Sam.

~~~

Summer slipped by and with Raymond on the American tour and me holding down the fort in New York, every visit with him seemed to vanish in an instant, leaving the lonely days behind to stretch endlessly.

After weeks of thought, I finally decided to make a change: I would move to New Rochelle. Ray hardly stayed in Los Angeles anymore, so why should I? Today was the day—I was flying to L.A. to see him and begin packing up my apartment for the big move.

The plan was simple. Ray and I would return to my grandmother's house in a few days, hopefully with everything I owned. The band had just wrapped up their tour, and with some downtime ahead, Ray could finally spend time in New York with me.

Yesterday, he mentioned it was our six-month anniversary, though we couldn't quite agree on the date. To him, it was May twelfth, the day after that party. For me, it was May twenty-sixth—our first real date. It was one of those trivial things we liked to tease each other about, but deep down, it was part of the charm of us.

I packed light for the trip, just a small suitcase. Most of my things were already scattered between my apartment and my grandmother's house. I wasn't ready to sell the place in L.A. yet—I'd rent it out for now and see how life unfolded in New York.

Scott. His name still cast a shadow in my mind, even though I hadn't spoken to him in weeks. Cutting contact had been necessary. It wasn't easy—there was a void where his friendship used to be—but safety came first. He stopped trying to reach out, and though the issue felt unresolved, I convinced myself he had moved on.

Paul, the detective, was another disappointment. I had trusted him to help me gather evidence of Scott's behavior, to end this chapter definitively, but his efforts had led nowhere. After one odd voicemail and a few lackluster texts, even he stopped responding. Frustration simmered as I thought about the money I'd wasted.

As I boarded the plane to Los Angeles, I reminded myself of my real focus: Ray. The thought of seeing him again brightened my mood. I missed the band too, despite all the chaos of life on the road. They had a way of growing on you, like an unruly family.

The flight felt long, but soon I was stepping into LAX, the warm California air brushing against my skin. I hailed a taxi to Ardmore Avenue, eager to get started. Ray had some business to wrap up, so he promised to meet me at my apartment as soon as he could.

The elevator ride to the second floor felt oddly oppressive. The corridor reeked of something sour and stale, a smell that turned my stomach. I hurried to my door, swallowing back nausea, and let myself in.

The apartment felt strange, too—dusty, almost unfamiliar, like it belonged to someone else now. I dropped my bag and walked through the rooms, reconnecting with the space. As I unpacked, I heard the doorbell ring.

At first, I smiled. Maybe Ray was early. But when I opened the door just a crack, leaving the chain in place, my smile froze.

"Scott?" I whispered, the name tasting bitter in my mouth. Fear prickled my skin. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to visit my friend," he said, his voice sharp and unnatural.

He didn't look like himself. Dark circles hung under his eyes, his blond roots streaked with black at the top, unkempt and greasy. His hands stayed behind his back, and though he smiled, it didn't reach his eyes. The sight of him made my heart race—not with joy but with dread.

"I'm sorry, Scott. I'm... busy right now," I stammered, trying to keep my voice steady.

His eyes narrowed, a spark of something dangerous lighting them. I moved to close the door, but before I could, he wedged his foot in the gap. My breath hitched. His eyes locked onto mine, his expression eerily calm. Seconds stretched into eternity as the chain snapped with a metallic clang, and the door swung open. My heart pounded against my ribs, and I stumbled backward.

"Bolt cutters? Seriously?" I blurted, my voice trembling.

"You wouldn't let me in," he said flatly, tossing the tool onto the floor with a thud that made me flinch. He took a step closer, his movements slow and deliberate. "Or were you planning to open the door for me?"

"I... I was going to take off the door chain," I stammered, stepping back cautiously.

"Liar," Scott hissed, pacing the room like a predator circling its prey. His voice cut through the air, harsh and breathless. "You're always lying, Sam. You're a fucking bitch, you know that?" He stopped abruptly, his chest rising and falling like a storm brewing just under the surface. "No more lies!" he suddenly shouted, making me flinch. His hand darted behind his back.

