Captain Fuller sent me home from work early because we were contacted about a local gangster, who I had arrested a last year, who escaped custody and was sending me personal death threats for months. I was Quincy Michael's arresting officer, so Fuller sent me home and assigned a cop from the Metro Station to watch my apartment until they caught the guy.

I told Tom about the threats I was getting about a week ago. He convinced me to tell Fuller, and when I did, and the threats started escalating. I found dead animals in shoeboxes in front of my door, and they started calling the Jump Street chapel with threats directed towards me.

Fuller was able to redial the number one day, and the phone rang and rang until it got to voicemail. Fuller left a stern voicemail message, telling the perpetrator that he needed to come down to the station and turn himself in. When I got home that night, I saw that I had a voicemail on my answering machine. When I played it, it was the exact message that Fuller had left. When I realized that whoever called the station with another threat had called using my landline, I immediately called Fuller and I had to stay with my neighbor until Fuller got there and he did a thorough sweep of my apartment. I made him promise not to tell anyone else. Fuller was finally able to get the Metro Police Department to take these threats seriously, and they were finally able to start a case against it. But not before Quincy took it another step further.

That night, I had woken up in a cold sweat. I was laying on my stomach with the side of my face mushed into my pillow, with my clammy fist clutching the fabric of the pillowcase tightly. My eyes shot open as if I had just woken abruptly from a night terror.

I blinked a couple of times before my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I focused on my digital alarm clock. It was just after two in the morning, so I was already annoyed that I had woken up for no reason. But before I could move, I thought I heard someone breathing behind me.

I immediately froze. My eyes widened in horror and I stopped breathing out of sheer terror that I wasn't alone in my bedroom. Without moving my head, my eyes bolted around the room trying to see where I put my gun last night... but then I remembered that it was in my closet. My frantic eyes kept looking around to see what I could use to protect myself with until they landed on my alarm clock, the heaviest thing I had within arms reach.

I haven't given myself a chance to breathe yet. I kept thinking that if I don't move, he will leave. If I don't breathe, he will forget that I'm there and he will sneak out of here and leave me alone. I closed my eyes again, and knew that I had to do something and fast.

I fought through my fear, and in a split second I reached over to grab my alarm clock and I sat up quickly, raising it above my head while yanking it out of the outlet, ready to strike.

My arms fell limply down to my comforter when I didn't see anyone else in the room with me. I looked at every dark corner, and it was empty. I let out a high sigh of relief, and figured that I just had some sort of intense dream that I couldn't remember which made me think someone else was in my bedroom.

I quietly set my alarm clock back down on my nightstand and reached down to plug it back into the wall. I fixed the time back to normal, then I crawled out of bed so I could get myself a glass of water to help calm myself down so I could get a few more hours of sleep in.

As I was walking back to my bedroom, I passed my bathroom but I immediately stopped and turned to face the shower. The shower curtain was fluttering just a bit. Without a draft, the curtain is always perfectly still. This made my heart stop and the hair in the back of my neck stand on end.

Without taking my eyes off the bathroom, I retreated back into the kitchen and grabbed the first thing I could get my hands on... a knife. I clutched it tightly in my left hand and quietly walked back to the bathroom. Once it was in sight, it felt like the curtain was looming over me, as if it knew a secret that I didn't.

I clenched my jaw and gripped the handle of the knife tighter. I didn't even think about it, I whipped the shower curtain back without a hint of hesitance and I raised the knife like I was Norman Bates. My heart dropped to my stomach when I saw that there was nobody there. The relief that washed over me felt so liberating, because I wasn't ready to see a man who wants me dead to be in my bathtub. It was short lived, however, because my eyes drifted up to my bathroom window.

It's a relatively small window, so I've never really thought about it. I have never locked it, because I had never been able to open it. It was painted shut. But tonight, it was all the way up. I could see the splintering wood and seal of paint that split when it was opened. It was making the curtains flutter. This made my heart stop beating.

I started turning on every light in my apartment. I marched to my closet and took out my gun and walked around my apartment. I had my back against the walls, quickly scanning every room and checking every place he could possibly hide. Every closet, under my bed, the bathtub again, kitchen cabinets, the fridge, behind my couch... everywhere. I felt like I was losing my mind.

