed like it was on water. She gripped the edge of the couch to steady herself, then stumbled toward the hallway.
Victor's bedroom door was ajar. A faint, metallic scent hung in the air. Her stomach turned before she even saw it.
Blood. A dark, thick pool spreading across white sheets. And a body.
Her throat closed. Her lips moved before she could stop them. "Victor…?"
No answer.
She edged closer, every step heavier than the last. The closer she came, the clearer the sight: his skin pale, his chest still, his hair matted with blood.
It was him. Victor.
Her heart stuttered. "No… oh God. No, no, no." The words tore out in gasps.
Her first instinct—her phone. She yanked it out with shaking hands, screen blurring through tears. Call the police. Report it.
But her finger froze over the dial. If I call… they'll think it was me. I'm here. I can't remember last night. I look guilty.
She pressed the phone against her chest, breath ragged. Her brain screamed at her. Run. Just run.
Her purse. She needed her purse. She searched the living room, eyes darting, heart slamming. There. On the couch. She lunged for it, clutching it like a lifeline.
A quick glance at her phone screen. 1:40 a.m.
Too late for help. Too early for anyone to stumble in. She was alone with a corpse.
"I can't stay here. I can't." Her voice was barely a whisper, more to herself than anyone else.
She bolted for the stairs, purse clutched tight. Her footsteps echoed too loud, bouncing off the walls. Panic chewed at her chest.
Then—sound. Behind her. A creak. A soft groan of wood, faint but sharp in the silence.
She froze mid-step, ears straining. Nothing. The silence pressed in, heavy, suffocating.
Her breath came fast. "No. I'm imagining things. Just nerves."
Still, the hairs on her neck stood tall. Something—someone—felt close.
Her whisper was broken, trembling: "Don't look back. Don't think. Just go."
She hurried down the stairs, each step faster, sharper. By the time she reached the ground floor, her lungs burned. She paused at the main door, hand trembling on the handle.
What if someone was outside? Waiting? Watching?
She pushed it open anyway. The cold night air hit her like a slap. She stumbled into the street, scanning shadows. The city was quiet, too quiet for her comfort.
Her heels clicked against the pavement as she hurried down the block. Every sound magnified—the hum of a streetlamp, the rustle of leaves, the distant bark of a dog. Behind it all, she swore she heard something else. Footsteps. Light. Careful.
She glanced back. Nothing. Just empty pavement and dark windows.
Still, the feeling of eyes on her clung like cobwebs.
Her mind spiraled. What if the killer is still here? What if they saw me? What if they follow?
She hugged her purse tighter, walking faster, then breaking into a half-run. Her breath clouded in the air. Her chest heaved.
The urge to scream battled with the need to stay silent. If she made noise, whoever lurked in the dark would know exactly where she was.
She turned a corner, nearly tripping. She pressed her back against a wall, gasping, listening. Silence. Then… maybe… the faintest scrape of a shoe on asphalt.
Her throat dried. I'm not alone.
She forced herself forward again, feet pounding the pavement, not daring to stop.
The night swallowed her whole. But even as she disappeared into its shadows, one thought burned in her mind—someone was following. Watching. Waiting.
And she had no idea if she would ever make it home alive.