After what felt like an eternity, you were finally discharged from the hospital. You and Jim had signed the paperwork, and it was time to say goodbye to the place that ironically made you feel sick to your stomach. Though, the arm sling that you had to wear for your injury was a constant painful reminder of your stay there, and even worse of a reminder was the reason you were here in the first place; Jerome. He was in your head, and you didn't think he was ever going to leave. With all the heavy medication you were on, there seemed to be a fine line between hallucinations and dreams, it had all became a blur. You couldn't tell which was which anymore, what was real, and what wasn't.

However, you didn't think it was possible for him to get in your room without anyone knowing about it, there was no way he could get past the security in the hospital without causing chaos. Then again, you remembered that you should never underestimate what the ginger was capable of. You knew if he really wanted something, he didn't have any restraint in keeping him from pursuing it. You hated that about him. Just the thought of him was enough to get your blood boiling now and at the same time, you were overwhelmed with anxiety. You didn't know what he would do next, and frankly, you didn't even want to entertain the idea in your mind. You could only hope that he wouldn't dare show his face to you any time soon because there was no way he could mend the relationship you two once had. You only felt guilt and disgust with yourself for putting your family through that traumatic experience all because you had gotten involved with him in the first place.

You were grateful that your parents made it out alive because you couldn't even bare the thought of ever losing them, and it was already enough that your dreams were taunting you of your biggest nightmare. Their safety meant everything to you, and even with the blood on your hands, you were just grateful that they were alive and well. Though, maybe the 'well' part was stretching it. They were far from okay.

Nevertheless, it was time to come home. You just wished you hadn't come back to a broken home. As soon as you returned to the house, Leslie embraced you in her loving arms but she barely spoke more than five words to you, other than the 'I'm so glad you're okay'. She still had those scars on her face from Jerome, they were healing but still visible, and it was just another reminder of the incident that occurred that you were trying so hard to forget. She was quiet–uncomfortably quiet and acutely frail.

"Mom, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you repeated your apology over and over again, and she merely held you, stroking your back as she allowed you to cry on her shoulder. Jim lingered in the background for a moment before he joined in on the hug, wrapping his arms around you and Leslie. The three of you stood in silence, save for the constant sound of your hiccuping and sobbing.

Afterwards, Jim ordered take-out and when the food arrived, you all sat at the table in a near-deafening silence while eating your meals. You didn't feel hungry at all, but you tried to consume as much as you could stomach. Jim and Leslie barely said anything other than a few words to each other and to you. The quietude only made things worse because it meant that the aftermath of that night was all wearing you down in a way that made it feel like Jerome still had power over you. It was as if the incident had been replaying on your mind in an endless loop. No matter how much you tried to get it out of your head, it came back at you with full force, showing no signs of leaving any time soon.

Not only were you thinking of Jerome, but the lives of Jim's fellow policemen––who were gone because of you. No matter how many times Jim told you it wasn't your fault, it did nothing to reassure you because you were the one who pressed the button, not Jerome. It was your fault. All your fault. You killed those cops. You could almost perfectly hear Jerome's mockery and laughter in your head of how you're a killer––a murderer just like him.

Once you were done with the unpleasant dinner, you went upstairs to your room and it was almost a relief to be away from the dreadful quiet. You started undressing so you could change into a pair of comfortable pj's, and as many times as you told yourself not to look back at the floor-length mirror in your room, your instincts went against your own volition. Standing in front of the mirror wearing nothing but your underwear, you stared at your stomach, where Jerome had carved his name into your skin. The scars had been fully healed to the point where it didn't ache anymore but his name showed no signs of fading any time soon.

Though, just thinking about Jerome doing the act and what tool he used to engrave his name upon your skin, somehow made the pain return in pangs. You gripped your stomach for a long moment in an attempt to lessen the throbbing, but it did nothing to make it go away. You gazed back at your weary, red eyes in your reflection and poked at the purple bruising outlining your lower lids. You heaved a sigh, and contemplated for a long moment if you should even go to school tomorrow with the way you looked and felt, but you figured it was better than just staying home all day, alone with your thoughts.

Without lingering any longer, you slipped on a pair of shorts and a tank top before making your way to the bed. You laid on your side, careful not to hurt your shoulder when doing so. There was a million things running through your head, not a single one was positive in the slightest, and because of that you were sure you would barely catch a wink of sleep. But you finally did after several hours of aimless thoughts, only because of your exhaustion and the insistent pounding in your head.

