The distance between us lessened with each passing second, the ticking of microseconds like a timebomb, and my heart stuttered in my chest as he headed towards me.

Blake coming towards me.

I was stunned, shocked, alarmed. But most of all, I was furious. Anger curled up my spine, racing along with my heartbeat, and I didn't--couldn't look away from him, from Blake. But it was also a surprise because I had expected many outcomes from this situation but I hadn't expected to find him here of all places. I hadn't expected to see Blake, and so it didn't stop me from backing away hastily, my spine digging uncomfortably into the kitchen drawer behind me.

"Don't look so charmed to see me, do you?" He mused, nearing. "Makes me think that you weren't really expecting me."

"I wasn't." I snapped, felt the sharp edge of it before continuing, "Don't. Don't come any closer."

Blake had the nerve to look affronted. "Why the fuck not?"

"If you take another step towards me, I swear to God--" He took a step closer. I grabbed another ceramic mug, stumbling away from the drawers, and hurled it at his face. He made a surprised noise, ducked, and the mug flew over the blond mess of his head.

That didn't stop him from advancing, nothing seemed to be doing it, and I desperately wanted to gut him and his stupid face alive.

"Jesus fucking...fuck," He grunted when a glass plate hit him square in the chest, clattered on the floor and shattered. He pushed the glass shards aside with his boot and then gave me a disappointed glare. "Are you trying to kill me?"

I tried grabbing for something else, anything to throw at him and gain myself even a few measly seconds to get the hell out of there, but I could only feel the thin air. I staggered back, the back of my feet hitting the small potted plant that had always been sitting there by the kitchen wall for no reason other than Uncle Misha just buying the strangest things. I snatched it up, glowered right back at him, and gritted out, "Back. Off."

He was close, so close, just a few steps away, and I could see the glass shards glittering and stuck on his t-shirt, the same silver shards reflecting in the pale blue of his eyes. They glinted. And I only got the starting of a shit-eating smirk on his lips before he--

I shoved the potted plant between us, at him, at his chest with all the adrenaline rushing through me, panicked when that too didn't stop him from pushing closer, and headbutted him. A litany of curses left his lips and I grabbed the tiny moment of distraction, dashing around him and towards the opened kitchen drawer, and unsheathed another knife from the wooden block.

It was a second, two, a heartbeat too slow and dread in its wake, just right before I swung around to keep him away with the sharp point of it, when a hand grabbed my wrist, warm fingers tightening around my bare skin, and gave a sharp yank. My face met the nearest wall and my forehead slammed into it, a groan escaping me at the impact. Blake pressed close behind me.

No, I cursed at the universe. I squeezed my eyes close, my heart beating in my throat, and winced when he held my wrist against the wall at an angle that hurt.

"Not so clever now, Lexi," he hissed close to my ear, all smug and warm--burning.

"Fuck. Off." I growled into the wall, trying to shove him off me, but then he grabbed my other wrist as well and pinned it to the wall on the other side of me. "Blake."

"What?" He mocked, then pressed close. I felt his nose in my hair. "Will you behave, Lexi? I didn't run all the way here only to get myself decapitated."

I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt--pain lancing up my skull--more than his mere presence behind me.

He tightened his hold on my wrist until my grip on the knife went slack. "I'll take that." And then the knife disappeared.

"Let go of me!" I gritted out, trying to dislodge his grip on my hands, because he was too close and he smelled so fucking familiar--of home and late nights and smoke--of danger and escape and a cold touch over my heart--and it was sickening. The hold on my wrists was bruising.

I heard him click his tongue. "And why should I?"

"Blake."

He let go. I whipped around, ready to damn near strangle him with my bare hands because how dare he, how dare he sneak into my own fucking house, how dare he find me--but then I saw him tossing the knife--my knife--in the air, stepping back to lean against the counter. He eyed me with a moronic grin tugging on his lips.

"So," he asked, "what's got your panties in a twist?"

I gave him a scathing glare.

"Eh. Impolite words?"

I blinked back the heat in my eyes furiously. "What are you doing here?" I was proud of how composed my voice came out then. Even when I felt the opposite inside.

Pale blue eyes flickered at me, stayed for a curious beat, and then moved back to the sharp glinting tip of the knife in his hand. Only then did I notice, when my heart was racing for an entirely different reason, his disheveled state. He looked like he'd been on the run. He looked slightly deranged. The blood trickling down his forehead didn't help the slightest.

"Who else lives here with you?" He asked me.

"How," I gritted out, "did you get here?"

"Hot-wired three cars, one's parked right behind your building." He said, grabbed the counter on either side of him, then hopped on it. "Also, I did hitchhike somewhere in between. All the way from Chicago."

"You were in Chicago." My voice came out...odd.

Blake glanced up.

"How did you find me?" I glared.

He held the knife up by its sharp point, balanced so perfectly on one finger. I clenched my fists tightly. There was blood trickling down his chin now.

