WHEN THE KNOCKING AND HAMMERING get louder and louder, I'm getting terrified, throw the blanket off my body and a moment later I'm immediately on my feet. The place next to me is still empty, which means that Bronwyn is either asleep in her room or is the one who is making all this noise.

My eyes widen just hearing a knock on the door again. It's definitely not Bronwyn, because she would never be so loud doing that, the door is way too holy for her. However, the person is hammering on the door and it's a miracle that it doesn't break under his fists, as it doesn't really seem stable to me. In addition to the loud knocking, I can now hear groans and gasps that give me goosebumps. I don't think that I have ever been so scared in my nineteen years as I am at this moment.

Bronwyn doesn't wake up because, unlike me, she can go back to sleep without any problems, even though there might be a burglar or ─ even worse ─ a kidnapper outside our door.

I slowly walk toward the door, even though the knocking stopped a long time ago. I wonder how no one else in the apartment woke up. I mean, it can't be that everyone has a deep sleep, can it?

As again someone hammers on the door, I've had enough. I take all my courage and grab the first best object I can find, then I open the door and protectively and threateningly hold my ... Rolling Pin. I'm holding a damn rolling pin that will neither protect me nor threaten my opponent.

There's a guy in front of me, as much as I can see in the dark, and then he's already slipping through the door next to me and closing it behind him with an almost fearful rush. It all happens in front of me so incredibly fast that all I can do is blink in perplexity. 

The guy is standing with his back to me. His shoulders are rising and falling rapidly, as if he had just run a very long route. He seems somehow desperate and suddenly not at all like a burglar or kidnapper. 

For my own safety, I still hold the rolling pin in my hands and stare warningly at his back.

He turns to me just at that moment and the serious expression on his face disappears as he looks at me. Almost amused, he raises an eyebrow. "Are you going to beat me with that?"

"If I have to," is my answer, without looking away. That would only confirm for him that I'm still a little scared.

He tilts his head thoughtfully as he takes a few steps towards me. I move away again from him with the same distance, causing him to pull me to him by my forearm and eye me with his eyebrows furrowed together. His grip is so soft and gentle that it would be pretty easy for me to step away from him, but I don't. 

Because I know exactly who's standing in front of me.

It's the guy ─ Dean Walker ─ who I met at a college party about two weeks ago. More or less, I helped him to escape and then lied to the police when I gave the testimony. The weirdest part is that I don't even know him. Sure, I noticed him staring at me before he escaped, and that doesn't really happen often. In fact, almost never. He may have been drunk and almost passed out, but he still looked at me like .... as if he had never seen a girl like me before.

And that's impossible.

You see girls like me on literally every corner. I'm a withdrawn loner who has always struggled to make friends. Most people see my light blonde curls and stamp me immediately as an underachieving blonde. Guys have always seen me as a 'good friend' and I can't even count how many times I've fallen for someone who wanted nothing more than just to be friends with me.

I really don't mean to be prejudiced, but the guy in front of me falls into the category that would never actually have wanted me when he was sober. He probably doesn't even have to do much to get girls to drool over him. He's at least a half-head taller than me, definitely a year or two older, and pretty well built from what I can tell, even though it's dark and he's wearing clothes. If both were not the case ...

Shocked at my thoughts, I breathe faster, which he notices immediately. He is still staring at me, causing me to raise the rolling pin threateningly again.

"Whoa, whoa. Put the rolling pin down, okay? I'm not going to hurt you, Curly."

Suspiciously, I narrow my eyes. "That's something all murder suspects probably say before they kill their victim."

For some reason, he flinches at my words but quickly recovers his composure. "So you remember me. That's good. And I can understand that you probably don't believe me, but I swear I will not hurt you. I just need to hide here for a few hours, then ─"

I cut him off. "In what universe do you live? I really don't know you, and just because I helped you last time doesn't mean I can always do it now. I'm sorry, but you have to go now."

"I didn't know that you are living in this room, but believe me, I will keep it in mind." He smiles barely noticeably and for some reason, I actually believe this part. "Believe me, I hate to say this, but I need your help."

