My eyes snap open, and I immediately regret it. I'm lying on the floor. My back aches, my neck feels like it's been twisted in five different directions, and my legs are all pins and needles. I don't even remember falling asleep.
It's dark now. How long have I been out? I groan as I push myself up, stretching out the stiffness in my limbs. The discomfort that came with sleeping on the ground suddenly disappears, and I'm left feeling brand new.
Soft breeze hits my face, and I notice my window is still wide open from two nights ago.
Dragging my feet, I head over to close it, but I pause when something catches my attention. Across the street, sitting on the curb with his legs casually stretched out, is a man.
No. Not just a man. Him.
Even from up here, I can feel Valentine's presence like an icy breath on my neck. His golden eyes glint when he tilts his head to look at me, and that smirk of his—the one that feels equal parts teasing and terrifying—takes over his face.
"Not going to come down and check out the blonde guy?" he calls up. His voice is smooth, laced with humor, and it grates against my nerves.
I don't respond. Instead, I slam the window shut and yank the curtains closed.
His laugh seeps through the glass like it's mocking me. It's… beautiful, I hate to admit. Too beautiful, considering it's coming from someone who ruined my life.
"He didn't ruin it North," I tell myself in my head. "He saved it."
It's true. I would be dead if he didn't turn me into this, but that doesn't negate the fact that I'm never going to be the same.
I huff and collapse onto my bed. It feels stiff, like lying on a bag of bricks, and I'm immediately reminded of how much softer the one at Valentine's estate was.
"Of course it was softer," I mutter. "He probably had it custom-made from some royal carpenter in France."
The thought of his luxurious world—and everything he's dragged me into—fills me with a rush of anger and guilt.
My fight with Ellie flashes through my mind, and I feel like the worst person in the world. She didn't deserve that. None of this is her fault.
But what if I go out there and hurt her? What if I lose control, like I did with Buttercup?
God, Buttercup!
I roll off the bed and sit on the floor again, staring at the curtained window. Part of me wants to open it, just to yell at Valentine, to demand answers, to blame him for everything wrong with me.
But what good would it do? Deep down, I know the truth. He didn't do this to me out of malice. He saved my life.
And I was stupid enough to need saving in the first place.
"You can't keep running, North," Valentine says from outside my window.
I freeze.
"You have a new life now," he adds.
"No," I whisper, shaking my head like that'll shake him out of it. "No, you don't get to do that."
I force myself to stand, heading out of my room and into the living room. The smell of spaghetti hits me like a freight train, and my stomach growls so loud it echoes.
Ellie is lounging on the couch, a plate of spaghetti balanced on her lap as she watches something on TV.
She looks up when she notices me, her face softening, but there's hesitation there too.
"Ellie…" I start, but my throat feels tight.
She doesn't say anything, just watches me shuffle awkwardly into the living room.
"I'm sorry," I finally say. "About earlier. I was—I didn't mean to snap at you. I just…"
My stomach growls again, cutting me off. She raises an eyebrow. Without a word, she stands up, walks into the kitchen, and comes back with a plate of spaghetti.
She sets it on the coffee table in front of me.
"Eat," she says simply.
I don't argue. The second I take the plate, I'm shoveling food into my mouth like I haven't eaten in years.
It's not blood, but it's enough to cool the burn in my throat just a little.
"Slow down," she says, sitting next to me. "You're going to choke."
I glance at her, and for a moment, panic grips me. She's too close.
What if I hurt her? What if I can't stop myself? I shove the plate away and back up on the couch, but… nothing happens.
No burn. No hunger. Just Ellie, staring at me with concern.
Relief floods me, and before I know it, I'm pulling her into a hug.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice cracking. "I'm so sorry."
She doesn't say anything. She just holds me, her hand rubbing soothing circles on my back.
Her heart beat is steady, and I hear her organs shifting, but I don't have the urge to feast on her.
I sigh in relief, basking in the comfort of her arms. We stay like that for God knows how long. Me sobbing, her rubbing circles on my back...me quieting down to sniffles...her still rubbing circles on my back...
It feels like we can settle back to normal.
But then I hear him again.
"You drank the last dog in the building dry," he says, dripping with amusement. "What's next on your menu?"
My body stiffens.
Ellie pulls back, frowning. "North? Are you okay?"
I nod quickly, forcing a smile. "Yeah. I'm fine. Thanks."
She gives me a skeptical look but doesn't push. "I'll grab some tissues," she says, standing up and heading toward the bathroom.
The second she's gone, I dart to the window, pulling the curtain aside.
He's gone.
"Looking for me?" he teases.
I spin around, my heart hammering. He's not here. He's not here, but I can still hear him.
"I like how you anticipate seeing me," he continues and I imagine a smug smile on his lips. "Makes me feel like you didn't jump out of a four-story window to get away from me."
"Where are you?" I hiss, my eyes darting around the room.
Silence.
I pull the curtain back farther, craning my neck to scan the street. Nothing.
"Your mother's gravestone is shinier tonight, don't you think? I guess the moon itself is brighter."
I freeze.
"What the hell?" I whisper, realization dawning on me.
The sound of Ellie's footsteps breaks through my thoughts. She's back, holding a box of tissues.
"Here," she says, handing it to me.
But I'm not listening anymore. The pieces click together, and the words fall from my lips in a trembling whisper.
"He's in my head."