Page 102 of Nyx

Or do I let that insidious thought that it wasn't reciprocated eat away at me?

Rejection stings all the time, no matter the other person's reason.

It's hard not to internalize it or let it diminish your ego.

No matter the reason or how I should analyze the kiss, my instinct to run hits me harder than it ever has before.

I kept moving because of what I perceived as a threat.

The news article about his brother triggered the last move, and knowing I had to leave was immediate. The people I was working with would start asking questions if they did a little research. I haven't changed my appearance. My hair is shorter now, but it's the same color. Salon maintenance is a thing of the past, something I can't financially manage in my current situation.

Those moves were all because of what might happen.

Now I know that Graham is still a threat. It's no longer a worry that he might find me.

The song.

The flowers.

He knows exactly where I am.

His mind games have always been part of his fun. He loved to terrorize me. He loved the buildup. I always thought that he enjoyed the escalation toward abuse just as much as he liked the final act of abuse.

I never knew whether he would keep up the mind games for days or blow up after an hour.

The worst part is not knowing what comes next.

Will he send a note, or will he find some way to make physical contact?

My pulse pounds in my ears as I consider my options.

I know I can't head out the front door because they'll see me, but as I'm walking toward the back door, I realize I don't have my car.

Leaving on foot isn't an option because it's not like I just need to make it down the block. I have to get out of the entire state.

I pause in the kitchen, knowing that if they're out front, then they have to be out back as well.

I don't know if Nyx sat on the front all night the last two nights or if he patrolled the entire building.

Was I ever truly safe?

What if Graham was watching, and he knew when he was out front, making it easy to enter the apartment from the back or vice versa?

I scream in terror when there's a knock on the door, my eyes darting in that direction as I rush deeper into the kitchen in order to grab my bag and head out back.

"Juliet?" comes the voice I've gotten way too familiar with. "Can I come in?"

I freeze, a fraction of me wanting to hide from the embarrassment of what I initiated earlier.

The majority of me wants him right next to me, where, for some reason, I fully believe I'm safe.

What I don't know is whether it's a false sense of security or whether this man and his team can actually protect me as they claim they can.

What I do know is that I'm safer with their help than without.

I move to the door, peeking through the hole to make sure it's him and not some figment of my imagination living on hope.

When I confirm it's him, I flip the lock and open the door.