It's been awhile.

Max POV

I, Maximum Martinez, am going batshit crazy. Crazy with a capital "K," as Ella calls it. All because some guy with a haircut and a jaw line made me believe I had seen Dylan at Disneyland. I couldn't've seen him; it's impossible. I'm just losing my marbles. Because the consequences of me being sane are too grave for me to bear. I can handle crazy; I can't handle a psychopath around my family. I can't let that bastard hurt the people I love any more than he already has.

"Please," I cried. "please just let me go. I won't tell anyone. Please."

"Why the fuck would I want to do that?" Dylan spat, pulling my body to his by my bruised thighs.

"You're hurting me!" I wailed, my vision blurring with my tears as he thrust into me. The physical pain was brutal beyond belief, but it wasn't even a close second to the emotional agony. Not only had I been gone from my family for what must've been weeks, possibly even months, I had been dehumanized. I was no longer Max Martinez. I was bitch. Whore. Worthless piece of shit.

I was nothing more than Dylan's property. And I'll be damned if he didn't remind me of it every living minute I was in his basement.

"Stop!" I shrieked.

"Stop." I cried, shaking viciously in my bed. "Please, please stop."

"Max?" Ella called, letting herself into my bedroom.

"Max!" She exclaimed, racing to my bedside. "Max, Max! Max, wake up. It's just a nightmare. C'mon, wake up. I'm here. I'm here." She soothed, stroking my hair.

I shot up in bed, my hands pressing against my chest as I struggled to catch my breath. Tears stained my face, and there was no point in trying to hide any more from Ella. I let warm droplets drip off my chin before sniffling and attempting to dry them.

"Max, tell me." Ella comforted, climbing under my sheets with me.

"It was, it was," My lips were quivering, making my speech come out erratic, "Him. R-r-r-ape, a-a-assaul, h-h-hurting me."

"You had that dream again?" Ella questioned. I nodded. Neither of us had to say anything to register what the implications of that meant. I haven't had that dream for weeks now. Not since I told Fang about everything. Not since I stopped hurting myself.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She offered. I shook my head. "Do you want me to get Fang?"

I paused, thinking it through. I wanted nothing more than for Fang to hold me right now. I always felt safer in his arms, however much of a damsel-in-distress that made me. However, I didn't want him to see me weak again. It pains him to do so, and on some level he always blames himself.

"No." I whispered. "Can we go for a walk? Maybe through Cornado or something? I'll drive." I asked. If I wasn't going to have Fang here, I needed some fresh air. Cornado was always full of surfers and children, of life and innocence. I needed some of that right now.

"Yeah, of course. I'll tell Mom and get dressed. Do you want me to stay for another minute?"

"No. I'm okay."

"Max –"

"Ella."

"Alright. I'll be ready in ten." She submitted, slipping out of my bedroom.

Ten was more like seven, an unheard of accomplishment for Ella. Angel and Gazzy were still asleep as we slipped out the side door; Mom was reading over charts in the kitchen. Cornado was a quiet ten minute drive away, parking was easy to find, and the sun was out and shining. The morning was annoyingly perfect on the outside. On the inside, however, the morning was a chaos full of confusion, fear, and anger.

I tossed and turned all night long. I had nightmares again. Being convinced that I could be insane made me, in fact, insane. Is it too much to ask for the weather to comply with my inner demons? Even just a morning shower or a grey cloud in the sky?

Ella and I started off our stroll in silence, and I cherished the seconds I had left of it before Ella would inevitably try to get me to talk. Seconds turned out to be minutes, another record, but nevertheless the end came.

"Talk." Ella demanded, cutting right to the chase.

I bit my lip, "About?" I was playing dumb, knowing full well that Ella would see right through it.

"The trigger that caused that nightmare. We've gone through this, Max. If you don't address it–"

"It will keep coming back. I know, I know, I know, I know." I cut her off, vaguely agitated.

"So spill. Or I'll torture it out of you."

"You're so annoying when you're trying to be helpful." I complained, rolling my eyes.

"Stop stalling." Ella called me out on my crap.

"Fine. You know what the 'trigger' was?" Ella shook her head no. "I saw Him. At Disney. I swear to God I saw Him."

"You don't believe in God." Ella said coyly.

"Then I swear to chocolate chip cookies. But that isn't even the point."

"Max, I'm sure there's an explanation–" Ella began.