I just shake my head vehemently. "I can't, my roommate ─" 

"Sleep as long as we're quiet," he says, and then rubs his angular face tiredly once. "I'm only staying two hours."

"No. That's too much. How am I supposed to sleep knowing that you're hanging around in the room next door?" 

"Curly ─" 

"My name is Sydney." In shock, I drop the rolling pin, because I wasn't actually planning to tell this guy anything about me. He only knows my first name now, but he's still wanted by the police and even though he doesn't seem dangerous to me, I should still act carefully. There are a lot of rumors floating around about Dean Walker and while many statements are definitely fabricated, one is true.

He is a murderer and is wanted not only by the police but also by some guys who are probably followers of the dead girl. 

However, when he looks at me right now with shining eyes and a grin, I don't see the face of a murderer. "Sydney," he repeats. My name out of his mouth sounds nicer than anything I've heard before, and that's wrong. It's actually the best thing for him to say it never again. "Okay, Sydney. I'm Dean, although I'm sure you already know that."

"It's not the only thing I know about you," I mumble as I pick the rolling pin back up off the floor and then wave it in front of his face. "Well, I'm glad that we both know our names now, so you can fuck off." 

Instead of listening to me, he turned around and turned on the light. I could threaten him with the police, of course, if he really plans to stay here, but I immediately dismiss the thought when he turns back to me. As the living room is finally flooded with light, I can also see him better than before. And no matter how many times I tell myself he's not one of the good guys, I still can't deny one thing. 

Dean Walker is hot.

His dark brown hair hangs messily in his face and obviously should be cut again, but it doesn't change his good looks. I would love to run my hand through his hair and to prevent my thought from becoming reality, I take two steps back. Just to be on the safe side. His eyes, also dark brown, follow my movement and study me even more intensely now. Just like me, he can't tear his gaze from me, but I wonder why. As he closes the distance between us, I notice his worn, washed-out jeans and his jacket, ripped at the sleeves, which I think can't be repaired.

Bronwyn could give me better information about his clothes because after all, she lives for fashion and style. The fact that she's studying fashion management has been just the thing for her, even if her family hasn't been particularly supportive. At least, that's what she told me. 

Dean Walker looks incredibly vulnerable at this moment. He stands in front of me as if he expects me to send him out again, and that's exactly what I should do. He's trying hard to keep a neutral face, I can tell, but he's not really successful. 

When I helped him to escape from the party two weeks ago, I didn't really think much about it. My instinct was to move away from the door so he could escape, but that move didn't have much to do with reason. Right now, however, I'm thinking ─ way too much for my taste ─ and I find myself wanting to help him already again. 

I don't know what that says about me.

Anyone else would run away from him or at least call the police. But I threaten him with a rolling pin, tell him my first name, and talk to him as if he were a normal person. He would be, anyway, if he weren't at the top of the list for Hollyn McRae's murder.

I finally put the rolling pin back on the kitchen counter, then cross my arms in front of my chest because I don't know what else to do with them. I do my best to look at him with disdain and suspicion. "You can stay an hour." 

"Three hours," comes instantly from him.

I frown in confusion. "Just a minute ago you said two." 

"What do you think of...four?"

I notice what kind of psychological tricks he's using, but he can screw that right off. "It doesn't work this way here. This is my apartment ─" 

"Didn't you just mention a roommate?" He's clearly trying hard not to laugh, and it bothers me that he really has the nerve to make fun of me.

"You can stay here for an hour or you can leave." I nervously run my fingers through my pretty knotted blonde curls and suppress a groan. I probably look terrible and because of my unruly curly mane, he also called me 'Curly'. "Why am I helping you anyway? You can't just show up here and expect me to sit down with you for three hours and keep you busy. I don't even know you. And don't even think I want to get to know you, because I know enough about you and I'd rather stay away from guys like you. You're practically screaming for trouble and I really don't want anything to do with that. Why are you looking at me like that now? I talk a lot, don't I? God, you really make me nervous, you know that?"

Dean peels out of his jacket and looks down at me, grinning. My fingers are itching to touch the dimples at the corners of his mouth, and once again, that's wrong. "You can talk a lot," he says. "That's good because then we're probably not going to be bored for the next three hours." 