When I was finally confident that I was alone, I went into the bathroom and shut the window and locked it. I took a breath, and convinced myself that Quincy was just doing that to mess with me. I live on the second floor of my building, there was no way that he was able to get into my apartment through the windows... right?

Tiredness was settling back in, so I headed back into my bedroom. I just so happened to glance at my nightstand before turning off my light and I noticed something that I didn't see before. A Polaroid. I walked over to it and picked it up by the corner, and I audibly gasped and covered my gaping mouth with my shaking hand.

The Polaroid was a photograph of me, sleeping. I'm grasping the pillow in my hand, and my eyes are closed. He must have taken this just before I woke up, and he probably slithered back to the bathroom and out the window after he realized I was awake.

He may have been gone now, but he was definitely in my room watching me sleep. The disbelief and shock I felt was overwhelming. I couldn't sleep for the rest of that night. I sat on my bed with my gun beside me for hours upon hours. Even when the sun came out, I didn't feel safe. I wouldn't look away from my bedroom door. I was waiting for him to come back. I knew he wasn't done with me yet.

I didn't tell Fuller until the next morning. He was rightfully upset that I didn't tell him sooner, but finally a few officers were assigned to protect me while I was on house arrest. Fuller informed them about this recent escalation, and they were prepared to guard my apartment until Quincy was caught.

I was up in my apartment all day, seeing a police cruiser parked outside my building the entire time. Officer Levinson was waiting, not taking his eyes off the door to the building for a second. He was my day officer, and Officer Gould was my night officer. I felt like I was being held hostage, I didn't know where Quincy was or when he was coming for me.

My hands were coated in a thick layer of sticky wet dough after my tireless work of stretching and folding my sourdough dough. I love baking bread and making my own butter. I started this process hours ago, it usually takes nearly two days to make a good loaf of sourdough bread. Since being quarantined in my own apartment, I've used up just about all the flour I own on my baking.

The phone rang, which made me jump. I was careful about answering the phone today, preparing myself just in case it was another death threat. I let it go to voicemail as I finished stretching my dough, but whoever it was hung up before they could leave me a message. I didn't pay it any mind, and I was just putting the bowl in the fridge for the dough to chill overnight when the phone started ringing again.

I quickly washed my hands in the sink and walked into the living room. I answered the phone after a couple more rings and greeted the caller.

"Hey, it's Hanson."

"Hey, Tom," I said with a soft sigh of relief. I peered at the clock in my kitchen and noticed that he would be off of work by now. "How was work?"

I didn't tell Tom about the Polaroid, and I didn't plan to. I could have called him that night, but I didn't want to bother him with it. Besides, Tom is a bit of a worry-wart and I didn't want to plague him with more to panic about. The photo was with Fuller in evidence so there was no possibility of anyone else ever seeing it unless they dug through the confidential files of my case.

"Good. Got a bust down in Berkeley."

"You'll have to tell me all about it when my babysitter is relieved of duty," I giggled, twirling the spiral cord between my fingers. It's only been a couple of days, but I missed talking to him. He spent the night last week, but since I've got Metro officers watching over my apartment, Fuller thought it was safer if Tom left me alone.

"They haven't caught him yet?" Tom asked.

"Nope, so that means I still can't leave my apartment."

"How about I come to you?" Tom suggested, "have you eaten yet?"

"Not yet."

"How does soup sound?"

"I love soup," I chuckled.

"I'll pick up your favorite," he said, "I'll be over in a half hour."

"See you then,"  I said and I hung up.

I decided to wash the day off of me before Tom got there. I stripped my clothes off and leaned in towards the mirror. My lack of sleep and extreme levels of stress were making me break out. I had unwanted acne popping out around my forehead. As my water was heating up, I gently squeezed some of them to see if any were ready to pop. They weren't, so all I did was agitate them. I know it's bad but I just can't help myself. It's compulsive.

I ran my fingers through my tangled hair, pulling it out of my face. I need to do my eyebrows soon, and maybe put on a hydrating face mask because my skin had been pretty dry lately. I need to get more lotion from the store soon too, I'm almost out. My shoulders are too manly and broad, I don't like them. I don't like my small lips either. I'm constantly comparing myself to others. I scrunched my face up as I tried not to inspect the rest of my body, because that is a hole I don't want to fall down tonight.

