Alyssa ♔
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A metallic click breaks the silence.

"Don't move," Justin orders. It's not the authoritative tone you'd expect from someone waving a gun. It's hissed and desperate, a pitch too high to be considered controlled. 

It's panicked. 

"I won't," I say, raising my hands. My brain doesn't want to believe this. It's like I'm stuck in a nightmare, the same one I've been trapped in for weeks, only now I'm not sure if I'll ever wake up. "How did you get inside?"

He ignores my question and looks around. While his hood conceals most of his face, his eyes pierce through the shadows like two ice-blue slits. "Where's your mom?"

I consider lying and saying she's not here, but it could backfire. She'd be in trouble if she woke up or made a sound. We both would. "She's sleeping," I say. "She doesn't have anything to do with this. Whatever issue you have, it's with me."

He pushes closer, lowering his head until he's right in my face, revealing the dark circles under his eyes. "You think this is about you?" he hisses. "Your family screwed mine over, Liss. You fucking stole from us."

My fingers tremble, and I cautiously lower them, watching him stiffen at the movement. It's strange: I always thought my reaction to a situation like this would be different. I thought I'd plead for my life or wrestle for the gun, something proactive to save my life, but I do neither. Instead, I stand frozen, gazing into the ice-blue eyes of the man I once loved, wondering how we reached this point.

"Is that why you're here?" I ask. Breathe, Alyssa. Keep him talking. "Your dad sent you to scare us?"

He laughs, and I catch the distinct smell of alcohol on his breath. "Yeah, right. My dad thinks I'm the reason we're in this mess."

I don't want to speak anymore. Don't want to look at him. But the longer I keep him talking, the less likely he is to do something stupid. "Why?"

His eyes darken. "Because I'm the one who convinced him to give your dad a chance, thinking I was doing you a favor. Little did I know you'd turn right around and hook up with some lowlife." He straightens up, clearly done talking. "I know you have more money than your mom gave me, and I want it. Jewellery, cash, whatever you have."

I don't say anything. Instead, my eyes wander over the parts of him that are visible, starting from his fair blond hair and down to the ridiculously high cheekbones I've always envied. Unlike Max, who could easily pass for someone in his twenties, Justin looks precisely as he is.

A kid.

"We don't have anything," I say carefully. "We sold everything."

"You're lying." He suddenly advances toward me. The floorboards creak under his weight, a dissonant note in the eerie quiet. I can see the strain in the lines of his body, the tension in his shoulders. He's trapped in this nightmare as much as I am. "I'm not leaving without something."

"Justin." The word comes out in a whisper. "Look around you. Do you see anything here? It's all gone. My dad took what he needed and bailed. We have nothing left." There's a calmness to my voice that I didn't expect. This isn't some stranger breaking into my house; this is Justin. For all his faults, he's not a murderer. "You're scared for your family," I say. "I get it, but it's not too late to take this back. You haven't hurt anyone, Justin. You made a bad choice, but you can still walk away from it."

For a moment, I think I'm getting through to him. I think he'll lower the gun. Instead, he shuts down. "Not until I get the money you owe us."

I panic. All I want is to get him out of this house. "There's a painting in my room. It was supposed to be our insurance if we ever needed money. It's worth a few hundred thousand."

He stares at me for the longest time. I wonder what he's thinking, whether he looks at me and sees a stranger, the same as I do with him, or if I'm not even a person right now.

I'm a solution.

Finally, he nods. I take it as my cue to lead him upstairs, trying to be as quiet as possible. Justin trails behind me, the gun uncomfortably close to my back, so I avoid sudden motions. I bring him to my bedroom and point to the picture.

"How much exactly?" he asks. 

I hesitate. "I'm not sure."

He pushes me backward, forcing me against the wall. In one slick move, he presses the gun to my head. "I didn't go through all this trouble for a painting that might be worth nothing."

I squeeze shut my eyes, wishing I could escape the sickly sweet alcohol on his breath. "There's a security box in the basement. It's small, so my dad might have forgotten about it. It could still have something inside."

"If you're lying–" he starts.

"I'm not." But the truth is, the chances of there still being something inside is slim. 

His jaw unclenches. He steps back to stare at the painting again. "Turn off the cameras. I'm not being caught walking out of this house with it."