"One. Hour."

"Like you say, Sydney."

I walk back towards the couch without taking my eyes off him and reach for my phone. It's just after midnight and I would definitely be tired later if I stay awake now. However, I don't plan to go to bed and leave him here alone because who knows, he might get the idea to get cozy after all. Bronwyn would be going to the ceiling if she finds him asleep in the living room.

Why do I allow him to stay here again? I feel terribly naive helping a murder suspect, but the longer I watch him stand around perplexed, not knowing exactly where to hang his jacket, the less I believe he would take a person's life.

Then again, maybe I'm too gullible. I'm definitely too gullible.

"Give it to me," I say quietly as I walk up to him and hold out my hand for his jacket. "I'll hang it up for you." 

The corners of his mouth lift. "If you really insist, Curly." 

I immediately brush my blond curls as best as I can with my fingers, unobtrusively, as he looks around in the living room. I'm suddenly terribly nervous, but I guess that's appropriate, considering I'm going to be spending an hour with Dean Walker from now on.

"How long have you been living here?" he asks me as he sinks down on the sofa like that was the most normal thing in the world.

I'm still nervous as I walk up to him. Is it smart to tell him things about me? Probably not. "How about you answering a few questions for me first?" 

"That depends on what kind of questions they are." 

"For example, from who did you just run away?" 

"I guess that would be one of the questions I'm not allowed to answer you."

I sit down next to him with two meters between us, which makes him grin. He obviously finds my wariness funny. "Why exactly are the police looking for you?" 

He remains silent. 

"What kind of evidence are they looking for that makes you a suspect?" 

Again, he remains silent.

I sighed. "You're not very talkative, you know that?" 

"You're wrong about that," he counters.

"In fact, I talk an awful lot when it's not about the fact that I could be behind bars at any moment."

Unconsciously, I slide closer to him. "There are rumors about you. Quite a few, actually. Some say that the victim... well, the girl you apparently killed... that you knew her. Others are saying that those guys at the party want revenge on you for her death. They say that if the police catch you, you'll go to jail for the rest of your life."

His jawbone suddenly stands out more, as if he's biting his teeth and experiencing eerie pain triggered by my words. "I knew Hollyn, but not as well as you might think." 

So there was never anything going on between him and Hollyn McRae. That's ... good to know. Even though it doesn't really help me, and people at the University of New Haven will claim what they want anyway.

Since Dean remains silent again, I sigh one more time. "You're not going to tell me anymore, are you? Why not? Do you seriously think I'm going to go to the police and report to them? And if I do, what am I supposed to say? After all, I'd have to mention that I let you into my apartment and let you stay for an hour." 

"Sydney ..." He looks at me seriously, suddenly closer than he was a minute ago. "You didn't even tell the police about the incident at the party, so I highly doubt you're going to tell them about this. That's not the point anyway. I can't tell you anything because it's probably better if you just know the bare minimum."

"But I obviously know almost nothing but lies." 

"And that's good, too." 

"How would you know what's good for me and what's not? You don't know me." 

"Yeah, you really don't make it easy either, Curly." 

What's that supposed to mean? "I really don't care much for you, Walker." 

He laughs. "Well, that's a great way to start a friendship."

Friendship.

How I hate that word. For me, there's just no place for such a thing as friendship, but that's mostly due to my practical experiences. I never had many friends in my high school years, and when I did, they just were fake. In my opinion, people come into your life, get comfortable there, and stay for a while, only to leave and act as nothing happened. I just don't believe in true friendship because I never got to have it.

Most guys never wanted more than friendship from me. Kolin was the only one that didn't, but our relationship always felt more like a friendship than love. With him, I could never really develop myself the way I wanted to and there was simply no passion or real feeling between us.

I should get an award for that because I can't even count how many times I've heard the line 'let's stay friends' from a boy I liked. And the fact that a hot guy like Dean Walker has only known me for fifteen minutes and is already talking about friendship is actually even worse. 

It's just so fucking depressing.

