Chapter 5~ This Is Bad

That night, I couldn't sleep.

The old newspaper lay hidden beneath my mattress, but it felt like it was breathing beneath me—taunting me, whispering secrets I couldn't remember. I had only glanced at the torn edges, but the image of that woman—my face—was burned into my mind.

My fingers twitched at my sides, aching to pull the paper out, to study it under the moonlight. But a bigger part of me was terrified of what I might find.

Was I a criminal? A fugitive? A murderer? My breath came shallow and uneven. No, no—I couldn't be. Could I? But then... why had no one come looking for me? Why had I been left for dead?

I pulled the blanket tighter around me, curling into myself. If the Evanses knew about this, would they still let me stay? Or would they be too scared to sleep under the same roof as me?

A wave of panic crawled up my throat, thick and suffocating. I had finally found something good here. A home, a place where I was wanted. If my past caught up to me, I could lose all of it.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Maybe I was overthinking. Maybe the newspaper was a mistake. Maybe that man at the market wasn't even watching me.

...Maybe I was lying to myself.

I turned onto my side, staring at the wooden beams of my ceiling, forcing my breathing to slow. And with that, I drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Scoff. Peaceful, my ass.

Because not long after, I woke up with a gasp, my body drenched in sweat. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst from my chest. My hands trembled as I pushed myself upright, trying to steady my breathing. What... what was that?

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to recall the dream, but the images were scattered, disjointed. Blurry. Except for one.

A woman lay on the ground, her hands and legs bound. A man loomed over her, gripping a baseball bat. And then—

Crack.

I jolted, my breath hitching. My stomach twisted in knots. That wasn't just any dream. It felt real. Too real.

Was it a memory?

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. Was I... was I the woman on the ground? And if so, who was the man?

A chill ran down my spine. If that was me... what had I done to deserve that kind of treatment?

Only criminals get beaten like that.

No. No, I wasn't a criminal. I shook my head violently. No, I couldn't be.

But what if I was?

What if I was someone dangerous? What if... what if I had done something horrible?

Oh, God. My chest tightened as the fear crashed over me like a tidal wave. Tears welled in my eyes, spilling down my cheeks before I could stop them. I clutched the blanket, my fingers digging into the fabric.

"I don't want to know," I whispered, shaking my head. "I don't want to find out."

But deep down, I knew the truth was coming for me. And I wasn't sure I'd survive it.

I stood up, unable to sleep, my throat dry. Maybe some water would help calm my racing heart.

Quietly, I made my way downstairs, heading straight for the kitchen. I grabbed a bottle from the fridge and took a long sip. The cool water instantly soothed my nerves. I exhaled, closing the fridge door. A quick glance at the clock in the living room told me it was 4:53a.m.—almost morning. Any moment now, Mr. Evans would be up to check on the birds.

Still feeling restless, I wandered into the living room and flopped onto the couch, hoping to relax. But just as I was getting comfortable, I saw it—

A shadow.

Every instinct in me screamed. My body tensed. But when I checked again, there was nothing. Just my paranoia messing with me. Shaking my head, I lay back down.

Then—jingle.

Keys.

Someone was trying to open the front door.

My heart leaped to my throat. Without thinking, I sprang up and hid behind the door, waiting. My pulse pounded in my ears. The lock clicked, and the second the intruder stepped inside, I launched myself at him.

"Die, you thief!" I shouted, clinging to him with all the pent-up frustration from my nightmare.

I hit him. Everywhere. Arms, chest, shoulders—whatever I could reach. He staggered back, cursing, trying to pry me off, but I clung to him like glue.

"How dare you sneak into our house?!" I yelled, flailing wildly.

"Ahh—what the hell?!" he barked, trying to shake me off. Then, with one strong shove, he sent me flying.

I crashed into the shoe rack by the door, knocking everything over in a spectacular mess.

The noise must have woken the entire house because, within seconds, the Evanses rushed out of their room.

"What is going on here?!" Mr. Evans demanded.

"A thief!" I pointed an accusing finger at the intruder. "He tried to sneak in!"

Then Ella gasped.

"Liam?"

Wait.

What?

My brain short-circuited just as Liam yanked me off his back, sending me sprawling onto the floor. My poor butt met the hard ground with a painful thud.

"What the actual hell is wrong with you?!" Liam growled, his deep, manly voice laced with irritation.

Oh no. He swears. This is not good.

Before I could process my impending doom, Ella practically tackled him in a hug. "Oh, my baby!" she sobbed, holding him tight.

Mr. Evans joined in, wrapping his arms around them both.

And me?

I stood up in shame, rubbing my sore backside, unsure what to do with myself.

Okay, this isn't that bad, right?

I mean, it's not like I hit him, called him a thief, and clung to him like a deranged tiger or anything...

Oh, wait.

I totally did.

This is bad. This is really, really bad.

Wow. What a first impression.

Beating up the Evanses' beloved son the second he walks through the door.

Fantastic. Just fantastic.🤦

Okay, that's not a good start. Poor Liam... Please don't forget to vote and leave a comment! That's what motivates this humble writer!"