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Standard disclaimer.

Warning: Bad language.

Fairly long chapter. (Only three left)

"My head hurts."

Sam's fingers sifted through my hair, gently massaging my scalp.

"The ibuprofen will kick in soon," he said.

It felt like it was taking forever.

My temples throbbed, as did, the somewhat useless space behind my eyes.

There was a good chance that I'd cried myself into a brain meltdown, because, once I had started crying, it was like a levy had broken inside me.

I had no idea how long we stayed in the bathroom...Sam planted on his ass and me in his arms, soaking his dress shirt.

I'd only been vaguely aware of him picking me up and carrying me to his bed.

He'd held me for hours, only leaving me not too long ago, to grab some water and ibuprofen. And I noticed, he had removed his shirt and changed into a pair of nylon running pants, before climbing back in bed.

As for me, I was still in my cami and undies, and there was absolutely nothing sexy about that right now. But, whatever.

Right now, I was sprawled across his chest, like one of those marionette dolls.

My cheek rested above his heart and his legs cradled my thigh, as he kept his fingers moving against my scalp.

Night had fallen hours ago and while neither of us had eaten a thing since that morning, I think both of us were too exhausted to get out of bed and scrounge up something to eat.

"I'm sorry I cried all over you," I said.

"That's what I'm here for. I'm your personal tissue. Among other, more fun things, but I'm multipurpose."

I cracked a grin, as I stared into nothing.

"I like those more fun things."

"I know."

Curling my fingers against his taut stomach, I drew in a breath and was surprised, that it felt steady and didn't hurt.

It would be a long time, before I fully accepted my role in Kurt's fate, and maybe. I would never absolve myself of guilt completely, but I wanted to try.

I really, honestly, wanted to try, for the first time.

"Can I tell you something?" Sam asked.

"You can tell me anything."

"I'm going to hold you to that statement in the future," he said dryly. "But yeah...I don't like to ever say good-bye."

My brows knitted.

"I...I remember you saying that once."

"I did. I told you we never say good-bye...we kiss instead. Hell, we can say anything to each other, but not good-bye."

"Why?" I whispered, but I thought I already had a good idea, as to why.

There was a pause and then he said,

"It's too permanent, especially in my line of work, the last thing I ever want you to hear from me, is good-bye. And that sure as hell will never be the last thing I say to you."

I shivered, as I thought about one day facing a phone call, or a knock on the door from...

I pushed those thoughts out of my head. That wasn't trying to take a risk. I would not...could not...allow myself to think about the possibility, of him not coming home one day.

"There's something I want you to know, Mercedes. I'm a stubborn motherfucker. You know that. So, I'm not going to disappear on you without one hell of a fight. I can promise you that."

My eyes burned, and I thought there was a good chance, I might start crying again.

With my head somewhat clear, a huge part of me now recognized, how weak it was, to keep someone away from you, just because, you might lose them one day.

How silly was that?

But there was still a little piece of me, that wanted to retreat and not take that risk.

So I decided to be strong, I just couldn't give in to that fear.

"Do you think I'm crazy now?" I asked in a quiet voice.

Sam chuckled and I liked how the sound rumbled under my cheek.

"I've always thought you were a little crazy, baby. That's what I love about you."

Hearing him say that now, when my head was sort of screwed on right, stole my breath.

"Can you say that again?"

He slipped his hand down my jaw and tilted my head back.

Our eyes met and held, and his chest rose deeply. But he repeated it just for me, then, he paused and held my gaze again.

"I saw them," he said.

Confusion masked my features.

"Saw what?" I asked.

He took a deep breath, as he eyed me.

"The paintings."

For a moment, I didn't get where he was going with this. Not when he traced the curve of my cheek with his thumb and not when a soft smile curved his lips.

And then it hit me.

"The paintings?"

I swallowed and started to sit up, but he didn't let me get very far.

"The paintings at my place?" When he nodded, I felt my face heat, like I was out under the summer sun. "The ones that are...?"