The next morning, you found yourself watching the news on the small TV in your room, to hear if there was any word on Jerome. Unfortunately, there was. Jerome was all over the news. Everything was about him. While you were away at the hospital, Sarah Essen, the commissioner of the GCPD, was murdered by Jerome, at the precinct. Jim didn't tell you, probably to protect you.

The news reporter said that the manhunt for Jerome was at large. You saw the video that Jerome had recorded and broadcasted to the GCPD. The blood stains on his face as he spoke with such contempt and mockery, and how he belittled the situation made you feel sick and nauseated to the point that you almost threw up contents from your nearly empty stomach. There was no hope for him. How could he have done that to Sarah Essen? She didn't deserve this. She was a strong, lionhearted woman. A good woman.

You had to carry these news with you before you went to school. You didn't give much effort with the outfit you chose: a dark blue long-sleeved blouse with a black flowy skirt. Jim gave you a ride to school, he didn't want you taking the bus anymore, especially because of Jerome's infamous attempt to blow up a school bus. Everything felt like it was about Jerome lately, one way or another, and it only made you loathe him more.

Jim was very quiet during the ride, brooding.

The moment you reached for the door to leave the car, Jim placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

"What?" you asked, avoiding eye contact with him. You could barely ever look him in the eye anymore.

"Hey, we need to talk," Jim started, a frown on his face.

"Okay."

"Jerome murdered Sarah Essen, the commissioner," Jim said, getting straight to the point.

"Yeah, I heard," you whispered, still looking away from Jim's eyes.

"I'm going to find him and then I'm going to kill him. He will not get away with this, I'll make sure of it," Jim said hoarsely, he sounded choked up. "She was a good woman, one of us. A friend."

You didn't say anything. You thought it would be respectful to give her a moment of silence, meanwhile your stomach was knotting up and you started feeling queasy again.

"She didn't deserve to meet an end like that. She would still be here, working her ass off, if it wasn't for Jerome," Jim said, his voice coming out as a broken murmur.

"I'm sorry," you told him, it was more of a mumble than anything.

Jim nodded his head, his lips closed in a tight line.

"Be careful, okay? Always be aware of your surroundings, and call me if you need anything. I'll be sure to come running. And you have to come straight home after school. Understood?" he changed the subject, a somber expression on his face.

"Understood," you answered.

"Are you going to be okay?" he questioned, brows raising in concern.

"Yeah, I will be," you said, giving a slight nod of your head. You could already feel the corners of your eyes watering up so you tried to blink them back, but you were sure he already saw it.

"Hey, hey, we are going to get through this," he leaned over to wrap his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. "You'll be safe. I know you're still worried about everything. I'm going to catch him. I'm going to make sure he never touches you again, that he doesn't get away with any of it. You just leave it to me. I got it covered," he reassured you in a hushed tone.

You felt a tear drop on his suit, and you quickly wiped away the rest that threatened to come pouring down. You nodded your head and pulled away from the hug, doing your best to manage a smile.

"I love you, sweetheart," he told you before leaning in to leave a kiss on your forehead.

"I love you too, Dad. I'll see you later," you said, and you were quick to leave the car just so he wouldn't see your face crumbling.

He waved at you goodbye with a sad smile before he drove off and you waved back.

You quickly wiped your eyes one last time before you entered the school building.

You made your way to your locker down the hall, and unfortunately, your two closest friends were across from you because your lockers were all in a row together. You could hear them gossiping about something, and you held your breath before you walked over to them. You could feel the blood pumping in your throat, a rock settling in the pit of your stomach.

"Hey guys," you greeted, hoping your apprehension didn't show.

They both immediately stopped talking the second you walked over, and almost in unison, they turned to you, their arms crossed and their faces unsmiling.

"What do you want?" Natalie asked, and her glasses didn't make her glare any less hostile.

"Yeah, what is it? Make it quick," Ashley added, her piercing stare making you uneasy in every sense of the word.

"I just wanted to say I really really missed you guys. I don't know how much you know or-"

"We know everything. We also know that you were blowing your so-called kidnapper. You know, we all thought you were in danger, that your life was at stake. We were worried sick, but you were fucking him that whole time you were 'kidnapped'," Ashley interrupted, her fingers in quotations upon that last word. "How did it feel? Go ahead, tell us. Was he that good in bed that you didn't give a fuck about how worried your friends and family were? We got no phone call, no text, jack-shit."