"Elles, I saw Him." I cut her off.

Ella threw me an incredulous look, like she wanted to believe me, but just couldn't. "Max, I'm telling you. That's impossible."

"Don't you think I don't know that? But I did, so that's that."

"Max– there's absolutely no way he could find us out here if he tried. All of us are enrolled in school under Mom's maiden name, the police covered our tracks, and besides, he was on the opposite side of the freaking country last time I checked. He's gone, Max. He isn't here."

"But–" I started, biting my tongue; Ella had made up her mind. She wasn't going to believe me, no matter my argument. She was being the voice of reason that I had unintentionally trained her to be, and there was no point in trying to sway her otherwise. Besides, I'd rather believe that I was crazy than the alternative. I may as well let her have her solace.

"You're probably right." I muttered unconvincingly. "I shouldn't've said anything."

"Don't give me that crap." Ella scolded me, "You tell me everything. Always, no matter how crazy. If you think the aliens landed on our roof, I damn better be the first to hear about it."

I faked a smile, avoiding her overbearing gaze. Ella didn't believe me. Ella shouldn't believe me, but Dylan was here.

Fang POV

It was nearing nine o'clock when my phone rang.

"Max," I answered, walking up to my room for more privacy.

"Fang! Put your clothes on!" Iggy yelled loudly, bemused by himself. I rolled my eyes to myself, disappointed that Iggy wouldn't see it.

"Fang?" Max's called, a desperate pang in her tone.

"Yeah?"

"Can you come over? Please?" She asked with a sense of urgency.

"Of course. Is something up?"

"Just come. Please."

"I'll be there in two."

"'K." She hung up the phone. I tousled my hair, splashed some water on my face, and brushed my teeth again. Max's request was ominous and vague, leaving room for my mind to wander while I kicked on my shoes. Max had never booty called me before, but it didn't stop Fang Jr. from wandering down that path of growing (no pun intended) discomfort. Or Max could be in trouble, my overbearing boyfriend instinct kicked in. Max hated that, so I shook my head and left the house. I'd find out what was up soon enough.

I pulled myself up Max's balcony– my new method of getting into her house; long story short, it makes our makeout sessions less conspicuous and avoids awkward conversations and glances from Dr. M or one of Max's siblings as I snake my way into her bedroom. So yeah, balcony it was.

"Max?" I called out upon entering her bedroom.

"Ella didn't believe me." She whimpered, looking up at me with vulnerable eyes from the corner of her room.

"Believe what?" I asked, stumped.

"I told her something, something no one else knew, because I was scared and I wanted somebody to know. Because telling somebody would make it real, and it felt real. It felt real, Fang. But I'm not sure, because I could be crazy. I sound pretty freaking crazy right now." She stammered.

"Slow down, Max," I reacted. This would be the time I'd use a pet name like 'baby' or 'sweetie' to calm her down. But pet names were like nails on a chalkboard to Max, and I refrained.

Distracted by my own little tangent, I thought I misheard what Max responded with.

"I– I– I, I saw H–H–Him. At Disney. I saw Him." I thought I heard her say.

"Him?" I repeated, hoping that I was just slightly ADD and pulled that pronoun from thin air. To my great and utter disappointment, however, she nodded her head and stared at her toes.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I asked, scooping her into my arms. She took a minute to respond.

"I thought I was going crazy," she finally let out a breath, "and I was scared. Scared of going crazy and scared of being sane."

"You're not crazy," I reassured.

"Well, a little at times," I continued, "but not schizophrenic."

"So, y-y-you believe me?" Max's lips quivered.

"Of course I believe you," I reassured, kissing her forehead.

"Because I could have just been seeing things."

"Max, I trust your instincts. You should too." Max let out a deep breath, zoning out into the void of her own thoughts.

"What now?" She came back, resting her head under my chin.

"Honestly," I sighed, "I don't know." It pained me to admit that I was out of my league here.

"What if– what if?" Max started hyperventilating.

"He comes after you?"

Max bit her lip and nodded.

"You're safe here. There's a lock on all of your doors, and you have me just feet away. He doesn't stand a chance, Jackie Chan."

Max smiled and snuggled deeper into my chest. I tried to soothe her with my touch, calming away her anxiety.

There was nothing, however, that could calm away mine.

That Bastard was here.

