Once again! This chapter isn't edited! I hope you enjoy it anything.

Also, I just wanted to say thank you soooo much to everyone who is reading this fic! This one is really special to me as I wrote it through some really difficult times, so I really appreciate all of your support. Your comments mean the absolute world to me. As readers, I hope you know the power you all have. Your support makes writers want to keep going! So thank you so much !

23

While he was sleeping, I snuck away. Guilt should have filled me—for a moment, I did, as I peered back at him under the dim light pouring in from his blinds from the streetlights outside—but I left feeling light as one does after deciding that they'd made the right decision. For both of us, this was for the best. It was better that I didn't get too close. If I were too close to him, I'd never want to leave this town.

Tonight had been the first night that we had shared a bed without sex. It felt as tender as it did strange, moving beneath the sheets with him without our limbs sweaty and tangled. For a moment or two, it felt like we were something more. Whatever more was, I couldn't begin to comprehend.

Days ago, he had spoken of his singing angel—the one who had saved him from himself that dreary night on the roof—and since then, I had expected him to ask me about it. However, after that one insight, he never brought the idea up again. Was he embarrassed? Was he worried that the memory was sour?

I had kissed his temple before leaving him in his guest bedroom all alone. Dread filled my body as I moved out of the room. There was no particular source for the dread to arise. Nothing had triggered a particularly bad memory. However, regardless of a trigger, the feeling had been following me for days. It lingered behind me like a shadow. While shadows always disappeared with the sun, this one remained with me in the darkness.

As I passed what I assumed was Edward's bedroom, I was tempted to stop and take a peek. Bedrooms told entire stories. Was his just as void of any personal touch like the rest of the apartment was? Or was it all drenched in the past? I had grabbed the doorknob for a moment before I decided against it.

I couldn't invade his privacy while he was asleep. That would mean taking from him without asking. Edward deserved far more than that.

Edward deserved far more than me.

I slipped out of his apartment, locking the door behind me, before taking off toward the stairwell. Now that I was alone outside, the darkness felt ominous. Although I kept my eyes peeled, always looking around in every direction, it felt like someone was out there watching me. Somewhere, someone lurked and waited for the perfect moment to pounce.

Fuck. I need to get out of my own head before I freak myself out. Determination filled me as I set my focus on making it back to the motel. It was a few blocks away—nothing major—and yet it felt like it would take lightyears to arrive.

The lights flickered in the stairwell, causing shadows to cast over the stares as I jogged down them. My gaze trained on my feet as I feared I'd miss a step due to my exhaustion. I wanted out of the stairwell. I needed to get out of this building. Suddenly, the space felt smaller and smaller as if it were readying to constrict me at any moment.

Nearly crushed under the weight of the tension in the small space, I could barely breathe. Just as my heartbeats became erratic, sweat beaded on my upper lip. Soon, before I could collapse, my hands were pushing on the exit door leading to the alley outside.

This was stupid. So fucking stupid. You should've let Edward walk you home, my conscious screamed at me. How could you? All of these things that keep happening to you … they're all your fault, aren't they? If you weren't such a stupid girl … If you only cared about yourself.

Tears began to fall before it even registered that I was crying. No one could be as harsh to me as I could. A few words and I could tear myself to pieces.

The air outside was cold, making every tear feel as if it could turn right into ice. I wiped them away, not bothering to worry about how I looked in the darkness of the night. There was no one on the streets besides a few drunks smoking outside the bar. I passed them with my head down, but it seemed that I didn't need to bother. They didn't spare me a glance.

On a weeknight, everything in the town felt even more dead than usual. Unfortunately, the heavy rain from earlier was gone. Puddles covered the streets, and I stepped in them, enjoying the way the water soaked my shoes. Small things like this had a strange way of making me feel alive.

I pulled the keys to my motel room from my purse when I was a block away, readying them as I was always so paranoid that if I spared a few extra seconds, someone would follow me inside. Perhaps I had watched too many crime documentaries for a single female. Still, being alone in a town that felt like the middle of absolutely nowhere, it was easy to feel on edge.