"I-I'm sorry, really I am. There's more to the story, I can explain-"

"You know what, save it. You clearly gave more of a fuck about that red-headed maniac than you did about us. Your friends. Seriously, if you're that fucked in the head, you two deserve each other," Ashley blurted out, and every word seemed to sting more than the last, they were acidic and bitter, making you flinch.

"How could you do that? Why? I don't understand," Natalie questioned, her voice soft yet her tone was just as hurtful.

"And what about that commissioner? You know he killed her, right? The maniac you were slumming with?" Ashley asked in a accusatory tone. "You have to be a totally off the rails psycho to be with someone like that. And to think, I thought you were a decent person. A friend. I am one dumb motherfucker."

You looked down at your feet, feeling so small and wanting nothing more than to go back home, curl up into a ball on your bed, and cry. But first you had to take it, you believed you deserved it. You couldn't lie and say he coerced you into anything you two did together because you know that wasn't true.

"I can't believe you even have the nerve to show your face here. You absolutely disgust me. Do yourself a favor and delete our numbers, because we don't want to hear anything you have to say," Ashley scowled. "C'mon Natalie, let's go," she said, taking Natalie's hand and walking down the hall with her in a rush. Natalie turned to look back at you with a sympathetic frown before they both disappeared into a classroom.

The other students in the hall had stopped their chattering to look at you, and it felt like the whole world was staring at you with disgust and shame. They were judging you––mocking you. You could hear their whispers of how you were the girl on the news who was kidnapped by that ginger psychopath. Suddenly the nauseating feeling in your stomach felt worse than the throbbing pain of your gunshot wound.

The rest of the day didn't get any better. You couldn't focus in class in the slightest, and you were way behind on several assignments that you needed to catch up on but you didn't have any motivation for. Two of your teachers noticed how inattentive you were and had to pull you aside for a lecture after class. Your classmates were constantly gossiping about you, from what they heard on the news to Jerome to your appearance, it didn't ever stop. You constantly reminded yourself that the storm would pass, you just had to give it time, but still, you had never felt more alone.

You called an Uber to pick you up once school was over, and you were more than grateful to finally be home so you could curl into a ball on your bed like you had been planning since the morning. You closed the door behind yourself and took a deep breath. You were quick to lay down on the bed after such a long day. The sheets felt cool and smooth against your bare legs as you slid them across the bed.

Sighing, you pitched a loud, dramatic sigh into the darkness of your room as you stared up at the ceiling with a vacant stare. You didn't have any motivation to do the pile of homework that was sitting on the desk waiting for you, nor did you feel like doing anything at all. You felt utterly and completely helpless to everything that was happening around you, and that things would only get worse from here. You had succumbed to that loneliness already, and convinced yourself that you deserved to be alone. Just when you thought maybe your mind could be quiet for a moment, it was as if you could clearly hear the cries of the cops who you had killed that night. Loud and clear, mixed with Jerome's cackles like it was some big joke. He won. How could you have let him win? You tried convincing yourself that there was no other way to save your parents other than doing what he said, but maybe it was possible that you could have saved those policemen too. No, you couldn't go down that path. That path was just full of twists and turns, and you couldn't bare any more 'what ifs'. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess, to say the least, and you were consumed with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

Finally, after about an hour later of pensive reflection, your eyelids were staring to get heavy. Blinking became something you were mildly aware of, as it seemed to take longer each time your eyelids fluttered close before they opened again. But then you heard it. There was a slight rustling outside of your house, followed by a tapping sound against your window. Just the smallest tap, but you heard it and perked up.

Within minutes, possibly seconds, as you laid in bed, avidly listening for even the smallest sign of movement, there was a series of clicks and the window in your room swung open. Squeaking, you drew the covers up and squeezed your eyes shut tight. You vaguely heard a clicking sound. Your breath was shallow against the sheet, and you nearly squeaked again when you felt the bed dip.

Slowly but surely, the covers were pulled from you, but you only scrunched your eyes tighter and clamped your mouth shut. Your body wanted to curl into a ball for warmth, but you did your best to keep still. You wanted to see what would happen if you didn't react yet. You held your breath.

"Peek-a-boo!"

The voice was so close to your ear, low and husky, and his breath was warm on your cheek before you felt it on your neck. That familiar, boyish laugh could only belong to one person. Small, but soft kisses followed, pressing steadily against your pulse down towards where your shirt exposed your collarbone.

