The windows were drawn shut, and the lights in the house were dim and dismal. Outside the sun had already been devoured by the night's waves, and the fog encapsulated the neighborhood like a thick blanket. Vianne lied on the couch, her arm tucked underneath her head, flipping through the channels on TV and unsure of what exactly she wanted to watch.

She couldn't concentrate on anything but Robert. He had begged Ivy to believe him - practically opened up his vulnerability to her and displayed his raw emotions. All of the other interrogations had quieted, and the guards had taken an interest and creeped over to their table in case Robert might've attacked. But he only sobbed, saying the same sentence over and over again that repeated within Vianne's consciousness: I didn't kill those kids.

She had glanced to look at Ivy's expression, hoping to see remorse for Robert. But she had sat completely motionless, her hard, unbreakable gaze watching Robert as he broke down. She didn't say a word, now that everyone was watching her; she couldn't say how she really felt about him. Both Vianne and Tom overheard her discriminatory remarks, and she had smoothed over her appearance the moment the public eye settled on her. Vianne knew Ivy wouldn't give Robert a second chance, and the idea of Robert suffering for something he didn't do itched at her thoughts.

Vianne yawned, fixing her gaze at Dante's old clock resting on the fireplace mantle. Now that she had lowered the volume on the TV and the whole house was silent, she could hear the small ticks as the clock's arms moved rigidly. She watched as it passed from one second to another, the ticking constant yet it's noise was somehow gradually growing louder in her ears. Tick. She swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. The repetitive noise soon became a crescendo, flooding her senses and slicking her skin with hot sweat. Tick. Tick. Tick. The stress building on her felt like a weight had been dropped on her chest, and she was only sinking deeper and deeper into her anxiety. Tick. Vianne raised the volume of the TV higher, sitting up on the couch with a rush of adrenaline. She took in a deep breath, her hands clutching onto one of the pillows for some comfort. It seemed as though the past few days were making her hypersensitive to sound now that her anxiety was more prevalent than ever.

Vianne's gaze was entirely locked on the clock, it's ticking making a mockery of her anxiety. She squirmed in her seat, hating how it's minuscule presence served as a reminder of everything Dante had done to her. Why can't it leave me alone?

Vianne walked towards the fireplace, grabbing the clock with a shaky hand and hustling towards the garbage in the kitchen. With her jaw angrily clenched, she raised the clock to throw inside the bin when she stopped suddenly, looking back at it with guilt. It was Dante's clock, how could she destroy it? The clock had been passed down to his father, and him being the only son amidst his three sisters, the clock had been given to him. He treasured it immensely, always dusting it whenever he could and glancing at it to be reminded of his grandfather. She sighed, placing her hand on her forehead as she placed the clock onto the kitchen table. She swallowed hard and listened to the low ticks carry on through the sensitive silence, wishing things were different between them.

Just as she started walking back to the living room, she heard knocks at her door and jumped in surprise. She stopped, turning to look at the door with unease. Remaining quiet, she hoped that whoever it was at the door would leave, but the knocks kept coming; each knock sounding more urgent than the previous. She sighed and stepped up to the door to look through the peephole. Her blood turned to ice as she recognized the eyes staring back at her through the glass.

"Vianne, I know you're there," Dante said, his voice bleak, "please, let me in."

She shuddered and backed away from the door, her hands fidgeting at her sides. When she didn't respond immediately, he knocked again before leaning hopelessly against the door.

"Babe, come on. Don't make me open the door myself, 'cause I've got the key and all but I want you to let me in." Dante pleaded.

Her heart beat thrummed wildly against her chest, a storm of emotions stirring within her. Just leave me alone, Vianne wished, don't put me in this situation.

Dante sighed, resting his forehead on the door. "I was drunk yesterday, that's all. I just lost my temper because I was obsessing over what had happened...and when you said I was stupid for getting into that fight, I just lost it. And with all of the drinks I've had, you know...I'm bound to react differently - that's what caused me to act out like that, I wouldn't have hurt you if I was sober." Dante pleaded, his voice hoarse and rough. "Come on now, open the door. I...I want to see you."

Vianne bit her lip. Did she really want to open that door? To let someone who had been violent before come back to her? She ran her hand through her hair, glancing back at the  clock sitting on the kitchen table. It's ornate face stared back at her as the small hand moved across the numbers. Tick. Tick. Tick.

"Vianne, I know you're there. The living room lights are on and so are the kitchen lights. Baby, please open the door." Dante said, growing desperate. She swore under her breath, knowing full well Dante wouldn't leave without an answer.

"You're violent," Vianne said aloud, gaining the confidence to speak amidst the tense silence, "how do I know you won't attack me once I open the door?"

She could practically sense Dante sigh exasperatedly. "Babe," he said, lowering his voice, "I haven't been drinking at all. I have a clear conscience. Please, just let me in already."

Vianne could feel her skin heating up. "You don't make a very convincing argument."

"I'm not trying to argue. I just want to see you...please just let me in, Vianne. I'm not going to hurt you." Dante replied.

Vianne swallowed hard. "Why?"

It was quiet. The crickets outside began to play their violins, and the constant ticking of the clock heightened her senses. Her heart rate spiked, her breathing becoming uneven as the small noises grew louder in her ears. Tick. Tick. She licked over her lips, taking a step away from the door.

"Why do you want to see me, Dante?" She asked again, hating the silence floating around them.

She could sense a change in attitude from Dante. "Why?" he repeated, almost in shock, "because I'm your husband. I think I deserve to be heard out, don't you think? I've given you so many second chances..."

