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Rebecca woke with a start, her breath caught in her throat. It felt like she'd been submerged underwater and couldn't get enough air into her lungs. Her hands clutched the dark brown blanket, the fabric bunching in her fists as a bead of sweat trickled down her back, sending a shiver through her spine.

"It was just a bad dream," she whispered into the dark, the words barely audible over her own frantic breathing.

But even to her, the reassurance felt hollow. These nightmares were like the world's worst alarm clock—except they went off every single time she tried to sleep.

Her eyes wandered over to the tiny alarm clock on her nightstand. The green digits glowed faintly, throwing some weak shadows on the walls. It was only 11:49 PM. She groaned, burying her face in her hands. The night was just getting started, and the thought of another sleepless night of tossing and turning made her want to smash something bad.

"Why did I send Betty away?" she grumbled, frustration oozing out of her. But she knew why. Betty had already done so much—like, seriously, she'd sacrificed so many nights just to hang out and help her through the nightmares. 

If there was an Olympics for annoying your friends with your emotional baggage — she'd have easily outdone the synchronised swimming and trampoline events combined! Rebecca couldn't bring herself to ask for even more.

With a groan, she rubbed her eyes and tossed the blanket aside, feet hitting the freezing floor. She fumbled around for her slippers, finally finding them and sliding them on. She stepped out of the room, her fluffy slippers squeaking on the tiled floor as she made her way to the kitchen.

The kitchen was dark, save for the faint glow from the refrigerator's display panel. Rebecca skipped the light switch and made her way to the fridge, the cool air greeting her as she opened the door. She snatched a cold bottle of water and took a swig. It was refreshing, but as she wiped her mouth, that uneasy feeling still wouldn't leave her.

Her eyes scanned the kitchen—everything was annoyingly perfect, just like she'd left it. But the silence was deafening, like the house was mocking her for being so damn tidy and so damn alone. Every little creak had her jumping out of her skin. Guess that's what happens when your OCD is the only thing keeping you company.

She'd just read that the WHO called loneliness a global health crisis, and honestly, she felt it. The pandemic left her in a weird limbo, and she couldn't shake off the memories—especially him.

Betty had called her out over their last phone call, "Girl, you need to get back in the dating game."

Rebecca had sighed, feeling the weight of her friend's words. "I'm not ready."

Betty didn't let up. "You'll never be if you keep avoiding it. Derek was a loser, not your problem. It's his L, not yours."

Rebecca thought, yeah, right, what's dating gonna do for me when the world's full of red pill alpha wannabes who think 'emotional depth' is a fancy coffee order?

Derek was everything she thought she wanted—hot, charming, and all about her. She fell hard and fast, blinded by her need to be loved. She ignored the red flags, convinced like every other girl that she could magically fix him. Spoiler alert: no, she couldn't.

He had her convinced she'd found "the one." But it didn't take long for the truth to hit: he was full of crap. The lies, the manipulation, and making her feel like she was nothing without him? Classic.

A sudden crash yanked her out of her thoughts, and Rebecca's heart did a little dance as she realized the noise came from the dining hall. The dim moonlight was casting spooky shadows on the walls.

She tiptoed towards the noise like a total cliché, every creak of the floorboards feeling way too loud. Peeking into the room, she couldn't help but laugh at herself in her head. Here she was, doing exactly what she used to make fun of in horror movies—because, of course, going toward the creepy noise is totally a smart move. Nice Becca, real nice.

Rebecca's breath hitched when she noticed a glass on the floor a few feet from the dining table. What the heck? She frowned, puzzled. The glass had rolled away from the table, but she was alone in the house. How did it end up there?

She knelt down to pick it up, her hands a bit shaky as she set it back on the table. Looking around, everything else was in place—no signs of a mess, just that one rogue glass.

Then she glanced at the window on the far side of the room. The curtains were fluttering, and the window was wide open. Rebecca shivered; she'd definitely shut it before bed. She never left it open—never.

Her heart kicked up a notch, and her gut twisted with unease. She inched closer, the cold air biting her skin as she reached out to close it. The night outside felt way too quiet, like it was holding its breath just to mess with her.

She rushed, shut the window and yanked the curtains closed, trying to shake off the creeping dread. It was nothing, maybe she'd just forgotten to close it properly. 

She took a deep breath and started heading back to the kitchen, but then froze mid-step. Her blood ran cold as she remembered the glass—there's no way it fell on its own. Someone, or something, had knocked it over.

Before she could even process it, another crash came from the kitchen. This time, it sounded like something heavy hit the floor. Rebecca jumped, her heart practically leaping out of her chest. Fear hit her like a ton of bricks, so she grabbed the broomstick from behind the door and tiptoed toward the kitchen.

The kitchen was pitch black, with only the faint glow from the fridge to light her way. She fumbled along the walls, her fingers brushing against the cool tiles. Her heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear anything else, and she tried her best to stay as quiet as possible.

She slammed into something solid and warm, and let out a scream as she swung the broomstick like a madwoman. "Die, you bastard, die, die, die!" she shouted, hitting the thing or personw hatever it was (at this point, she do over and over until it thudded to the floor.

Her hands were shaking as she fumbled for the light switch, her fingers all sweaty. When she finally hit it, the room lit up and blinded her for a sec.

She blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the mess in front of her. There was a guy sprawled on the kitchen floor, groaning in pain. His face was mostly hidden by a black scarf, but his dark eyes were squinched shut, and little drops of blood were visible on the side of his head.

"Shit, oh my god, what did I just do?" she whispered, her voice shaking as she stared at the dude she'd just beaten up.

Her heart was pounding as she moved closer. "Are you okay? I-I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear. It was self-defense! I panicked!"

The guy groaned back, still squeezing his eyes shut, and tried to push himself up. Rebecca reached out to touch his shoulder, hoping to help him or something (or maybe it was just panic at this point). But the moment her hand touched him, he flipped her onto her back like a pancake.

He looked down at her, voice dripping with disbelief, "Seriously? You're trying to help me? I'm a trespasser at best, and a potential murderer at worst. What, you think you're some kind of hero? That's not even naive, that's just dumb." His voice was smooth and thick like syrup.

Before Rebecca could even react, the guy was on top of her, his weight smashing her down. His dark eyes were locked onto hers, all intense and unyielding, as he held her wrists above her head with one hand, his grip like a vice.

"And for the record, I'm totally fine," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "Sticks and stones might break my bones, but dumb blondes always excite me." He let out a low, throaty chuckle.

"What the hell are you doing? Let me go!" Rebecca's heart was racing as she tried to wriggle free, but he had her pinned down, his grip unbreakable.

"Not a chance," he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes roamed over her face. There was a coldness in his gaze that sent a shiver of fear down her spine.

A chill ran through Rebecca as the pendulum clock in the living room struck twelve, the sound echoing through the silent house.

Midnight.

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Wattpad has changed, alright?

They may still take my story down because they might not approve of the themes or the dark content that is surely to follow. *wink* *wink*

But I try again and again and harder and harderrr....until you can come...to terms with the fact that I'm not leaving you hanging.

Don't forget to follow FastAndDeep to show your love! 

Until next time,

Ethan