My heart pounded against my ribs, and I fought to steady my breathing. "Scott, I don't understand. What's wrong?" My voice wavered as panic clawed at me.

He pulled a black object from behind his back, scratching his temple with it casually. My stomach dropped as I realized it was a gun.

"I said, don't fucking lie!" His voice thundered, the sound sending a chill racing down my spine. I shrank back, pressing myself against the wall as fear wrapped around me like a vice.

Scott's piercing green eyes bore into me. "Your neighbor," he said, his tone eerily calm as he pointed the gun at me. He tilted his head to the side, almost curiously. "Who was he?"

"My neighbor?" I repeated, my voice trembling so hard I barely recognized it.

"Don't play dumb. It won't help you," he snapped, waving the gun like it was an extension of his hand.

"His name is Paul," I choked out, swallowing hard against the lump forming in my throat. "I don't know him that well."

"Was," Scott said, a twisted chuckle escaping his lips. His casual delivery made my blood run cold. "Now, tell me—how much did he tell you about me?"

"What do you mean by 'was'?" My breathing turned shallow, and I felt like the walls were closing in on me.

"You've got bigger problems, don't you think?" He smirked, spinning the gun lazily in his hand.

I raised my palms, trying to project calm even though terror surged through my veins. "Scott put the gun down. Please. We can talk—just put it down."

"No, no, no," he said, his voice cracking as he shook his head. His hands trembled, and his entire body seemed like it was on the verge of imploding. "First, you're going to tell me everything."

"Okay," I whispered, my voice barely audible. My mind raced in a thousand directions. What do I do? What do I say? Could I stall him until Ray got here? No. God, no—I didn't want Ray walking into this.

Scott stood between the couch and the kitchen island, his grip on the gun firm but his movements jittery. I stayed near the door, frozen, my hands still raised.

"Now," he began, his head tilting to one side like a puppeteer studying his puppet. "You'll answer my questions. Yes or no. No gray areas, no bullshit. Got it?"

"Yes," I said quickly, my voice breaking.

"Good. You're catching on. You know I've been watching you, right?" His tone was mocking, almost gleeful.

"Yes," I admitted, swallowing the bile rising in my throat.

"See, I already know the answers to some of these questions, so don't you dare lie to me. Understand?" He raised an eyebrow, daring me to defy him.

"Yes," I whispered, my head nodding automatically.

"Did you go to Europe alone or with Ray?" His question came sharp and fast. My breath caught. I hesitated too long. "Answer me!" he shouted, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip on the gun.

"With Ray," I blurted out, trembling uncontrollably. "I went with Ray."

"I fucking knew it," Scott spat, his voice dripping with venom. His nostrils flared as he paced faster, his chest heaving. "All that 'just friends' crap—you really thought I'd buy that?" He let out a bitter laugh. "But I knew. The moment I saw him at your book signing, I knew you were lying."

"You were at my book signing?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, Samantha. I thought I'd surprise you. Thought it'd be our moment." He shook his head, his expression twisting with something that might have been regretful if it weren't so terrifying. "But then I saw him, and I left. You know, I blame myself for all of this. I was too blind to see the truth."

My legs felt like they'd give out, but I forced myself to stand firm. "Scott—"

"And then Logan," he interrupted, his voice darkening. "Meeting him at the gym was pure chance, but it was perfect. I became his friend. That party? I made it happen. For you." His eyes gleamed with something unhinged. "And you repay me by meeting Ray?"

I couldn't lift my gaze. The weight of his anger was suffocating. "Scott, just... put the gun down. Please. We can talk. I'll explain everything."

"That party was supposed to be our night!" he shouted, his voice cracking under the strain of his emotions. "You were supposed to realize that I was the one. The only one who's ever been there for you."

"I know you were," I said quietly, my voice shaking but I didn't dare to meet his eyes. "And I'm grateful for your friendship. I really am."

"Look at me!" he bellowed. I flinched, forcing myself to meet his gaze.

"Now," he said, stepping closer, his every word slow and deliberate. "Tell me. When the fuck did you and Ray happen?"