Vianne rolled her eyes. "Dante-"

"Just hear me out for a second," he cut off, his voice growing louder. "Yesterday, I was wallowing in self pity and I had too much to drink, right? I wasn't thinking clearly and I said some hurtful things to you, which I really didn't mean. I just...I just lost my head. But right now, Vianne, this is it what makes or breaks you. If you don't let me in, you might not ever see me again - what we have would be over. And then what? You're going to continue to go to a job you hate for the rest of your life just to support yourself financially. You're going to be alone again."

Silence. His voice softened. "Remember when we first met? You had just been suspended from college, and you were living in this small apartment outside of San Diego. And I had just been in the area for the summer with my friends when I stumbled across you. You were even more reserved than you are now, and you lived all by yourself. You told me one night that you hated being alone...you feared that for the rest of your life you would be caught going through the motions and not really living. And you admitted you slept with the TV on to be comforted with the noise of people's conversations so you wouldn't feel completely isolated from the world. Remember?"

Vianne's skin crawled. She glanced around the house, realizing she was going through the same motions she did after college. She remembered how awful she felt when she was stripped of her opportunity to achieve her degree, and how she worked a low paying job just to afford to live in a small, tight apartment. She was so alone after college that she felt like her spirit was slipping away. Vianne swallowed, willing herself not to fall back into that head space again.

Dante continued. "I don't want you to do something you're going to regret. Let me in, Vianne, and you won't have to suffer like you have before. Please, Vee, let me help you."

Vianne stood motionless, her lips parted with uncertainty. She didn't have an answer for him. She couldn't decide if she was angry with him or not, and she waited for Dante to say more, hoping to fill the silence with more of his pleading. Her breath caught in her throat as the ticks of Dante's clock became more pronounced, and she glanced at it with sad eyes. Tick, the clock sang disconcertingly, tick.

She took a step towards the door, her hand grasping the doorknob gingerly. She sucked in a small breath and opened it, her eyes interlocking with his gaze immediately. She swallowed uncomfortably, digesting his appearance. He was wearing a new set of clothes, and his curly hair was ruffled and messy. His eyes were dark amidst the night, but she could sense a flicker of warmth in them.

"You can come in," she said, "so we can talk more."

Dante nodded, walking passed her and into the dark living room, the blue glow of the television illuminating a part of the room. He clumsily sat down where she had been sitting, and looked at her with his usual cheeky grin.

"I knew you would make the right choice." He commented, resting his feet on the coffee table. Vianne sighed and sat on the opposing couch.

"Those aren't your clothes." Vianne commented, crossing her legs together. Dante looked down at his clothes and chuckled.

"Of course they are."

She shook her head. "I've done your laundry plenty of times. Whose clothes are you wearing?"

Dante smiled at her, almost in disbelief she would ask such a strange question. He licked his lips, staring at her as if she was joking. "Come on, these are mine. Don't worry about it."

She clasped her hands together. "So where did you go when I kicked you out?"

His smile faltered. "My parents' place."

Vianne nodded, refusing to look away from Dante out of caution. "So you told them why you weren't staying here with me?"

Dante narrowed his eyes. "Hey we're not at your job, there's no need to interrogate me."

"So they know?" Vianne pressed. Dante rolled his eyes, fixing his gaze on the old reruns of one of their favorite TV shows as he absently shrugged his shoulders. She watched as the muscles in his face clenched, his jaw tight and his eyes fixed on the television screen. He ignored her question and offered a new one.

"So uh," he started lazily, "what's been going on with your job?"

Vianne sighed, breaking her stare on Dante and looking towards the blue vase sitting on the dresser up against the wall. She remembered the vase was a wedding gift from her aunt Flora. Thinking about her wedding made her cringe. "It's fine."

Dante nodded, feigning interest. "Good."

She rolled her eyes. "You really don't care, do you?"

"Of course I do." He shot back. The two stared down each for some agitated moments, Vianne's heart rate speeding up despite her calm posture. She didn't have any other questions to ask Dante at that moment, partly because she was too stunned that he didn't decide to ditch her after being kicked out. Vianne ran her hand through her hair, and stood up from the couch.

"You can sleep on the couch." Vianne muttered, leaving to go upstairs. Dante stood from his seat, confusion sparking across his face.

"What? I shouldn't have to sleep on the couch in my own house."

Vianne turned to look at him. "You want to sleep at your parents' place again?"

Dante glared at her slightly, rubbing his jaw with his hand. "You shouldn't treat me like this, you know, like I'm some peasant you picked up off the streets."

Vianne smirked. "I don't know, that situation does sound familiar."

Dante couldn't help but chuckle, sitting back down on the couch and propping his feet back up on the coffee table.

"Touche." he grumbled.

Vianne sighed, resting her hand on the stairway railing. She bit her lip as she watched Dante flip aimlessly through the channels.

"Goodnight." she muttered. Dante cocked his head to look at her, the brown in his eyes warm against the contrasting blue light.

"Night, babe." He whispered, his gaze following her movements. Vianne turned away quickly and started up the stairs, her thoughts swirling in a whirlpool of worry. She hoped her decision to let him stay wouldn't backfire on her, as she couldn't afford more anxiety weighing down on her mind.

Once inside of her bedroom, she locked the door behind her and leaned against it for a few seconds. She couldn't help but shiver, as this was the first time in ages since she slept with her door locked - and it was more chilling to know it was to keep her husband out.