"Of me?" he supplied.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Oh my God. Seriously?"

"Yes."

Mortified, I didn't know what to say.

"They were in my closet. Why were you in my closet?"

"Looking for a psycho stalker," he answered.

My eyes popped opened.

"That...that was like two weeks ago! You saw them back then and didn't say anything."

Sam sat up, bringing me with him.

Somehow, my body ended up between his legs and we were face-to-face.

"I didn't say anything, because, I figured you'd respond this way."

"Of course I'd respond this way! It's embarrassing. You probably think I'm some kind of freak. Or a stalker...a creepy stalker who paints pictures of you, when you're not around."

"I don't think you're a stalker, baby." His voice was dry.

I screwed up my face.

"I can't believe you saw them."

He chuckled, and my eyes narrowed on him.

"Honestly? I really didn't know how you truly felt about me, until I saw them," he said.

My brows flew up.

"I thought you were all-knowing."

Sam smirked.

"I had my suspicions that you were in love with me, from the first time you laid eyes on me."

"Oh dear baby Jesus in a manger," I muttered.

"But I wasn't a hundred percent sure, until I saw those paintings, especially the one of me in the kitchen. You painted that after...after I left."

His brows lowered, as he gave a little shake of his head.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about. I think it's sweet."

I still thought it was a little creepy.

"But you know what's important? The first thing I thought when I saw them, is how much talent you have. It was like looking in the mirror."

That went a little way, to making me feel better about this.

"I wish you'd put your focus there, babe. You have something real."

Leaning against him, I blew out a soft breath.

My mind was churning over a lot today, I wasn't sure I was ready to look too closely, at the whole college thing.

"Getting a degree couldn't hurt," I murmured.

"You're right." Sam smoothed his hand up my arm. "It's smart. Just like doing what you love. No matter what it is, it's right."

I smiled as I thought about that.

"I really do love working at Marcy's."

"And like I said before, there isn't a damn thing wrong about that."

Sam was right.

Ryder was as happy as a monkey with a banana, owning and working at Marcy's. So was Noah. Well, I guessed Noah was happy. I never really asked him and he sure as heck never volunteered the info.

"You think you can eat something?" Sam asked, and when I nodded, he smacked my behind. "Come on, let's get some cheese and crackers."

I climbed out of bed and was headed out into the hallway, when Sam caught me around the waist and spun me around.

He pulled me to his chest, as he cupped my cheek with one hand, tilting my head back.

"I love you, Mercedes."

He dipped his head, kissing me softly, and I suddenly understood the emotion behind those sweet, tender kisses. It was that four-letter word...love.

"Get used to me telling you that. I'm going to say it so much, you're probably going get tired of hearing it."

Smiling against his lips, I placed my hands on his chest, inhaling deeply and catching the faint scent of his cologne.

"I don't think I can ever get tired of hearing that."

The next couple of days were a blur, for a different reason.

I wasn't numb anymore, because, when I woke up Friday morning, I had another crying fit.

I realized, I wouldn't be seeing Kurt on Friday, like I had, for the last six years. That was hard, and I honestly don't know what I would've done, if Sam hadn't been there.

Not only had he let me have my tear fest, when I finally stopped crying, he hadn't treated me like something was wrong with me, or, like he was over the emotional outbursts.

He had simply ordered Chinese and we ate a late lunch, spending the entire day on the couch, watching really bad zombie movies.

That carried into Saturday and then I had another crying fit, because, I was so frustrated with myself, with how I'd tried to push Sam away and I just know, Kurt would've smacked me upside the head, if he was around and knew that.

Another thing that frustrated me, was how I wasn't being strong enough, to let it all go, even though I knew I needed to.

On Sunday, I sat on the bed contemplating telling Sam, what I had planned for tomorrow, whilst he, in all his shirtless and pajama-bottom-wearing glory, fiddled with his duty belt, just before attaching numerous things to his uniform.