"Don't get your blood on my countertop." I snapped.

He grinned. There were dark, exhausted bags under his eyes. He looked--

"Longlost nephew? A niece? Old childhood friend? Although I think I'd know if it was a childhood friend." He stared thoughtfully at something behind me. "Can't be a boyfriend, I don't think so."

I bristled and then it all came rushing back. August. Oh God, August. I pushed away from the wall hastily, panic and dread washing cold inside me, and headed for the living room. August was somewhere out there, alone, missing--he hadn't returned home yet.

I almost fell on my face, stumbled, when Blake lifted his jean-clad leg to block my way. "Where are you going?"

I kicked his leg away, heard him grunt, and walked past the living room couch, picked up the house phone and checked the voicemails once again. They were dated hours ago. I dialed back the number August had left the voicemails from.

It rang thrice, each ring a deathly period to a confusing sentence, before cutting off.

"Solntse. Zvezda." I heard a curious murmur behind me, more so an irritating background noise for the running thoughts in my head. A clatter of an object, a knife, resounded somewhere behind me.

"August," Blake stated.

I tossed the phone aside, heard it fall on the floor, and rounded back to him, seething and furious. "Where," I shouted, grabbing him by his shirt, "is he? Where the fuck is he? What have you done?" Not him. Not August.

He seemed unbothered, leaning down willingly with my grip on his shirt.

"Blake!"

"Who's August?" He asked.

"My brother!" I let go of his shirt and shoved him back, and it made me furious, it made me want to sock him in the face, when he didn't budge in the slightest.

"Your brother." He raised his brows dramatically, a slow smirk tugging across his lips. He splayed his hands on either side of the counter and leaned back. "Your brother."

A corner of his shirt rode up his stomach and my eyes fell to it--I cursed myself because I couldn't, shouldn't, I'd promised myself I wouldn't--and it was brief, the sight of a long jagged scar running up his side. One that looked new. One that I hadn't seen--I pulled back, cursing myself because I wasn't supposed to do this, look at him, stare at him. I wasn't supposed to just tell him about August either, but I couldn't think straight right then. I couldn't. Blake looked like he didn't know what I was talking about. He looked oblivious. He didn't know August. That meant--August wasn't here. Where was he?

I dragged my hands through my hair, turning around, thinkingthinkingthinking.

"Is it--he--an adopted one?" He inquired. "You picked him up along the way?"

"You don't know where he is," I asked, stated, staring at him with growing dread inside me.

"No, I don't know where your mini-you is." He looked bewildered. "This is absurd." He hopped down from the counter, stalking towards the living room, looking, searching, and stopped in front of the couch. He picked up August's galaxy throw blanket, eyeing it suspiciously. "Lexi--Alexis. Have we kept secrets all this time?"

I couldn't comprehend it--any of it, not right then. My head felt like it was filled with cotton. My heart raced like it knew--knew something bad was about to happen. And I couldn't--I couldn't stand the sight of Blake right then, tall and imposing and so nonchalant, like he didn't care about it, about any of it, only that he'd just dropped out of nowhere, found me when he wasn't supposed to, and now he expected me to act along with it.

I wasn't fine with it. My hands were trembling.

"You need to leave." My voice came out raspy.

He gave me a side-eye. "Or maybe I do know something about your missing brother."

I froze.

He swiped a hand along his jaw, near the blood, and flopped down on the couch. "I'm fucking with you. I don't have a clue." And then he turned to face me and it stopped me, stopped the breath halfway in my throat, the way he looked at me. "Though, do you really want me to fuck off now? Don't you want to know," he cocked an eyebrow enticingly, "what made me come here in the first place?"

I blinked, and wiped my palms on the back of my shirt, unable to look away, unable to move. I hated him. I loathed the sight of him.

"I...I hoped you wouldn't come back." I said sharply--lied. I lied.

He smiled, slow and dangerous. Knowing. "Oh, but I missed you so very much. I couldn't breathe without you."

I turned around, pushing my hair behind my ears when all I wanted to do was press my hands over my ears so I wouldn't have to hear his voice a second more, and picked out my burner phone from the kitchen drawer, stuffing it in my pocket and heading for the front door.

"I couldn't live without the sight of your face, every night and every morning!"

Clenching my jaw, I picked up my fallen keys.

"Your eyes, Lexi," he said loudly, amused and nonchalant and so fucking in love with himself, "they breath my soul to life."

I rounded the corner and stared at him and his laidback form on my couch. "Get up. I'm going to go and search for my brother. If you fuck up anything along the way, we're done."

"Bossy." He drawled. "Did I ever tell you--"

"No, Blake. Don't fucking finish that sentence."

He eyed me smugly, making a whole show of it that only grated on my nerves, but then he did get up from the couch, a smooth languid movement, and I turned back around because I didn't want him to see. I didn't trust myself. I didn't trust anyone.

But most of all, I didn't trust him.