Unedited.

In this chapter, he repeats the word, "Salvatée." It's not a real world in any language (as far as I know). But it comes from the Latin word "Salvator" meaning "Saviour" but I changed it so it would sound more feminine by changing the ending (thank you French language). It sounded fitting because she technically "saved" him.

 Anyway, enough rambling. Enjoy!

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               Rebecca wasn't sure what to do. Reaction after reaction ran through her mind but none of them turned into an action. She could cry, scream, run, hide . . . but she wasn't doing any of that. She was frozen on the spot, staring with wide eyes.

               How was he here? She'd seen him in hospital, barely alive. Now he was here, in her room.

               "What are you doing here?" she breathed, voice stricken with fear. Glancing at her door out of the corner of her eye, she judged the distance between her and it. How long would it take her to escape, run to her parents and tell them there was an intruder in her room? What if she just screamed? He'd run, surely.

               If she had to make a run for it she'd take her chances.

               He stared back at her, face the same as it had been days ago. For once, there was no cigarette hanging from his lips or fingers. Instead of a hospital gown, he wore a pair of dark jeans and a black shirt.

               Taking wardrobe advice from Mikael, she thought, though there was no humour in it.

               "You're not supposed . . . to be here . . ." She gasped out, pulse hammering in her throat. "You're—" She forced the word out, though it was said barely above a whisper, "—dead."

               In response, he just continued to stare, throwing his arms in the air, as if to say, why am I here then?

               More than anything Rebecca wished she remembered his name. Aaron? Alan? Adam! That was it! Rebecca went for politeness even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. "Look, uh, Adam . . . you need to get out. I don't want a cigarette. And I really don't want you in my house."

               Again, he said nothing. His gaze unnerved Rebecca more than anything ever had. She'd survived a lot, experienced true fear . . . but it was nothing compared to this.

               Trying to harden her voice, she crossed her arms over her chest, glaring. All the while backing up slowly, closer to the door. "Get out."

               Finally he spoke, voice oddly . . . reverent. "I can't leave."

               As subtly as she could, Rebecca glanced at the door. Only a few more steps now . . .

               "I'll scream," she warned, trying to keep him preoccupied. Though her fear levels were exceedingly high, her voice didn't give her away. At least that was what she though. Her emotions were probably clear as day on her face though. "My parents are home. They'll call the police. You'll get arrested."

               She was right there. One step and she could make a run for it . . .

               "I can't leave," he repeated, unfazed by the threats.

               He thought she was bluffing, Rebecca realised. She wasn't too sure whether or not the answer was a yes or a no herself. If she yelled, what would he do? Attack her? Rebecca shivered, pulse hammering.

               "You're dead," she said, backing up further. "This isn't real. I'm dreaming. You're dead. Dead." Oddly enough, saying the word now was barely fazing her. It was probably because her fear was overriding everything.

               As she talked, Rebecca edged towards the doorway, keeping a close eye on him. If he noticed that she was trying to escape, he gave nothing away.

               She was at the doorway now. Rebecca turned to run, flight kicking in rather than fight—

               She stopped short.

               Blinking rapidly at the sight in front of her, Rebecca stayed where she was, without moving a muscle.

               Adam was no longer standing. Instead, he was on his knees, as if he was bowing to some sort of god. His head was down, arms straight at his sides. Supplication, was the only way to describe it. It made Rebecca's skin crawl uncomfortably.

Thoughts raced, but Rebecca couldn't pinpoint any specific ones — there were just too many.

               "Get out," Rebecca ordered, voice cracking in a way that she despised. So much for hiding her panic from him.

               Adam raised his head blinking owlishly at Rebecca. "I can't," was all he said, voice soft as a whisper. "You brought me back."

               Rebecca shook her head in denial, moving so she was right in the doorway. "I didn't bring you back. It was all a sick joke and I want you out of my room." She didn't believe the words for a second but she didn't dare dwell on it. She had more pressing things to worry about.

               "I can't leave."

               "Get out," Rebecca repeated, crossing her arms across her chest in an attempt to seem more confident than she felt. Once again, her voice betrayed her, cracking under the panic.