"I'm going to go to my apartment tomorrow."

His head had been bowed, as he hooked his badge into his shirt, but his fingers stilled, as he lifted his chin, both brows raised.

"Why?" he asked.

I scooted to the end of the bed and looked down at where he sat on the floor.

"I want...no...I need...to go through the stuff I brought back from Kurt's room. I just dropped them in my living room."

He finished hooking the badge in.

"Can you wait until I can be there with you?"

I smiled a little. He was so thoughtful.

"I appreciate you wanting to be there, but I think, I need to do this alone."

In other words, I knew I was going to break down again, especially seeing all those paintings and the little things I'd brought with me, whenever I visited Kurt.

After all the time spent crying on Sam, I really didn't think he needed to see that again.

Plus, I needed to start letting all of this go and that was something I needed to try to do, on my own first.

"My place is safe now."

"It should be safe now."

Setting the shirt aside, he started messing with the clips on his belt. Getting his uniform ready, was a freaking complicated process, I realized.

"You know I want you staying with me, until we find this guy."

"I know." I folded my legs under me. "But with the security system, I'm pretty safe. That was the point of putting that in there, right? Plus, what if they don't even find the guy?"

"You can stay here forever," he replied.

I shot him a bland look.

"Sam, I...I don't think I could. I mean, we just started dating and most people..."

"I don't give a fuck what most people do. I love you. You love me, even though I haven't heard those words yet."

He stretched his belt out on the floor, while I arched a brow.

"So if we want to move in together now, we move in together. What-the-fuck-ever," he finished.

My lips twitched.

"I'd like to see you explaining it like that...with so much grace...to my parents."

He stood swiftly.

"What do you think your parents are thinking we're doing, while you're staying with me?"

"They think we're playing cards and knitting blankets."

He chuckled, as he placed his hands on either side of me and leaned over the bed.

"They know we're screwing each other's brains out, whenever we get the chance."

"Eew." I wrinkled my nose. "They think we're doing pure and wholesome things."

"Your parents?" He snorted. "They're probably hoping we give them a grand-baby by next summer."

"No way, no..." I groaned. "You're probably right."

Grinning, he kissed the tip of my nose and then pulled back, so he could look me straight in the eye.

"You planning on going over during the day?" When I nodded, he sighed. "Please tell me, that if you notice anything suspicious, you'll get your ass out of there and call me. I'll be working, but I will drop anything."

I smiled and then rocked forward, kissing the tip of his nose.

"I'll be fine. I just need to..."

"You need your privacy. I get that. I really do."

And that right there, was so Sam.

Yeah, he could be bossy and demanding, in and out of the bedroom, but he was also considerate and compassionate.

He was strong-willed, but the softer side of him dug deep into my marrow.

And I loved every side of him, no matter how incredibly annoying he could be sometimes.

Just then, I thought about what he had said, about how he dealt with the shooting...how he was still dealing, and my chest ached.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Perfect," he mused.

"That you are, but that's not what I meant." I took a deep breath. "Everything with the shooting? I knew it had gotten bad, but I didn't know how bad, and I...I just want you to know, that you can always talk to me. Okay?"

A small smile appeared on his handsome face.

"I know."

"Don't forget that," I demanded softly.

That smile spread.

"I won't."

Placing my hands on his biceps, I closed the tiny distance between us and kissed his parted lips.

The way he sucked the air between his teeth, stirred desire deep inside me.

Kissing him again, I pulled back just enough and drew in a deep breath.

"I love you, Sam."

The green in his eyes deepened, as he stared at me. And for a moment, he didn't say anything...didn't move...I wasn't even sure if he breathed.

Then, he sprang into action, clasping my hips.

He lifted me up and placed me on my back, as he came over me, his body blocking out the entire world.

"I already knew that, baby, but nothing is as good as hearing you say it."

I started to say it again, but his mouth claimed mine, with a blazing kiss that rocked me.

And there was nothing angry, about the way we went at each other...and we really went at each other.

