I sank to my knees as he shuffled into the hallway, grazing my arm with a single claw as he passed by. I couldn't tell for the life of me whether he did it on purpose. I didn't want to care. I heard a loud crash from another room followed by the sound of shattering glass, and knew he'd broken a window for whatever reason. He could have just left through the one he came in; maybe he liked to leave a trail for people to find him. Maybe it was his way of taunting the police. Maybe he'd just gone completely insane.

But if he's insane, why did he remember me?

I kept closing my eyes and opening them again, hoping that eventually this would all disappear, that I'd be greeted with a snoring aunt Freyja and no traces of Jack to be found. I would rather have been hallucinating—better yet, dreaming—than have to deal with something like this. No luck.

No. No. Shut up, shut up, this isn't happening, he hasn't done a thing and I'm crazy and I wish I was dead and—

Before I could stop and think about anything else, I shut my eyes and screamed at the top of my lungs.

—

The date had been set for exactly a month later. My least sensitive professor, God bless her soul, had the nerve to tell me this should've made me even more determined to become a medical professional. She gave me a pat on the shoulder that I didn't ask for and one final "get to work" that nearly sent me over the edge.

Right. This'll make me more determined to get a job, and definitely not to punch anyone who so much as looks at me in the face.

I could tell most of my professors were secretly disappointed that I'd be absent for a whole week right after winter break, but of course they didn't say it out loud. I almost wished one of them would; the one thing I wanted right now was honesty. Not that bare-minimum "comfort" bullshit Dr. Johnson was trying.

If classes were hard to count before, now they were just blurring together in one big monotonous pile of sludge. I lost track of how many times I had to step out because somebody asked a question relating to blood salinity, or what happens when a patient doesn't make it—hell, I almost broke down once because the person next to me mentioned rabies. I tried my best to hide it, and I'm sure I did a good enough job. At least, no one said anything about it. It's a wonder I was able to remember much at all. Everything else passed in the blink of an eye but somehow seemed to go so much slower at the same time. It threw me for a loop in too many ways when I realized January was coming to a close.

It should've ended sooner. Or...it shouldn't be ending yet at all?

I nearly stuffed my fist into my mouth to keep myself from yelling something stupid. It was the middle of the day, but I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed. I was able to get away with it right now; I had no more classes until tomorrow. My covers had been lazily draped over my body, my pillow having become a sort of glorified sponge for all the tears I'd cried lately. I was shaking all over. Sleep had become an unattainable goal ever since that night, even a couple seconds of shut-eye felt like empty victory.

Just over three months ago, I was blissfully ignorant to all of this. If I'd slept somewhere different the night we met, maybe if I had gone out with some friends before the school year began, this wouldn't have happened. At the very least, Freyja's killer would've been a mystery, some faceless silhouette that I could direct every bit of my anger towards, some inhuman thing I knew I would never see again.

But I'd met him.

I was starting to like him.

If Freyja had died of natural causes, maybe even murdered by a regular person some hundred miles from the rest of us, I wouldn't feel this way. If she had died just like that, from old age or disease or organ failure, I wouldn't be tossing and turning at night, coming up with excuses for somebody I never should have trusted. I wouldn't be peering out my window, waiting for the next awful thing to happen, wondering if he even had the nerve to try talking to me again. Wondering if one day he would snap and finally kill me, once and for all.

But he wouldn't.

How can you be sure of that?

Because I know him!

You mean you knew him. He's a monster. You just don't want to admit it.

Why...why would he do something like this? To torture me? Everything was fine, and he had to go and—

"Knock knock."

I jumped and backed up in bed, holding my covers to my chest and reaching for the nearest object that could count as a weapon. Jack raised his eyebrows, mask up, and pinched the lead of the mechanical pencil I was pointing at him, gently pulling it from my hand. I didn't take my eyes off him.

"You," I said hoarsely. He blinked.

"Yeah. Me. So I take it you don't have a couple minutes—"

"Get back."

"Excuse me?"

"Get back." I stood up and backed against the wall, shifting further away from him with every step. He folded his arms, face reading pure confusion.

"Uh, is this some sort of trap?"

"Why are you here? Weren't you busy making someone else's life a nightmare?" I asked scathingly. In truth, I was more unnerved that he was acting so oblivious to it now. If what had happened weeks ago didn't bother him, what could?

He scoffed. "Wow. Okay, no problem, I just thought that maybe we were becoming friends. What did I ever..." his eyebrows knit as he seemed to notice my genuine anger. "Are you okay? Did...did I say something wrong?"