               "I can't leave." He seemed perfectly complacent to stay kneeling, staring up at her. Maybe it was all a strategy — seem harmless before he decided to attack. Rebecca on the other hand, was more than a little bothered by it and she wasn't fooled either. 

               "You can leave. Get out the same way you got in," she snapped. How he had even gotten in, she had no idea. She was too terrified to even consider it. There was no way her parents had let him in so Rebecca could rule that out. He hadn't snuck in by window — she'd been standing in front of it when she'd turned and saw him.

               "Okay."

               Then he was gone.

               Rebecca stepped back on instinct, looking around quicker than ever before. A scan of her room showed up empty; he wasn't there. Biting her lip, she stifled a scream. Where had he gone? He couldn't just disappear into thin air. It was impossible.

               Rebecca had to roll her eyes, still scouring her room from top to bottom. She'd been told she was a Faerie, that she had magical powers . . . her definition of impossible didn't even sound sane anymore. If people could disappear on a whim, she wasn't going to be surprised. She'd just add it to her list of things to deny.

               "Salvatée."

               Rebecca jumped, whirling around with wide eyes. Adam stared at her, eyes unblinking, no more than half a metre from where she stood. Rebecca jumped back, almost falling over in her haste. An arm caught her, lighting fast, before she could fall. She didn't let Adam grip her long, fighting her way out of his grip the minute she was stable enough.

               Back up, she didn't stop until she hit the wall, feeling cornered the instant her body made contact. He now was blocking the only exit. As panic started to rise, she fought to keep her breathing even. The last thing she needed now was to panic.

               "You can disappear," she murmured to herself, keeping a close eye on him. If he moved, she'd cat the movement. If he so much as took a step forward, she'd be ready for it. "Okay. You can disappear. Uh, nice trick, I guess." Great, now she was talking to him. She figured it could work in her favour — distract him so he didn't try to attack her.

               He shrugged, staring at her. "I was dead. You brought me back. Now I can move between both worlds," he said, as if made complete sense. "Salvatée."

               Rebecca edged closer towards her bedside table, sure there was something she could use to defend herself on there. "Uh huh. That's great. Really. Do you want an award or something?"

               The sarcasm seemed lost on Adam, who just stared back at her, oddly serious. There was something else . . . and emotion that Rebecca couldn't detect.

               As the silence dragged on, Rebecca was glad there was at least six metres between them.

               Finally, he nodded, murmuring, "Salvatée."

               That was it.

Rebecca stared back, skin crawling. The word had a deeper meaning and she wasn't willing to figure it out. She'd rather just stay out of the loop. Hoping she didn't give away how uncomfortable she truly felt, Rebecca nodded as well. "Okay," she said, reaching on the top of her bedside table as subtly as she could. If Adam noticed, he gave nothing away. "So, uh . . . what're you doing here?"

               "Protecting you," was his response.

               Rebecca ignored that purposely, babbling on to distract him. There was nothing that was useful. A book, phone, keys . . . nothing. "Okay. How'd you get here?"

               "Travelled between worlds."

               Quieting her squeal of excitement after finally finding something of use, she gave nothing away. If he caught onto what she was going, Adam gave nothing away. Gripping the letter opener in her hand, she wondered why it was there. It was an old one that she saw her mother use from time to time, a knife with a flat engraving of a bird at the top. Frankly though, she didn't care why, she was too happy to have it. "This could be a movie, you know? We'd make millions."

               Adam stared at her, hands at his sides. "Of course," he murmured quietly.

               Rebecca forced a laugh, clutching the letter opener tighter. "You don't have a lot to say, do you?"

               "I say what I need to," he said seriously, as if he was making a grave promise. "Salvatée."

               There was that word again. "What does that mean?"

               "Salvatée?"

               Rebecca nodded, frowning. There was something off about him. When he'd offered her the cigarette days ago, he'd be in her personal space, talking over her at every moment. Now the roles were reversed. He wasn't saying a thing, parroting her words back to her.

               "You don't know what it means?" The way he said it showed how surprised he seemed by the question.

               If I know, would I have asked? Rebecca stayed against the wall as he moved closer. Each step was like a lightning bolt, ricocheting in Rebecca's pulsing heart. "Don't come closer," she warned, trying to keep a threatening edge to her voice. "I mean it." Even she knew she sounded weak.