Neither was it a slow, seductive joining.

We were frantic, but this time, there was nothing between us, no words left unspoken, no walls, and most importantly...no fear holding us back.

Our clothes came off in a rush, and our hands were all over each other.

Sam was everywhere, and what he felt for me, which was something I could not doubt, was in every sweep of his hand and brush of his lips.

He worshiped what we had together. And as the minutes ticked by, with every kiss and caress, I knew I deserved this with him.

I knew he deserved this.

Sam worked his way down my body, his head between my thighs, his mouth on me, his tongue in me. God, he knew what to do.

With every lick, he drew me into him and when his mouth moved to the bundle of nerves, he slid a finger inside, finding that ultrasensitive spot. And the sensation proved to be too much.

My release slammed into me, my head thrown back and my fingers clenching the short strands of his hair. And he held on, guiding me through a storm of emotions.

Thoroughly spent, my legs fell to the side, boneless, as those tiny kisses and sweet nips of Sam's teeth, eased off.

I was barely aware of him moving to the nightstand, but the rip of the foil drew my eyes open.

With a heavy-lidded gaze, I watched him roll the condom on and then he was above me, his hand curving around my jaw, as he guided himself into me, with one quick, shattering thrust.

His mouth silenced my cry, and I could taste me on him, the combination highly erotic.

I curled my legs around his hips, relishing in the deep, powerful strokes.

He lifted his head, his lips glossy and cheeks flushed and before he could say a word, I told him again.

"I love you," and I said it over and over, until whatever semblance of control and rhythm was lost.

Until I threw my arms back and planted the palms of my hands against the headboard, anchoring myself, as he slammed into me, hitting every nerve and sending pleasure racing through me.

I flew apart again, shattering into a million happy, messy little pieces, but this time, Sam was right there with me, with his head kicked back and my name on his lips...nothing more than a sexy, throaty growl, as he spent himself.

Sam collapsed when he was done, his breathing erratic.

"I can't move," he murmured, face buried in my neck.

"That's okay."

"I'm going to crush you."

"That's also okay."

He chuckled.

"I don't like flat and squishy Mercy."

I grinned.

"As it is, I'm not flat...and will never be."

"You're fucking perfect." He rolled off me, flat on his back. "Fuck, babe..."

Prying my eyes open, I turned my head towards him.

One arm was tossed over his eyes and his other hand was on my thigh, as if he couldn't stand the idea of us not touching.

Maybe that was me just having an orgasm-induced romantic fantasy, but whatever.

"You know," I said, sighing, as I reached down, placing my hand over his. I got a little giddy, when he immediately flipped his palm up and threaded his fingers through mine. "I would like to paint you."

"With me knowing?" he teased.

"With you being naked," I corrected.

He moved his arm and snapped his head towards mine. Those lips curved up at the corners.

"I'm so fucking down for that."

I left for my place, about an hour after Sam headed out to work.

It was weird parking in front of my apartment and walking inside.

Not because, I had to hit a button on my new key fob, which disarmed the alarm system and clicked it again, to arm it once I was inside.

Not because, I was freaked out about being in my place, after the break-in, because, I wasn't even thinking about Mr. Friendly Neighborhood Stalker.

No. It was the boxes next to my couch. It was the stack of paintings I knew were in there. It was the reminder that Kurt was really gone.

Setting my keys on the end table, I shuffled over to the boxes, feeling a burn in the back of my throat.

A huge part of me wanted to turn around, run back to Sam's place, and hide under the covers. But I needed to deal with this.

Because, that wasn't trying...that wasn't moving passed this.

Running my hands down the sides of my shirt, which read, I'M A SPECIAL SNOWFLAKE, I pulled out the first painting, like I was reaching into a box of venomous snakes.

Of course, it was a painting I'd done of Kurt and I, sitting together on a bench, our backs visible and the trees full of golden and red leaves.

My face started to crumble and my hand shook, rattling the canvas.

