Reyna's mom was piiiiiiissed. Not only did she break curfew, but she brought her carnival date home with her to stay for a bit. Of course, her mom couldn't say no when I had the cash to pay for a few nights. Reyna explained that we got Makai back, and it was quite interesting to watch her expressions change so rapidly at the news: relief, sadness, happiness, anger, content. It was even more interesting to watch Reyna judge her mother. She scowled at the woman and addressed her with unfinished bitterness. When Reyna didn't feel like talking about certain things that night – like Allister's death – I filled in the gaps. All the while, Rey didn't even cast a cursory glance my way. 

"I'm dead exhausted," she says, waving a pale hand in the air, turning towards the rooms in the back. "Physically and mentally." Finally, she looks at me, but I wish she hadn't. Pure resentment shoots out of her eyes like lasers – and they're scalding hot. Nevertheless, I keep my cool. "Me too." 

I've been assigned the room next to Reyna's. We part ways without even a simple"goodnight." I flop onto the bed and prop myself up with my hands under my head, staring at the ceiling. Immediately, I start to think about the future. 

I could live my life on the run from Type, or I could make good with him – be back on his team and not have to walk around looking over my shoulder every two minutes. The first choice sounds like it would be fun for a while – life on the run, living in the shadows.

 The second choice seems...

What does it seem like? 

Get a kick out of hurting people for drugs and money...initially, that has my name all over it. But after re-thinking it, I'm not so sure. Doing the same things to different people is actually quite boring after a while. Earlier, I told Reyna I didn't want to do those things anymore, but how much of "those things" was I actually talking about?

 I decided to clear my head and try to get some sleep, but sleep never really comes easily to me. It never has. Dad used to say it runs in the family, but now I think it might have something to do with all the people I've hurt.

Why do I like causing pain? I mean, it shows that I can dominate over them and it shows that I have power, but... the power to do what?

Sighing, I turn on my stomach and try to focus on absolutely nothing. Reyna's going to be a handful tomorrow, no doubt, so I'll need all the sleep I can get. As for human relations with the kid, it's easier to be around her. She doesn't dwell on the stupid, meaningless crap as her friends do. Their only concern is how many retweets they get on Twitter and how many likes they get on Instagram. Reyna actually has her priorities in check. Part of me hates that she's so ahead of the game because by then, there's no game to even play. But part of me loves her for the same reason. 

"Hurt people or be their BFF, Enzo...pick one," I sigh to myself.

Soon, the room becomes a stifling quiet. There's a faint sob coming from the room behind me and I roll my eyes.

I need sleep, Reyna, my initial thought snaps.

But is she okay?

My mom used to tell me that our first thoughts are how we were raised – how we were taught to be. But the thought after that is who we've become – who we are. I used to consider my mom fairly smart until I found out she only married my dad because she needed a place to stay.

The King family history is a bit muddled. First, my mom and dad had a kid. They didn't think they could handle being together, and said that the two together couldn't give me a"good future." So they split and my dad married Aero's mom when I was five years old, and they soon had a kid. I'd never seen my dad so happy to be with someone. But then she died and Dad was a mess; the perfect time for my mom's in-debt-ass to sweep in for the kill.

Even after my flashback, I still hear the cries next door. Reyna's entered the hiccup stage of a total meltdown. I drag my hands down my face, trying to swipe my conflicted self away. It doesn't help. 

 Grudgingly, I sit up and give the closed door a dirty look as if to say: don't you look at me like that. 

Do I go next door, or do I stay here and try to catch some sleep?

 I stand up and shuffle to the door, vision a bit off from exhaustion, telling myself I'm walking over to get close to Reyna and hurt her later. With an internal groan, I know it isn't the truth. I was being honest with Rey when I told her what I wanted in the car. But did she believes me? Who knows? 

Come in my room and I'll kill you, she said. Crowbars don't work as fast as guns. 

Quietly, I open the door and peer inside. I can see her curled in a ball on her side, all the way on the edge of the bed away from me. She stops crying as soon as she hears me. Well, she doesn't stop crying – she holds her breath. For a moment, I stand in the doorway, leaning on a side, trying to act nonchalant in case she can see the worry and regret on my face.

What do you want?" she asks, voice trembling.

I take a second to measure up the situation and pick out an appropriate response. "I don't have my gun..." Translation: I'm here for you if you let me be. 

After a sniffle, Reyna answers. "I don't have my crowbar..." Translation: I'll let you in. 

 I creep in and silently shut the door behind me. I tiptoe to the bed and crawl under the sheets. I nestle in next to Reyna and carefully wrap my arms around her – one around her body and shoulders. My other arm makes its way around her when she turns and morphs against my chest.

She shudders with sadness as Allister's death finally gets to her. Her arms find their way around me and I find myself gingerly stroking the back of her head, wondering what I see in her. I mean, besides the obvious – she's beautiful; stunning. 

Her head rests against my heart and I realize it isn't what I see in her. It actually isn't anything that I view about her that is my reason for staying. It's what she makes me feel. I don't feel like a psychopath obsessed with mind games and confrontation. I feel like someone who is wanted and someone who wants to want. 

Soon, my eyes shut and Reyna stops crying sometime during the night. I get some sleep and I'm sure she did, too, as she didn't stir. But all the while, I can't help but think about what's going on in her head. Does she like me, too? Is it better for me to leave her alone and let her get her head straight? Or should I stay and have her question my every motive? It's a tricky situation that we're in, but with a killer on the loose, if anything weren't tricky, then we'd all be in trouble.