As I approached the motel, all of the lights were off in the surrounding rooms, suggesting that everyone had long since gone to bed. Only the dim lights of the lamps which hung above each room number would give me enough light to put my key into the lock.

Dread bloomed in my belly again as I approached my room number. I had been staying in this room for well over a month, paying out of pocket every few days, and this was the first time that I had ever seen my room's door ajar.

At first, I wanted to believe that it must have been maintenance or perhaps a maid or something reasonable like that. But at three thirty in the morning … Who would come to work on a room that late? Bile rose to my throat as all of my instincts screamed to turn around.

I should alert the motel staff, shouldn't I? I can't just go inside like this … I shouldn't check the room out for myself …

Without even taking another step, I decided to make the smart decision for once and turned to walk to the motel's office. While its operating hours didn't extend to overnight, there was always one person behind the counter on duty in case of any mishaps. Bile was resting on my tongue as I burst through the office doors, hoping that the anxiety wasn't too clear on my face.

I opened my mouth, willing the words to come and hoping they wouldn't sound too unreasonable or too terrified, but of course, no words escaped. You should be used to this by now, shouldn't you? my subconscious was snide.

The kid behind the counter who couldn't have been older than a freshman in college, stared at me with a stupefied expression. He gaped at me, probably wondering why my mouth was moving without words being spoken before reaching for the phone on the desk.

He seemed almost scared of me—as if he worried that I was some meth head who had wandered in from the street, looking for a room at three in the morning. With bloodshot eyes and messy mascara from crying, I couldn't imagine what I looked like in the moment.

In my frustration, tears welled in my eyes again before I stepped forward to reach for a paper and pen from his desk. He leaned back when I moved forward and when I got too close for his comfort, the boy stood up and backed up against the wall.

"I—I'll call the police, you hear?"

Good! I wanted to express. Call them! That's what I want, anyway. There could be someone in my room.

A tear fell from my right eye—fuck being a frustrated crier—as I reached for the pen and paper on his desk just as he reached for the phone. While he was probably typing in the number for his boss perhaps or the police, I scribbled out a message and slammed my hand down on the table, willing him to stop freaking out and read my note.

I heard the line ringing as he dropped his gaze to my writing. He brought the phone to rest against his chest with a shaky hand as he leaned over to read. As he read, I read my words again, hoping that in my panic, they made any sense.

The door to my room was open. Room 17. I shut it when I left for work. Please check.

Now, the boy gulped for a different reason. This was obviously more than the kid signed up for when taking the job. Finally, someone answered the phone, and it became apparent that he didn't call the police.

"Hey, Dad … yeah, sorry. I know it's late. Everything's okay, I think. There's something wrong with a guest's room. I'll check it out … Their door was opened … they said they locked it … No, um, she doesn't look," he paused, looking at me awkwardly now. "She doesn't look like she's on anything. Yeah … I'll grab the bat … No worries. Call you when I'm done."

The boy put the phone down and reached for a bat beneath the desk. Then, as if it were an afterthought, he grabbed a key from off of the wall behind him.

"Figured you'd want to sleep in another room," he said as he handed me the key.

I smiled, grateful that he thought of it since I sure as hell hadn't thought that far ahead. He led the way, letting me trail behind him as I wiped away my tears as I tried to look half as brave as this teenager did. The kid was gripping the bat with white knuckles and suddenly, I felt my stomach drop at the idea of putting him in this position.

What if someone was waiting for us? What if they had a weapon far more threatening than a bat? I put my hand on the teen's shoulder, wanting to express my desire for him to turn around and go call the cops instead. However, this seemed to spook him as he nearly jumped at my touch.

"Fuck," he mumbled. "Let's look, okay? It's probably nothing."

Probably nothing … In the past, every time I told myself something was nothing, I was so very fucking wrong. Painfully wrong. Probably nothing could be so very trauma inducing later.