I wrap the bandage around my arm as I try my best to not grin like a madwoman, but I just can't help it. I escaped a killer; I kicked him in the balls, and kicked him out of my house! I was able to survive an ordeal like that with my life, doubt anyone else can say that. Probably because they're dead, and you don't get a whole lot of words out post-mortem. Beside the point, I'm alive and damn, I'm proud.

"Fuck you—I try and think of a decent way to refer to my almost murder as, I suppose something simple will do—Masky!" I shout to no one.

My arm is bandaged up and although I did lose some blood, I feel fine. The cut wasn't deep enough to do any real damage, so I'm grateful for that. I clean up the blood I left around my sink and walk over to my room. I check my phone, I have a couple new messages but one catches my eye, it's titled "unknown" so out of curiosity, I tap it. The message reads, Miriam, you have escaped my clutches, this time. Fear me, I will be back, and I will succeed in my mission. Okay, number one, how'd this asshole get my name? Two, if my 5'3, 90 pound self was able to kick a grown man's ass, literally, I'd like to see him try again. I decide to respond to the unknown number.

Listen…Masky, you fuckin' psycho, you come here, you better pack a fuckin' machine gun because I don't go down easy. I'm NEVER gonna stop fighting for my life. And you have no right, NO right, after all the shit in my life to swoop in and try to take that away from me for your own selfish pleasures. FUCK YOU.

I click send and feel an immense satisfaction. I'm sassing a serial killer, and I love it.

I decided to send my target a message via text. She escaped my grasp, how? How could that tiny girl best me? She had all the makings of an easy target; alone, female, small, AND unarmed. And admittedly, I may have targeted her because of the cheesecake. But I did NOT expect her to even fight back, let alone win. I sigh as throw my head back against the tree I'm leaning on. The phone I used is disposable, and I made the number unknown so I'm untraceable. I get a reply from Miriam pretty fast. My eyes scan over every line in the message. She is really quite vulgar, cursing every sentence, at least. And how does she know my name? Probably just a guess. But I see her point—damn, I've never even stopped to consider my victims' outlooks on me, I never really cared and they didn't exactly have the ability to voice any opinions, being dead and all—she has in her words "gone through a lot of shit" and I come along, and deprive her of that…NO. I do what I do for a reason and I have just as many if not more rights to her life than she does.

But I can't help but think this girl is different, she's unique. I feel the need to know her better, to understand her.

After I sent him the text, I moved out of my room and pushed the couch away from the door—again, don't ask—so my friend, Daniel, could get in. It would be another 20 minutes before I heard the knock on my door, so I relax on my couch and smoke another cigarette. I don't smoke often; I have good impulse control, maybe a cig or two every week, something to be damn proud of. I inhale the smoke and blow it out, watching as the gray dust fills the air.

When Daniel finally shows, I hug him and explain what I can.

"Miriam, is everything okay? You sounded scared on the phone," says Daniel.

"Yea, yea I'm fine," I tell him. "But I called you because someone broke in to my house, he tried to kill me—I see Danny's eyes widen, we've been friends for about 3 years, and I know he worries about me despite only being 30 minutes away—but I'm here, and I kicked the intruder's ass."

I see him smile, and it's comforting. "I was just wondering if you'd…stay with me," I finish.

"Always Miriam," he promises and moves to sit on the sofa. "I have to ask though, how'd to manage to kick a grown man's, well I'm assuming a grown man, ass?" he asks.

"Luck," I shrug, and he doesn't push the subject. We'll talk about this in the morning. "Here, take this knife—I hand him a kitchen knife—if he comes back and tries anything, stab the shit out of him." He nods, I go to the next room, grab a blanket off my bed, hand it to him, and bid him goodnight, feeling safer now. I bring my own knife to my bedroom and tuck it under my pillow as I climb into bed.

I wonder to myself; why'd I call Daniel and not Parker? It's just that, I feel safer with Daniel. Does that make me a bad person? I wonder as I stare up at the ceiling in my bed, cocooned in my blankets as I hear Daniel's soft snoring in the next room.