Max POV

"Ella, is that you?" I asked groggily, rubbing my eyes. The footsteps grew louder and my door creaked open, the footsteps letting themselves in. My eyes found the clock. 1:52. Somebody better be dying.

No answers came from the footsteps, so I sat up in bed and reached for my lamp. The light fluttered to life, and in the second it took for eyes to adjust, I saw a flash of something terrible. And then suddenly, the flash became real. Every neuron in my body froze. My heart rate multiplied tenfold. My lungs screamed for air and my brain screamed for escape. I was trapped. Flight was not an answer.

I had to fight.

"Maxie." A coy smile crept onto the face of the footsteps.

I closed my eyes. One, two, three. Wake up. I screamed to myself. My eyes reopened, only to see the same pair of feet attached to the same pair of legs attached to the same body of the same man that broke me.

Standing six feet in front of my bed at 1:52 in the morning was Him.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to curl up in my bed and pray to the God I gave up on long ago. But I couldn't do any of that. He was in my house, my house with Mom and Ella and Gazzy and sweet, sweet little Angel. That bastard was in my fucking house threatening the safety of my family that moved their entire life to another state to avoid this exact situation. This son of a bitch was on my turf with a crooked grin slapped across his face in the middle of the night.

This son of a bitch picked the wrong girl to fuck with.

Without muttering a word, thinking for a microsecond, or making a peep, I shot out of bed and landed my fist on Dylan's perfectly straight nose. Or more accurately, formerly perfectly straight nose. He stumbled back five steps, his hands rushing to feel the warm blood running from his nose, which I was fairly certain had broken. I didn't even register the pain in my hand from the impact, shaking it off and preparing my stance.

Predictably, Dylan came at me head-on. It was evident that he had little to no fighting experience behind his brute strength, making him clumsy and awkward. He was a refrigerator on feet. I was a fucking ballerina.

Dylan's right hook was easily dodged, and more easily countered with a solid roundhouse kick to the chest. An audible "oof" escaped his mouth as he stammered on his heels, rage boiling in his veins. All of the fear that I had previously felt morphed into sheer, animalistic rage. I wanted to rip the head off his perfectly tanned shoulders and shove it so far up his ass they have to cut it out of his stomach. However, winning this fight was more pressing.

There's a reason they call it home field advantage. It isn't because I know the layout of my room in the scarce lighting provided my lamp. Or because I'm familiar with all of my escape routes. No, the advantage is in the heightened need to win. If I lost the fight on my turf, my family would be at risk. As far as I saw it, I was the only thing standing between Him and Angel down the hall. I needed to beat the crap out of him to protect this house. I wanted it more, and I'll be damned if I didn't prove it.

Dylan recovered from the blow he took faster than I had anticipated, so it came as a slight shock when his second attempt at a right hook collided with my cheek. Warm tingling spread across the point of impact like a wildfire, but it didn't come with pain. I spat blood into my hand, my body seething with adrenaline, and hammer-fisted him in the back of the head during his follow through. He fell to the ground like a sack of bricks, motionless.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding, taking a moment to register what had just happened. The buzzing pain under my eye was the only thing keeping me from losing it. Snapping back into the slew of things, I frantically searched the room for my phone. It was, of course, on the charger to the left of my bed where it always was. With hands that just began to tremble, I dialed 911. My eyes studied Dylan's still body, scared to death of it moving again.

A woman picked up on the second ring, stating her name and requesting mine.

"My name is Max Martinez," I answered, "I need the police at 535 Parkview Avenue. There's been a home invasion."

"One second please," I was put on hold for what felt like way more than one second please. "The police are on their way. ETA five minutes. I need you to stay on the line with me."

"Okay." I responded. The police are on their way. I just have to hold out for another five minutes.

"Max, where are you?"

"In my bedroom."

"Is anyone else home?"

"My mom and three siblings. They're asleep."

"Where is the intruder?"

"In my bedroom." I whispered, "unconscious."

I paced back and forth, answering the responder's questions as calmly as I could. My exterior was cool, but my interior was an F5 tornado twisting its way around my insides. I was ten beats per minute away from hurling up everything I ate earlier.

"ETA one minute," the woman– I wasn't exactly paying attention when she stated her name– updated. I stared at the wall, tapping my foot fervently, before turning on my heel.

I dropped the phone.

The small pool of blood was still seeping into my hardwood floors. The dent in the wood was still visible. The stamps of his dirty footprints still littered my floor.

But Dylan was gone.