A wave of anger surged through me, overtaking the suffocating fear that had held me captive moments before. His words—his twisted justifications—ignited something in me. The Scott I thought I knew didn't exist. Maybe he never had.

"Why do you care, Scott?" I demanded, my voice steadier than I felt.

"Because I love you," he snapped, his voice raw and venomous. Hearing those words aloud stunned me, but not in the way he might have hoped. It wasn't love—it was obsession. "I was waiting for the right time," he continued, his tone souring with bitterness. "But you... you just couldn't stay away from guys like Ray." His voice cracked, dripping with hatred.

"You never told me that," I pointed out, swallowing the lump in my throat.

"I'm telling you everything now," he said, his voice rising with manic fervor. "At this point, there's no other way."

"Good," I said, lifting my chin defiantly even as my hands trembled. "I want to know. If I really deserve... this—this behavior from someone I thought was my friend." I bit back the tears burning my eyes. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

"Friend?" Scott scoffed, his laughter bitter and sharp. "You were never my friend, Sam. Don't flatter yourself." His words cut deep, but I stayed silent.

"I first saw you in Elysian Park," he began, his voice dropping into a low, almost dreamlike cadence. "You were sitting there, writing, with those stupid earphones on. Completely oblivious." His expression hardened. "And then, I recognized you in my class. Oh, I was thrilled. But you..." He jabbed a finger in my direction, his eyes narrowing. "You didn't notice me. Not until I spoke to you." I stared at him, every muscle in my body taut.

"So, there I was, inviting you for coffee, excited for our date. And what happened then, Sam?" He tilted his head, his expression expectant.

"We... we met for coffee," I said, my voice small.

"Yes!" he barked, taking a step forward. "But it wasn't a date for you, was it?" I flinched at the venom in his tone.

"No," he snarled, pacing furiously. "You wanted a friend. That's what you told me while you whined about Tom the entire time." He stopped, glaring at me. "And I was patient, waiting for you to get over him, being a friend." His lip curled in disgust. "And what did you do, Sam? What did you fucking do?" I stayed silent, my heart hammering in my chest.

"What did you fucking do?!" he screamed, his voice echoing through the room.

"I started dating Brian," I whispered, feeling the air grow heavy around me.

"That's right," he said with a nod, his grin sharp and unsettling. "At first, I was angry. But then I thought, this is fine. You'd get bored. And you did." He gestured with the gun, his movements wild and erratic. "You dumped his ass after screwing Tom again. What did you see in Brian, anyway?"

"Scott," I said, my voice firmer. "Why are we rehashing all of this? We both know what happened."

"Oh, we do," he said, his voice dropping into a sinister whisper. "But you don't know my side. My story."

"Then tell me," I said, crossing my arms despite the quiver in my hands. "Tell me how we ended up here."

He leaned closer, his breath hot and sour. "After Brian, I thought, this is it. You'd had your rebound. It was my turn. But no. Once again, you were whining to Molly about Tom." His eyes burned with fury as he sneered. "You think I didn't hear you? You're not as discreet as you think."

My stomach twisted. The idea of him listening in on my private conversations made my skin crawl.

"So, I waited," he continued, his voice tightening. "Two fucking years. And then Jason came along."

"Jason," I murmured, his name slipping out unbidden.

"Yeah," Scott said, his laugh bitter. "And he didn't even cheat, you know that?"

"What?" I breathed, my voice faltering.

"He didn't cheat," Scott said smugly, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "But I made you think he did. That wasn't easy, convincing you. But it worked."

"You... you lied to me?" My voice cracked as my stomach churned.

"Oh, yes," he said, gazing out the window as if savoring the memory. "But where was I?" He turned back to me, his expression cold and calculating.

Suddenly, the sound of the door opening made me freeze. My breath caught in my throat.

Scott's head whipped toward the noise, and his lips curled into a sinister smile. "Oh, this is just fucking perfect," he said, his laugh dark and chilling.

The soft squeak of boots on the hardwood floor sent a chill down my spine. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Raymond.