Chapter 1

My fingers shook. I'm not scared though.

If I shook, maybe it would hurt more. I don't want it to hurt, no one else ever gets hurt. Or they don't make it look that way. My mum does, but they all want that feeling.

That feeling I lust. It looks so… Indescribable.

The house is silent. And Cold. Everyone sleeps. Everyone. The deathly sleep.

I don't get to know what that is. Until now, with more than curiosity boiling over me. What do they feel? Everything… Nothing? I need to know.

The door in front of me, it has always creaked so loudly. Anyone outside of their fix would surely hear it.

The door has no panels, someone's fit of rage made sure or that. I thanked them as I slipped through the gap, and into mum's bedroom – where it will surely be. Mum didn't make it to bed again. Her sheet-less bed was empty, just a saddened mattress on the floor.

Her evening fix was laying ready on the floor. I knew she wouldn't normally leave it there – last night was busy, she might have just made some more downstairs. It was almost calling my name. My opportunity wouldn't come as easy as this again.

I grabbed the opportunity and sat in the windowsill in the light of the streetlamp.

I'd seen it a thousand times. Heard ways to do it effectively. I knew what to do.

It's easy.

9 years later.

"Jenny! Coffee, Almond milk, double caramel syrup, please,"

"Coming up!" I called back, not even glancing over my shoulder for a moment. I knew who ordered this. Treble caramel syrup it is.

"I saw that!" Yelled Martha playfully.

"Saw what? I am offended!" I called back over the busy evening rush. The whole store was packed, an endless stream of disgruntled customers drenched in that sad, soggy snow that fails all expectations. It doesn't even settle properly. Martha huffed and called out the next order, just as I had placed his drink on the end. He took it with his usual smile, not that I managed to look.

These Saturday evenings were normally the busiest – the café is outside a large bus stop, and we stay open later near Christmas to pull in more profits from those waiting to go home after a long day working or attacking the Christmas high street bustle. We do evening deals, deals for uniforms of every kind, free drinks on large orders, everything you could want at the end of the day. The end results? A queue through the door and two overworked baristas. However, I must admit they are my favourite, as the hustle and bustle let the time fly by, and before I know it, the clock hits seven pm and it's time to clock off and go home – almost.

I say my usual goodbyes to Martha and stroll out the office with my bag and coat, boots in toe. Caramel coffee is sitting in the corner, his nose in the depths of twitter.

"You know, you don't have to wait all that time for me, I'm very capable of walking home…" I slump into the bench, tired feet aching.

Dan snorts, placing his phone in his pocket and sipping the last mouthful of his now cold coffee.

"What, and let you get yourself into some situation in this weather? I don't think so." My head shot up in fear.

How does he know? I never told him, he couldn't have found out… could he? Ive not touched that stuff for years, there's no way!

"What do you mean?" my voice quivered, trying to act as natural as possible.

"Well given your track record," he sighed, " I do believe someone as unbalanced as you has no hope in all this wet weather, and that's before you end up being slashed by a car – or worse, a bus" Dan lifted his empty cup, and pretended to shower me in coffee, which I shot back in my seat and laughed a little too loud. He doesn't know, thank god.

"Right, well seeing as its bitter cold and wet out there, I believe I need to be escorted back home, so I can at least crumble into my bed again" I mumble, feeling the tiredness tug on my eyes.

We both stood up, and entered the brisk, cold night. Wind rattled the street signs, whistling against the windows and pulling little loudly down the street. I was always glad of someone walking me home at this time of the year; not even Christmas could make my journey home less frightening. The slushy snow smacked us in the face, making for a biting cold walk.

"Phil's still in bed, I'm guessing" I enquired sympathetically, already knowing the answer to that question. Dan had come alone this time last week as opposed to the both of them and had mentioned that Phil felt under the weather and wasn't feeling well enough to be out in the cold. He sounded like he was coming down with the flu, and wasn't getting much better,

Dan shook the blue carrier bag, nodding. "He's got no voice and still looks as bad as he sounds. Thought a top up on medical supplies may be needed if it carries on, especially if I start to come down with the plague." I naturally took a step away, laughing and covering my mouth. "Oh ha ha, I'm not contagious yet so I think your safe,".

Almost as if time had skipped, we were at the start of the tower flats. My flat was in the end building, right down at the bottom of the street. I looked over at Dan, who read my mind almost instantly.

"I'm fine from here-"

"No you're not, I'll walk you to your-"

"Honestly I'll be okay from here just-"

"Jennifer, I'm walking you to your door and that's that." Dan finished. I might have lost this one.

"Fine, but I promise you I'm okay, I'd rather Phil had his lozenges than you walk me down." Dan laughed, stuck his tongue out at me and took one large stride ahead, my own small legs almost jogging to keep up.

Within moments, I was pressing the code in to open the entrance door, and turned to Dan, smirking.

"Enjoy the cold walk home while I wrap myself up in the duvet" I laughed, his faced peaking smile.

"Just remember, you've got 6 flights of stairs to tackle, I've only got the one." He turned on his heal, giggling away.

"Text me when you get home safe, please?" I raised my voice slightly against the wind. Dan turns his head back and nods, raising a hand to wave all the while walking away.

It was only when I looked around that I realised the street wasn't completely dead.

A man stood at the corner of the flat across the street from me, barely visible but definitely there. Staring at me. I let the door slam shut, and race up the stairs, and careering strait through my apartment, to the window that looks down on the man.

He is looking at my window. He looks away and walks to the following corner. I finally let my breath go, feeling my heart pounding and my head spinning. My backpack hit the floor as I pull the blinds over.

But now it has peaked my interest.

There's no mistaking what he is.

And there's only so long an addict can resist.