I stepped into the shower and made the water so hot, it steamed up my mirror. I started with lotus shampoo that I usually like to pair with a matching hair oil when I get out of the shower that makes my hair smell like flowers, and then I moved on to conditioner. When I was rinsing the conditioner out of my soft hair, I heard the sound of glass breaking from my living room.

I froze and the sound of just my shower water hitting my back and the floor became eerie. The sudden silence sent shivers down my spine. "Tom? Is that you?"

I thought maybe he bumped into a table or dropped something, but I didn't think I left my door unlocked and he doesn't have a key. When I didn't hear an answer, I quickly turned off my shower and rung the water out of my hair before wrapping a towel around myself. I tucked in the top of the towel so it wouldn't fall off.

The ominous sounds that came from the other side of the door made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I quickly reached over my toilet and grabbed the lid to the tank. It's heavy, and would work well in the event that I needed to protect myself.

I courageously unlocked the bathroom door and when I opened the door I was immediately met with a man holding his gun, and my own gun at me. He wore a ratty ski mask over his pale skin and a dark hoodie and dark jeans.

I didn't even think. I swung the lid at him, hoping to hit the gun out of his hand. I heard him scream, but a gunshot rang out and the porcelain of the lid exploded and shattered pieces scattered all over the floor.

The guns were pointed at my head again and he said, "next shot is going straight into your skull."

I let the pieces slip through my fingers and they clattered to the floor. I stumbled backward and slipped on the wet bathroom floor, falling to my back with a yelp.

"Officer..." he grumbled in an angry voice as he took a step closer to me which I tried to scramble backwards. "Michelle... Gregg."

"Listen," my voice was shaking, "just— just put the guns down, and we will talk about this."

"Do you remember me?" Quincy asked and viciously ripped off his mask and stared at me with his cold blue eyes. "You ruined my life!"

"Please," I begged. I very slowly tucked my legs under myself and did not break our eye contact when I got back on my feet. I stood up and said, "put the guns down."

I hoped that I would be able to distract him long enough to race to the living room and scream out for help. Where was Levinson? Quincy grabbed my wrist and yanked me towards him. My feet slipped from under me, but he kept his hand so tight around my wrist that I didn't fall. My bicep engaged, but I was too scared to move or scream. My other hand gripped the front of my towel at my chest so it didn't slip off. He towered over me, his face just a few inches from mine but I looked up at him with terror in my eyes. I had to prepare myself for what was likely to come.

I almost called out for Pacino, but he wasn't here to protect me anymore. I'm truly alone.

"Nothing will make me happier than shooting you. Knocking off a cop don't mean much to me, and I don't care if I get the chair. I'll kill you," he barked.

He readjusted the guns in his other hand. My mind was either blank or endlessly running through what will happen to me in the next few minutes. I wasn't wearing anything under the towel, so I knew I had to prepare myself for the worst. I thought, "okay, this is it. He is going to assault me, then put a bullet in my head. It'll be okay... just breathe... Someone is going to come find me dead in this apartment. I just hope it's not going to be Tom. He would never forgive himself."

"Please, I was just doing my job. We can either talk about this, or you can go."

He shook his head vigorously and said with a menacing grin that chilled me to the bone, "no can do. I ain't leaving until your brains are splattered on these walls."

"Officer Levinson will be here any moment," I tried to threaten. I felt optimistic when he put one of the guns in the pocket of his pants, but his grip only got tighter and my hand was tingling. "You better leave right now. I won't tell anyone I saw you."

Quincy used his one hand to cock my gun and he said in a cold tone that made me shiver, "say hi to your captain for me."

I was staring at the end of the barrel. I didn't see how I'd be able to get out of this one. This was my end. I wasn't ready for my story to be over, I felt like I barely started it. I haven't done anything yet, I have barely lived. I haven't felt the warmth of the sun on my face enough. No one has loved me yet. Nineteen years isn't long enough. I'm not finished. I don't want to be finished.