"So you don't even care enough to remember," I blurted, unable to sort this all out in my head. He had spoken to me like he was completely in his right mind, eating my aunt's guts and covered in blood, but conveniently forgets that he murdered somebody in my family when he wants to talk?

He was starting to get annoyed. "Remember what? Was there something I—"

"Why did you follow me to my parents' house, anyway? Why did you break your promise, what was so important that it needed to be right then and there?" I scoffed despite myself. "You know, I was an idiot to trust you. You can put on that red-haired disguise and pretend you're human all you want, but you're not."

"Is this about your aunt? Because I swear that..."

He trailed off again, another look of confusion and then one of horror dawning on his face.

"I wasn't...no, I said I wouldn't do anything, I told myself..." he held his head as if trying to remember, running a nervous hand through his hair. "Why can't I—holy shit, I killed her?!"

"Looks like we're on the same page now," I said, eyes narrowed, unable to keep any bitterness from leaking into my voice. "You really didn't know?"

"Sawyer, you have to believe me, I'm sorry, I was just—"

"Yeah, yeah, all that," I dismissed him, though I was relieved that he at least felt bad. If it showed in my voice, he wasn't picking it up. "I'm a little more interested in what the hell happened between you being...well, a 'ravenous animal'—your words, not mine—waking back up and thinking, well, no need to check out why I'm covered in somebody else's blood next to my human acquaintance's house!"

"Why are you so set on acting like I know any more about this than you do?! Obviously, I've been kind of in the dark about all this weird consciousness-switch, demon-possession stuff for a while now—"

"Because you do know more than me, you're the one who it's happening to! Can't you strike up a chat with one of your patrons, or whatever, say, 'hello, I was wondering what the actual fuck has been happening to me every time you get mad,' and they'd be more than happy to answer?"

"You really, really don't know how any of this works."

"Oh, so now you're able to shed some light on the situation—"

"All I know is that I didn't mean for this to happen! I'm sorry! You're my only real friend at this point, and if I'd been sane at all, I wouldn't have gone anywhere near you or your family! Can you at least take that?!"

The tears were starting to build back up, and I squeezed my eyes shut to keep them at bay. It didn't work as well as I'd hoped. "If you'd been sane at all...you shouldn't have followed me, like you said you wouldn't. I don't know why you think we're friends, because..." I trailed off, unsure why I couldn't just say it. I could absolutely tear him apart right now. I don't need him; in fact, my life would be so much easier without him. So why can't I just tell the truth?!

His hand was on the mask, and it seemed he was thinking of putting it back on and leaving right then. "...because we're not. Is that what you're saying?"

"I'm sorry," I said, not feeling very sorry at all, "but you killed my aunt. You followed me and almost my entire family when I told you not to. You're ruining my life a tiny bit more every time you show up here, or at that park, or wherever you feel like. I-I know you don't have a whole lot of other people you can trust, but why me? What were you even going to do before you went crazy? Why did you have to be there?" I knew I was going to start crying; I could feel my little emotional dam crack more with every word. If I wasn't done with him before, I sure as hell was now. Jack reached out for a split second but then retracted his hand. At least he knew not to touch me.

"Sawyer, trust me, I'm—"

"I know you are. And that really changes a lot, doesn't it?"

"If you would just—"

"I gave you one job, and it was to stay away from me for a week! How hard could it have been?!"

"I had no choice, Chernobog wouldn't believe me!"

He clamped a hand over his mouth, eyelids stretching wide open. My tears were temporarily held off.

"...Chernobog?"

"You weren't supposed to hear that," he whispered, mouth still covered. I couldn't tell if he was looking down or to the side or straight at me; I felt that maybe it was better if I didn't know. I would have taken a whole minute more trying to figure out why his gaze landed wherever it did. Either way, he looked like he'd just watched me age to 100 and die in a split second.

"That should've stayed in my head," he continued. "I...okay, forget I said anything. You're mad at me, obviously you don't want to see me again, so I think I'll just head out—"

"No," I said without thinking. He gave me a look between surprise, terror, and utter confusion. I grappled for a reason or an excuse the moment my brain came back from its one-second vacation.

"You can't leave now, I...you need to explain yourself. I still don't have an answer as to why you followed me, I don't know what you mean by whatever you said not believing you—"

"Please, I really think you're right, things would be better if we just forgot about each other. I don't blame you if you hate me, I'd hate me too."

"Cherno...Chernobog? Is that what your boss is called?" I let out an ironic hoot of laughter. "You really are messing with come occult shit, aren't you? I guess Darla was more right than she thought. Well, he definitely sounds like a demon, I'll give him that."