What happened was so not fair, but it had happened and there was nothing I could do to change that.

Tears still fell, as I dragged the box to the couch and sat down.

Each painting cataloged, either an event with Kurt, or where I was mentally, while I painted it.

It was strange, seeing all the beautiful landscapes and memories of him and me, and realizing, that even though I held on to a lot of bad stuff, there'd been rays of sunshine in there.

Like the way I saw him.

After the incident, I didn't see him in a different light. He was still the most beautiful person inside and out, that I knew.

It was hard going through those paintings, even worse, when I placed them in my studio and then moved on to the box, picking out the framed photos of us.

I didn't ever want to let go of Kurt.

And I didn't need to.

I just had to get to a place, where thinking of him made me happy.

But I needed...God, I needed to start letting go, of this ugly ball of hate, sadness, and frustration, that had festered inside of me for far too long.

Instead of learning from what happened to Kurt and living my life to the fullest, I'd nurtured all those nasty feelings.

It was like a rotten growth, that tarnished everything it came into contact with...an infection that I had to cut out.

Placing the framed photo on the table, near where my easel normally was, I glanced at the open door to the hall.

Before I knew what I was doing, I'd retrieved my cell phone and then walked into my bedroom, stopping in front of my closet door.

I thought about what Sam had said, all those days ago, when he'd talked about how hard it was to let go of everything surrounding the shooting.

I knew from what he'd said to me the night of the funeral, that he was still struggling with truly letting it go. But he was trying.

I knew what I needed to do, to really begin the whole process of letting it go, and it would be one of the hardest things I'd ever done.

Opening the closet door, I dropped down on my knees, placed my cell next to me, and started rooting around in the clothes, I had a habit of just tossing on the floor, instead of folding neatly like Sam did.

I grinned, as I picked up a pair of jeans and tossed them aside, thinking, that if Sam and I did make that step to live together permanently, I'd have my own personal clothing folder.

Couldn't beat that.

It took me a few minutes to find the jeans I was looking for.

I had to push all the shirts hanging to the sides, to clear a path to the back of the closet, to locate the pair I'd worn, the night Karofsky had come into Marcy's.

Plucking them from the floor, I wondered, how in the world they'd gotten all the way to the back of the deep closet.

I sat back on my butt and dug into the pocket, my fingers easily finding the business card. I pulled it out, just as cool air washed over my hand.

Frowning, I glanced up and eyed the closet. Till this day, I could not figure out, why the closet was so drafty.

My gaze flicked to the business card.

Shaking my head, I couldn't believe he had one.

Really? Like, "Hi, I'm out of prison. Here's my card!"

But it was some kind of car-detailing business card, and if I remembered correctly, his father ran one, while we were in high school.

I don't think he really meant to hurt Kurt.

Sam's words floated through my thoughts, and for the first time in like forever, I thought about Karofsky's parole hearings.

I thought about his trial and everything since that night, until now.

It killed me to acknowledge it, but never once, did Patrick Karofsky make excuses for what he did.

Never once, did he not show remorse, and not the kind when you get caught doing something bad. I remembered him crying at the trial. Not when the guilty verdict was handed down or at sentencing, but when I took the stand and recounted the events.

Patrick had cried.

And back then, I had hated him so much for that. I didn't want to see his tears, I couldn't even understand how he could cry, when he was the one who hurt Kurt.

But now, I knew it was more than that. All this time, I also blamed myself and I had cried an ocean's worth of tears.

When I thought of Patrick, I always thought of my role in things.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment and tried to picture Kurt's reaction, to what I was thinking about doing.

Would he be upset? Or would he turn to me and say, "finally?"

I let out a shaky sigh.

My throat felt thick. And my eyes burned when I reopened them.

Then, I dialed the number on the card.

My stomach twisted, until I thought I'd hurl all over the clothes, as the phone rang once, twice, and then five times, before the voice mail picked up.

I didn't leave a message, because, seriously, what would I say?