"Just to be clear," I say instead. "We both have next to nothing in common, and I'm not saying that because I'm judgmental." I do. "In fact, we couldn't be more different, and I know that without even having to know you. Just because I've helped you twice doesn't mean I'm fired up to get to know you. I simply could never be friends with a criminal." I'm so mean. But also kind of hurt. I'm a terrible person. 

He doesn't let it show if he's offended or not, instead, he grins his typical dimpled grin again. "This is the fourth time you've said we don't know each other. We could change that right here right now, Sydney." 

"No, thanks." 

"You're breaking my heart, Curly."

"Do I need to mention, you were just chased by the police?" 

Challenging flashes in his eyes. "Do I make it seem to you that I'm a murderer?"

When he looks at me the way he does now, it's hard for me to think anything. I'm desperately trying to find any arguments, but so far he hasn't done anything really bad. He seems almost ... normal.

He nods as if he knows exactly what I'm thinking. "And there's your answer to your many, many questions." 

"So you're not a murderer." Now I'm honestly interested because he's just opening up one of the many mysteries about him to me. 

Instead of answering me, of course, he takes one of the locks from my hair in his hand and unknots it with concentration. I just stare at him like a complete idiot who has never been touched in her life. It sounds weird and totally stupid, but just that gesture from him makes my heart flip and I can't remember ever reacting so violently to anyone. 

Stupid heart.

He smiles slightly. "I'm digging your hair, Curly. This look actually kind of reminds me of Beyoncé when her hair got all knotted up in the wind machine at a concert."

I'm not sure if I can take that as a compliment. "Actually, it's the 'I-should-actually-be-asleep-but-instead-I've-been-woken-up-by-a-criminal' look. And Beyoncé is one of my favorite singers, coincidentally, and a huge role model for me."

"And that would be our first thing in common." 

I swallow hard. "Why don't you tell me more about yourself, then we can see how much else we have in common?" 

"I'd rather prefer to listen you talk about yourself." 

"And I'd prefer it if you'd answer just one of my questions without dodging it," I reply, narrowing my eyes. "Now stop grinning! I don't know if you're a criminal, but annoying would fit you very well for a start. How is it that you can piss me off with the most harmless things and it only takes one thing to make me want to get the hell away from you?" I press my lips together quickly, trying not to say too much at once and especially not to be too direct. Because I notice how I'm even more direct and talkative than usual around him, which is not a good sign at all. 

He grins with a knowing grin. "God, you're so cute when you speak so much."

Didn't I just indirectly ─ or rather directly ─ insult him?

"That was the third time you've called me a 'criminal,' by the way." Thoughtfully, he studies my face and I would give a lot to read his mind at that moment.

"Do you actually make a list of the things I say?"

"Maybe. But trust me, it's not really easy with you." 

Outraged, I want to say something, but I quickly swallow the words back down and look at him with a sigh. "You can listen to me say unnecessary things for the next forty-five minutes, or you can tell me something about yourself."

Amused, he raises his brows. "Someone is keen to find a bit more about me here." 

This guy really has an ego as big as the sun, because I can't explain his behavior any other way. On the other hand, it could also be a defense mechanism he uses to distract himself from the real issue that is bothering him so much. I notice how the psychologist in me comes out and have to smile. 

"I'm actually interested in your story," I say quietly, but he hears me anyway. "I want to know how it happened, that you were being chased by the police until just now and are now hiding in my apartment." 

Firmly, he clenches his teeth. "Listen, Sydney ─" 

"Please, tell me." I try to look at him the same way he does at me. Intense and uninhibited. I don't know if it works, but looking into his dark brown eyes is something I'll never let slip away again. He has really beautiful eyes and I don't feel bad for thinking this. 

He pauses for about ten seconds and says nothing. Then he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and looks completely relaxed for the first time that night, but I absolutely refuse to think it's because of me. 

After literally an eternity, he finally nods.

"Okay, I'll tell you."

-

What's something that happened in your life that you will never want to go through it again?

My answer:
-losing myself
-losing a pet. It just feels like losing your best friend yk.
-the anxiety alone in your room and at night, when everyone is asleep.
-panic attacks (i would kill them if they were a person haha)