"Sawyer!"

Jack's face was now a dark, washed-out shade of purple, and his skin looked like it was on the verge of splitting at the seams, or flaking off, or something gross like that. I was caught off guard by how mortified he looked; it was like I'd just talked smack about his own god. Maybe that's what the demon was to him, in a twisted, spite-filled way.

"If you keep talking, we are going to be in very. Big. Trouble," he said through his teeth, as if he was scolding a child. I crossed my arms and glared at him, embracing my role.

"Enlighten me, then, if you want me to shut up so bad. Oh, better yet, make me! I think I have the right to get you in as much trouble as I want."

"I said we are going to be in big trouble, we! Now stop talking and sit down, I'll explain it to you." He hunched his shoulders and pressed a hand to his forehead. His eyebrows were about to fuse into one, a sight I did not want to behold anytime soon. I scoffed and reluctantly did as he said, while he fidgeted and rubbed his hands together like a nerve-shot raccoon.

"I really was going to stay away from you. You know that, right?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure I know anything anymore. Just tell me what happened, it's not that hard."

"It kind of is, actually! I went real far for that stupid little pinkie-promise, I made a plan for what I was going to do every day you were gone and then some. I had to convince my boss that you were really dead, it meant I couldn't even think about you while he was around. And it's not like he'd be suspicious if you happened to cross my mind every now and then—honestly, I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm in love with you, or something."

I snickered at the idea. Are all demons that stupid?

"Ridiculous, right?" Jack said, sounding more frustrated than amused. "But I go to him that day and say, hey, I finally killed that human you wanted, and he's just not buying it. Keeps saying, 'you shouldn't lie to me,' and 'I'm above you, you should know your place,' all that bullshit he usually throws around. I-I tried to convince him, I really did, but he wasn't budging. He kept telling me I had to kill you for real. For good." He turned his head, gulped, and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"So I went to go find you. I thought if I didn't head off myself, boss was going to finish the job for me. He rarely does it, but...rarely doesn't mean never. I thought maybe this was one of those times where he might actually..." he shook his head and cleared his throat to get rid of the breaking in his voice. "A-anyway, I figured I'd just stick around and not really do anything. Just make sure nothing happens, tell you everything later, I wasn't even going to walk on your parents' lawn. But then I started getting hungry, and he noticed, and he made me...I-I thought I fought back, I thought nothing was going to happen, that he'd left me alone after all of it. And it only came back to me when you said I followed you."

He stayed quiet for a good minute, then sat down next to me with his head in a hand. He was pissed off, no doubt. But he also looked scared. Not specifically for me, or specifically for him, or anything. He just was. I blinked once and stared at the floor.

"...so that's it. You weren't going to hit me with any important news, you weren't going to tell me somebody I knew was horribly injured, or anything. You just stalked me and said nothing?"

"I was trying to keep you safe! Don't make me start to regret it now," he hissed, all of the anxiety and sorrow in his voice gone within the second. Now we were both really damn bitter. I gripped the bedsheets and stood my ground.

"I think you should regret it. If you hadn't had that sudden stroke of genius that led you to my parents' house, Freyja would still be alive. You know it's true."

"So what if I know?! What do you think would have happened if I didn't do anything? For all I know, you could be dead!"

"I don't need you to protect me from your boss! Maybe now he wants to kill me even more, huh? Maybe your bright idea didn't work as well as you thought—"

"I didn't want to live without you."

All the words I'd been thinking to say in response to him, no matter what he said, barely reached my tongue in time. His expression was completely disarming. He was glaring at me, but it seemed he couldn't find it in himself to hate me. His face was stony and defensive, but somehow vulnerable at the same time. I couldn't respond for a good minute; and that was before I began to process what he'd even said.

"I'm asking you to take an apology," he said in an impossibly soft voice once the dust had settled. "That doesn't mean you have to be happy about it. It doesn't mean you have to forgive me. If you don't want to see my face ever again, I'll go away." He looked up, and for once I could tell his gaze wasn't fixed on me. "I tried to protect you. I guess I failed, in one way or another. But I tried. There's your explanation." The corners of his mouth twitched with irritation. "So take it. Unless you want to keep being this stubborn."

My gaze dropped to the floor as I thought.

"I need space," I said, closing my eyes and switching the world off. He waited, gave me one hard pat on the shoulder, said "Okay," and stood up. The last thing I heard was him dropping to the outside pavement below; he'd left the way he came. I kept my eyes closed. Maybe he was right—I wasn't sure if I did ever want to see his face again.

What I wouldn't give to be blind for a month.