               Instantly, Adam stopped. "I'm not going to hurt you."

               "Uh huh. Sure," Rebecca muttered, gripping the letter opener tighter. "Whatever you stay. Now stop."

               He didn't listen to her. Instead he came closer until there was only about half a metre between them. "Salvatée."

               Glaring, Rebecca stood straighter. "Stop saying that. I'm not Selvetee, or whoever the hell you think I am."

               "Salvatée," he said, taking another stop closer.

               Rebecca opened her mouth to scream—

               All her breath left her, and she held the letter opener out, blade facing Adam. It wasn't sharp but if she used enough pressure, she'd wound him. Then she could make a run for it.

               Adam stared at her. Rebecca watched, wondering if her eyes were deceiving her, as Adam knelt. He stared at her hand, the blade sticking out, completely unimpressed. He knew that she couldn't hurt him with it, no matter how hard she tried.

               Dread sinking in, Rebecca stood frozen. She knew that she should run, try to escape. But she was stuck, backing into the wall. If she tried to make a break for it, he could easily grab her legs and trip her. He'd win in the end. And she wasn't going to beg for her life.

                When he grabbed her hand, she could do nothing but stand there. Ignoring the letter opener Rebecca held in her hand, Adam grabbed her hand—

               Then kissed it.

               Blinking rapidly, Rebecca tried to process the sight in front of her. She just couldn't comprehend any of it.

               Though her skin crawled uncomfortably, her heart rate started to slow to a normal pace.

               Her complacency was her downfall.

               In the next moment, there was a knife in his hand. Rebecca didn't have time to move away.

               The pain in her stomach was the first thing she felt. It started as a blossoming, then it turned into an excruciating burn. Rebecca clutched her stomach weakly, trying to stop the pain. She could see Adam staring at her, a malicious smirk on his face. Blood stained the front of her tee-shirt, her hands as well as she tried to control the bleeding.

               Rebecca opened her mouth to scream—

But then it all started melting away, everything going . . .

               *

               Rebecca woke up in a panic, gasping for breath. Staring around her with wide eyes, she took everything in. There was no one in her room, no bird tapping at her window. Lifting her shirt haphazardly, she searched frantically for a stab wound. Scars littered her stomach but they weren't unusual. Rebecca avoided them, looking for blood, a wound . . .

               There was nothing. Just her usual scars.

               A dream. It had all been a dream.

               Relief washed over her in a rush. Her hands were clammy and she rung them together in an attempt to warm them up. Her whole body was as cold as ice, a cold sweat taking over. It had felt so real. So real. But it wasn't. Just a dream . . .

               Tears started to fall from her eyes, like a flood she couldn't stop. In a moment of weakness, Rebecca didn't bother to blink them away. She needed to cry and she was going to.

               At some point, arms wrapped around her. Rebecca let herself fall into her dad's embrace, crying onto his shoulder. He shifted her, so that she was lying next to him held close, head resting in his chest.

               "Becca, you're okay," he whispered, stroking her hair.

               It made the tears fall faster. She was certainly not okay. Shaking her head mutely, she let the tears fall.

               His heartbeat was strong against her ears, even and soothing. Contrary to his heartbeat, Rebecca's heart was racing, beating out of her chest.

               It was late, that she could tell. One glance at the clocked proved her right: 8:39. A fear of sleep wasn't normal, but Rebecca had one right now. She had no idea what was real right now.

               "Dad," she whispered, voice hoarse. "Are you really here?"

               "Yeah, sweetheart, I'm here." His voice was little more than a coo, as if Rebecca was a child. Honestly, she felt like a child. Before she'd learnt to get over the hand she'd been dealt with, she'd often spent her nights breaking down. "I'm staying here."

               "Dad," was all she could whisper in response, before she broke up in a fit of tears.

               "Cry, sweetheart. You deserve it. Do you want to talk about it?"

               Mutely, Rebecca shook her head. She wanted to forget all of it.

               Her dad hummed noncommittally. "Okay. Sleep Becca. I'll stay."

               She didn't want to sleep. She didn't want to dream. But, despite that, her dad's heartbeat lulled her to sleep and Rebecca was helpless to fight it. Even as sleep took her, the tears fell.