I didn't even know what I was going to say if he did answer.

I started to stand up, when I felt the cold air again, this time stronger and steady, as if a hard gust of wind blew out of the closet.

'So freaking weird.'

Placing the phone on the floor, I scooted forward on my knees, pushing the hanging clothes, even further back, as I scanned the closet.

The air couldn't be coming from outside, because, the closet butted up to where the steps used to go upstairs.

Could it be from the main door opening?

Stretching, I placed my hand against the wall.

The surface was cool, as expected, but the wall didn't feel solid. Not like the rest of the closet.

It almost felt like fake wood, the kind cheap bookshelves were made out of and would fall apart if it got wet.

Upon closer inspection, I could actually see a crack, a separation between whatever kind of wood this was and the actual wall.

Almost running the length of the back wall, it was about two feet wide and five feet in height.

Which probably explained why drafts were getting through.

Pushing on that section of the wall, I gasped, as it shifted, swinging open into a space behind the wall, without so much as a whisper.

"Holy crap!" I murmured, thinking of the hidden doors and pathways, the Figgins' mentioned, when I first moved in.

But I hadn't really believed them. I figured they'd be closed up by this point.

Curiosity got the best of me. So did the mad need for a distraction.

The wall shifted far enough, that anyone could really squeeze through, just by dipping and turning sideways.

I shimmied through, entering a dark, musty-smelling space, that was only lit from the light spilling in through my bedroom.

I was almost able to straighten to my full height. Sam would barely be able to stand bent over in here.

There was so much dust in the air as I glanced up, I didn't want to breathe too deeply. I believe, I was under the stairs at this point.

'Oh my God!'

This totally reminded me, of that old movie...The People Under the Stairs.

I shivered. This place was creepy.

Slowly moving to the left, I realized, there was a flight of stairs inside the cramped space.

Placing my hands on either side of the wall, I carefully climbed the steps.

They turned out to be steep and narrow, and I couldn't imagine anyone climbing up and down them, without breaking their neck, unless they seriously knew the layout.

At the top of the stairs was another hidden door, like the one in my closet...same dimensions...and when I pressed on the panel. it popped open without a sound.

Suddenly, I was in another closet, but it wasn't a normal closet by any means. There were no clothes, no hangers, and there were also no doors.

There was nothing stopping me from seeing the room, so in a dumbfounded trance, I moved forward.

Daylight spilled in through the large bay window and tiny flecks of dust danced in the beams.

The room should be warm, but my skin was chilled to the bone, as I stepped out of the closet and my eyes squinted behind my glasses.

'Oh my God!'

My stomach dropped, as my gaze crawled over the walls.

Not a square inch of paint was exposed. Photos were hung everywhere, some taped, some tacked up.

I couldn't be seeing this.

Pictures of women I'd never seen before, were all over the walls...walking outside of businesses, outside of homes, and other normal, everyday things.

But some...oh my God...some were close-ups of wrists and ankles bound, but that...

My gaze moved over the left wall and then darted back. I turned to it, clamping a hand over my mouth.

There were pictures of me.

Photos of me inside my apartment...me sleeping on the couch and in my bed.

There were photos of me walking through my bedroom, wearing nothing but a towel, and then, photos where I was wearing nothing at all.

There were photos of me naked, from almost every possible angle, known to freaking man. There were so many of them, and I wasn't alone in some of them.

There were pictures of Sam and I...cuddled up on the couch together, him sitting on my bed and me standing in front of him.

Photos of us kissing. And photos of us making love.

Horror dug razor-sharp claws in me, as I stared at the photos.

I couldn't get enough air in my lungs.

In the back of my head, I knew I needed to get out of here. I needed to call the police, but when I took a step back, it was like I was walking in quicksand.

Floorboards creaked, the sound clapping through the room like thunder and tiny hairs rose all over my body.

I felt as if ice-water had drenched my veins.

"I really wish you hadn't seen this..."

Stay safe!