"You had your locks changed, again," Jerome teased with a chuckle, but his voice dropped at that last word like it was a huge inconvenience to him.

When your brain was finally able to fully register what had just happened, you pushed him off forcefully in an instant.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" you asked, and quickly backed away until you were against the headboard. Your arms were covered in gooseflesh, and you were sure your heart was about to burst out of your chest.

"I missed you," Jerome said smoothly, a first attempt at appeasing you.

"Don't you even start with me, you fucking shot me. Get the hell out of here, and don't ever come back," you snapped. You glowered at him, your fingers clenching into tight fists when he teasingly padded his fingers along your arms.

"Yes, yes, I did in fact, shoot you, but I wasn't trying to kill you dollface, otherwise I would have aimed for the head or the heart. I needed a distraction, a way for me to get out before the goddamn po-po showed up. Your life was never on the line-"

"Fuck you. You used me, for all of your sick games, that's all this was ever about. You put me and my family through hell, you carved your name into my body, you're a fucking psychopath," you spat.

He stopped smiling then, an intense look in his blue-green eyes while his jaw clenched, but after a fleeting moment, sure enough he was smiling again. "Don't be so dramatic doll, you know what we had meant something. We had so much fun together, we can still have that, you know. Just because Mommy and Daddy found out about us doesn't mean that has to go away," he said, his hand reaching up to stroke the curve of your cheek. A twinge of irritation at his obvious faux sympathy nudged at you. It was his fault that your life basically imploded in the first place.

"No, there is no coming back from this," you hissed, shaking your head. "You're nothing to me, Jerome."

"If that's true, why haven't you called Jimbo to come and save you? Why not tell him I'm here?" he asked, his head tilted to the side as he regarded you curiously.

He couldn't be serious. You knew if you did just that it would only be another repeat of that traumatic night, another twisted game that was rigged in his favor. You were not going to put your parents through that again if you could help it.

"Because you'll just use them against me, like you always do. You'll hurt them," you choked back, willing the tears back into your head and steadying your breath as your heart beat frantically in your chest.

"I won't today, not unless they test me. I don't have any ulterior motives, dollface, I just came to see how you were holding up. It looks like the doc patched you up good," he remarked, his eyes glittering with mirth. He remained close to you, giving you very little personal space.

"Just stop it, okay? Fucking stop. You made me kill, that was a line I was never supposed to cross. All those cops are dead because you made me do it!" your voice rose before it started to crack despite yourself.

"You're capable of so much more than you realize, you know that?" he laughed, like it's another one of his unfunny jokes. "I just needed to light a fire under your ass for you to realize that," he said, his voice dropping to something more sinister and dark. "We have more in common now than you might think. I've also killed some cops myself, you know," he recalled, mentioning it as if it's something to be proud of.

"That's really fucking sick. I did it to save them, you know that," you managed hoarsely, and you hoped that all of the hatred you were feeling was channelled into your eyes.

"You keep telling yourself that, whatever helps you sleep at night," he said in a sing-song voice. There was a pause before he continued, and you noticed that he was studying you for a moment. "Oh that's right, you haven't been sleeping. You're restless, jumpy."

"Shut up," you hissed, and you could feel your blood boiling hot as your body betrayed you by trembling from your pent-up anger.

"Come on, it's not too late. You can still come back to the penthouse. I know how much you loved that king-sized bed. Don't you miss all the fun we had? I know you can't forget about it, and neither can I," he said, a wide, triumphant smirk on his face.

At your side, the fingers of one hand clenched into a tight fist once again, and it took more effort than you wanted to admit to uncurl them.

"You're insane. I know what you did. You killed the commissioner," you barely managed to get the words out.

"Eh, she was in my way and I had to make a statement. A headline, so to speak. It had to be done, nothing personal," Jerome said, chuckling and making light of a twisted situation.

"Oh my god," you whispered to yourself in disbelief. "Get. Out," you ordered, with as much conviction as you could muster, and Jerome continued to smile at you.

"Are you sure that's what you want, doll?" he whispered, as if he knew a secret. He leaned closer, too close for comfort.

You averted your eyes from him. You shook your head a little to clear it. Of your anger, your frustration, of the darkness brimming of you. "Yes that's exactly what I want. I have nothing to say to you," you said bitterly. "Just please go away and never come back."