I gulped and squeezed my eyes shut so I could pray for it to be over soon. I could only hope that this fear was the worst of it, and death would come with peace. I felt him place the gun against my temple, and my heart was about to jump out of my chest. My fistful of towel felt like the only sense of comfort I had in my final moments. My entire body was trembling and my breath was quivering as I prepared to die. My flushed cheeks were getting sticky with my smooth tears.

I heard my front door burst open and my heart exploded in my chest. A rush waved over me when I heard Tom's voice yell, "freeze! Police!"

"Fuck," Quincy muttered beside my ear.

My eyes shot open and he looked as angry as a bull with a cloth waving in his face. His lips were tense, baring his teeth at me. I wasn't any less scared, because now it looked like he was debating on just pulling the trigger or not.

"Hands in the air!" Tom shouted.

Quincy finally released his grip on my wrist and he took a couple steps back with his hands in the air. I fell to the bathroom floor but my eyes didn't leave his. My knees hit the ceramic floor harshly, and my hand still gripped the towel at my chest. Quincy was staring down at me, his eyes were pointing daggers as he shook with anger while Tom slowly approached him from behind.

"Guns down, now!" Tom yelled. He flashed his badge and told him that he was under arrest.

Quincy's nostrils flared at me as he reached down and put the guns by his feet before he put his arms up in the air. His nose was scrunched like he was about to throw a tantrum. I reached over to grab both guns to get them out of his reach while Tom pushed him up angrily against the wall and handcuffed him, reading his Miranda Rights.

"If you move, I will break your neck. Do you hear me?" Tom threatened.

Quincy didn't say anything, but his lack of movement was enough to say that he fully understood and was afraid of Tom.

A couple cops from the station came in and hauled Quincy out. I got up to my feet, still holding the towel that was wrapped against my body. My wet hair was clinging to my back, and I felt so cold.

"Mick," Tom said and came up to me and gave me a hug. He wrapped his arms around me tightly, as if this embrace was more for him than it was for me. I felt him put his hand against my wet hair and he kissed the top of my head. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I said as I pulled away and used my hand to wipe the tears off my hot cheeks. I gripped my towel a little tighter and said, "just spooked is all."

I was a lot more than just spooked. Even though my assailant was going to be locked up for years, I was still terrified. I'm probably going to be terrified for a while. I already know that this night will play in my mind for the rest of my life every time I'm alone. But I felt like if I admitted to anyone that I was scared, it would reflect poorly in my career. I cannot let that happen.

"I don't blame you," he said, "I pulled up and... well, he shot Levinson. I ran up here as fast as I could."

"Is Levinson going to be okay?" I asked.

Tom shook his head. "He was gone before I even got here."

"Oh my god," I said, putting my shaky hand over my mouth. "I didn't even hear the gunshot."

"Yeah," Tom said softly.

"You could have been killed," I told him.

"So could you. And I wasn't about to let that happen."

His eyes wondered down momentarily before he immediately turned around and he said awkwardly after realizing that I was indeed naked with only a towel covering me, "I—uh, I'll let you get dressed and I'll bring in the food."

Tom left my apartment and I quickly changed into gray sweats and a big white shirt before he came back holding to-go bowls of soup. He walked over to the couch and I turned on my television set, and we watched the newest episode of ALF while eating broccoli cheddar soup together. Tom had become one of my best friends at Jump Street, so he can read me like a book. Despite my best efforts to tell him that I was fine, he adopted my couch for the night to make sure I felt safe.

I'm beyond thankful that he did. Those first few nights, I could barely sleep. Knowing that Tom was on the other side of that door made me feel secure and protected. Tom stayed until I felt safe in my own home again.

I tend to lead with logic rather than emotion, so I felt lost and tossed around by fate when I began to feel stronger feelings toward Tom. He makes me smile and I want to spend more time with him. I really wish I didn't have these feelings because I'm afraid. I'm afraid that I will open my heart and give myself away to him, only for him to just give it back. I don't know if I would be able to handle that. I just want to find someone who I can talk to, who likes me for who I am, and when he sees me, he wants me.

There's always that nagging fear in the back of my mind that he will be disappointed, and he will run from me and our friendship will be ruined. Or worse... he could be perfect. He could make me laugh, feel loved, and be that someone I can go through life with. He could be someone I don't deserve.