"I will," I say, releasing a breath, "but just take a moment to think about what you're doing. You're drunk, or high, or–" I run a hand through my hair, willing my heart to stop racing, "–I don't know. Maybe you're just out of your mind, but you know this won't end well. I know you're used to your dad bailing you out. You've never had to suffer any consequences. But this? Justin, if you don't stop now, there's no coming back from this. Your dad isn't powerful enough to erase hostage and burglary charges."

He lifts an eyebrow, cocky as ever. "He won't have to. If you call the cops, I'll tell them everything that happened. Your parents will end up in prison. Is that what you want?"

The urge to lunge at him takes over. If it weren't for the fact he's hiding behind a gun, I'd have ripped him apart by now. "My mom knew nothing about this, and you know what? If I have to send my dad to jail to take you down, I'll do it."

He scoffs. "You really think your mom didn't know what your dad was up to? Of course she knew. It's why she never went to the police. She knows if she does, she'll go down too."

He's wrong. Of course, he's wrong. I'd asked her point blank if she'd known what he was up to, and she said no. But even now, I feel a knot in my stomach form. "She didn't."

He ignores me and waves his gun at the painting. "Turn off the cameras and grab the painting."

Scowling, I snatch my phone from the table. There's a message from Max, but there isn't time to read it now. I open the security app and disarm the front and back cameras before showing Justin. When he's satisfied, I slip it into my hoodie pocket with the app still open and use my thumb to turn the cameras back on.

"So, how did you get in the house without being caught on camera?" I ask, reaching for the painting. "Pretty smart, however, you did it." Right now, it feels like everything I've learned about protecting myself is useless. My right hooks, my jabs – they mean nothing to a bullet. All I have now is what I've always had: my voice. 

"The blind spot," he says simply. 

Of course. He's talking about all the times I used to sneak out through the downstairs bathroom window to meet him. It was the perfect escape exit, just out of view of the cameras. We'd head to whatever party that night, and I'd slip back into bed before my parents woke up.

 "Do you remember Marnie's birthday party?" I ask lightly. "My dress got stuck sneaking out of that window. It was so expensive that you took forever trying to untangle me in case it ripped the dress." I glance at his face, spotting the tiny curl of his lip. Good. 

"Not like you didn't have a hundred other dresses the same," he says. 

I smile. "I know, but you bought me that one. That's why I wanted to wear it." 

Maybe it's my imagination, but I swear I see something in his expression change. A flash of guilt. Maybe regret. Enough to know there's still time to get through to him. "Listen, Justin–"

"Don't, Alyssa." He looks away. "Just move the painting." 

"Fine. I need to grab the keys from the kitchen to unlock the front door," I say before leading him downstairs. I place the painting at the foot of the stairs and then tiptoe into the kitchen to grab the keys. Returning swiftly, I unlock the door. 

"Come on, we need to hurry," Justin says. 

I manage to get the door open and stumble outside. Justin unlocks the truck parked out front and forces me to slide the painting into the back. My eyes scan the main road repeatedly, desperate to find Max.

"Alright," he says, grabbing my arm. "Take me to the security box. Don't make a noise."

I don't move, certain that Max will come careening down the road and this nightmare will end, but he doesn't. Justin tugs my arm again, forcing me back into the house. 

"Walk ahead of me," he says. "Don't try anything, Liss." 

We reach the kitchen, and I take the lead toward the basement door, each step cautious and deliberate. Justin follows in silence, and as we descend the steps, the basement gradually succumbs to darkness. Right now, it feels like the devil hovers behind me. I can't even count the number of times I've felt scared in Justin's presence, but this feels different; I no longer have any clue what he's capable of.

"It should be over here," I say and locate the security box behind the old workbench. I crouch down, my hands shaking as I fumble with the combination lock. Each metallic click reverberates loudly in the silence.

"Come on, already." Justin stands just inches behind me, his breath heavy and labored. The cold metal of his gun presses against my back, reminding me not to make any sudden movements.

"I'm trying. The numbers for the combination are stiff." Panicked, I keep going until finally, the box unlocks. I partially lift the lid, using my body to shield the contents so I can take the first look. 

It's empty.

I wait for Justin to lean closer. I've got about a second before he realizes the box is empty, and I use it to my advantage. I shift to his left as he peers over my shoulder, pretending to offer him a better look. The moment he takes his eyes off me, I lunge.

A/N

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