That goddamn smile didn't seem to leave his face. He was enjoying this, toying with you. "Oh dollface, I think we both know that's not true."

"I hate you," you said with a glare that you hoped would match the anger of your tone.

"No, you don't," he countered, the smirk on his face only widening. "You want to hate me, but you can't because I'm the only one who can give you what you want; the only one who can fuck you like you need. How does it feel? Knowing that you like to be fucked by a monster? Or a psychopath, as the headlines like to say."

"Shut up," you whispered.

"A murderer. A freak," he continued.

"Shut up!" you repeated, this time much louder.

"You know, they still don't know about all the things you asked me to do to you, do they? The way you begged me to fuck you harder and harder, to pull your hair and leave bite marks on your skin? How you'd let me fuck all your holes in one night?" he asked like they were questions yet he already knew the answers to them.

Your hand suddenly connected with his cheek, whipping his head to the side. "I told you to shut up."

Jerome merely grabbed your wrist in retaliation and pushed you back until his body was the one pressing you up against the headboard.

"I hate you so much," you spat at him.

"You say that but I bet if I slipped my hand inside your panties, you'd be wet for me. Shall we find out if I'm right?" he questioned, his voice low and seductive.

You whimpered as his fingers traced along the skin above the waistband of your skirt.

His fingers flicked the button open and slowly drew the zipper down. "Admit that you're wet for me and I'll fuck you the way you want," he whispered the temptation in your ear, his tone husky and alluring in all its iniquity.

You glared at him, but kept your lips pressed tightly together.

Jerome's hand slid slowly into your skirt, diving beneath your underwear. His lips twisted into a mockery of a smile. "Well, well, well. What do we have here?" he drawled, his long finger teasing your slick folds in a slow, circular pattern. "Your body certainly doesn't hate me."

You felt your glare soften despite yourself, but still, you didn't answer.

"Is this what you want, doll? Do you want a hard, brutal fuck that will get you off and hurt you at the same time?" his words were a growl against your ear as his thumb traced light, lazy circles over your clit.

"No, that's not true," you weakly protested.

"You think you deserve the pain. You're fucking the enemy, but that's what you've always loved about it, isn't it? You get off on that thrill of being with me, and you're still not over it. You crave it – need it, in fact. And I promise you, doll, I'm not going anywhere. There's nothing that's going to keep me away from you. You're stuck with me until I've had my fun. You're mine, mine, mine," he repeated that same word each time he flicked your clit. You couldn't help the shiver that racked your body at the motion.

A quiet moan escaped your lips before you had the chance to stop it, and without even looking at his face, you knew he was smirking.

You were snapped back to reality when you heard footsteps approaching your room. You turned back to look at the door, and the first tendrils of panic started seeping into your bones. Suddenly your heart caught in your throat. Your body was practically frozen in its shock.

Then you heard his voice outside the door. Jim's voice. Whatever Jim said fell on deaf ears due to your apprehension but you vaguely made out that he said your name. You didn't know how long you were staring at the door but suddenly the second you fully registered the situation, Jerome was gone. The window was wide open and you felt a cool breeze enter your room. You rushed to close the window and while doing so, Jim tried to open your door but it was locked so he was quick to start banging on it.

"Hey open up! You know what I said about locked doors!" Jim demanded.

You zipped your skirt quickly before unlocking and opening the door in a rush.

"Sorry, I forgot," you said. "Hey."

"Well don't forget next time. I'm serious, you gotta break that habit," he scolded. "Were you talking to someone in there? I thought I heard voices," he questioned, a look of concern on his face.

"Yeah, it was just a friend, Dad," you lied, but you did it so well you believed yourself.

"Okay, just checking. So how did school go?" Jim asked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"It was fine, I got through it," you reassured him with a small smile.

"Will you tell me more about it when dinner's ready? Leslie's cooking, and it'll be done soon," Jim told you.

"Yeah, sure thing," you replied.

"Alright, see you soon, sweetheart," he said, and with that he was gone.

You returned to your bed, once again trying to process what just happened. Your heart rate settled into something that resembled normalcy. You felt empty, and even more alone than before, if that was even possible. Despite this, you refused to miss him. Refused. You wrapped yourself in a blanket, and you just stared into space. His last words still echoed to you, no matter how much you tried to stop thinking about him.

Your hand suddenly traveled underneath your blouse to carefully trace each letter of Jerome's name on your skin. A tear dropped on your pillow as you thought about his touch.