An Unexpected Surprise.

My alarm clock rang sharply at 7:30am every morning.

Startled out of a dream, I smacked the top of my alarm to shut the noise out for just a few more minutes. It had been a good dream. The colors had been vivid, the smells were so real, I could almost taste the powdered sugar on top of the funnel cake...

I must've dozed off because my alarm screamed once more, letting me know another five minutes had passed. I sat up in my bed with a groan and looked around me.

Cheap window curtains told me the sun was rising, based on the slits of orange glow trying to permeate the thin fabric. I pushed my plush white comforter back and swung my legs to the floor, feet meeting icy cold floorboards. It was December in Ohio and my small apartment was woefully overwhelmed by the wintry weather that had reached our little town with vengeance.

I stood up, stretching the night's peace away and headed for the kitchen. I flipped on the coffee machine, registering that it was 7:40 in the morning and I'd be running late if I didn't start hustling.

I quickly walked back down the hallway toward my bedroom, stopping at the linen closet to grab a fresh towel before turning on the shower. It wasn't a very big bathroom, but it was clean and water boiled hotly over my skin when I was in the mood for it. I loved to soak in the clawfoot tub. It had a black exterior, white interior with golden claws for feet. It connected to a golden shower head that could become detatched from the head, making it convenient for washing pets and other things.

Not that I had any pets. The landlord allowed them, but I worked too often and classes took up too much of my time, nevermind the commute to and from campus. It wasn't fair to have a pet that I couldn't give proper attention and love. Still, it was still a little sad to come home to an empty apartment every day.

I never wanted a roommate. I was too independent. I had learned to count on myself at a young age, so I didn't ask for support from others and I learned to rely on myself only.

I was orphaned at 16 years old. My mother had a heroine habit that kept her from ever knowing me. She had left shortly after I was born and we had never heard from her again. My father had been an abusive drunk and his liver had finally done him in right before I'd turned 16. I stayed at the house alone for days, terrified of what would happen to me if I called the police. I had a friend whose parents had died in a car accident when we were 11. One day she was at school and everything seemed fine, the next day she was gone and I'd never heard from her again. Of course, this was before chatrooms and AIM had become popular.

I didn't want to disappear too, so I pretended everything was fine while my dad began to discolor in death. He'd been pale, sweaty and smelled of drink when I found him after school the day he died. I had thrown up in the sink. Afterward, I cleaned the house thoroughly and closed his bedroom door, vowing to never open it again and ignore the problem. I went to my after school job, came home, did my nightly routine of brushing my teeth and setting out my clothes, climbed into bed and tried to sleep.

By the third day of this routine, my eyes were blackened from lack of rest and my clothes had begun to smell of something sinister. My teachers sent me to the guidance counselor where I'd broken down sobbing and told Mrs. Morris of what had happened to my father. CPS was called and I was removed from the house. Thankfully, my best friend and her family had taken me in temporarily. I had asked to live on my own as an emancipated teen. My case worker said she would see what she could do.

Over the course of several months, I had had to prove that I could fully support myself and that my life on my own would be better than if I had lived somewhere in the foster sytem. I showed the courts that I'd held a steady job for the last three years, at first as a babysitter and then as a waitress at the local diner. I made enough money to make double my rent and already had everything I need to furnish an apartment from my old house. The house sold within months and I moved my belongings into a little apartment in the middle of town.

Now, at 19 years old, I treated this apartment like a sanctuary. I kept houseplants to keep the air clean and the environment inviting. Coffee was always on if I had guests over, adding to the earthy rich smell I desired so much. I decorated in earthy colors like teracotta orange, mustard yellow, emerald green and creamy whites mixed with natural wood colors. I'd spent a lot of time painting and priming the apartment to feel like the home I'd never known as a kid.

After scrubbing myself thoroughly with my Burts Bees bodywash and lathering my hair in both natural shampoo and conditioner, I stepped out of the shower and toweled off. Grabbing my coffee from the kitchen, I walked back to my room and sat at my little vanity, sipping and pondering. The name wasn't very accurate since I lacked most vanity that others had.

I was a simple girl with short, brown hair cut into a long pixie style and big dark eyes. I had a pale complexion, never able to tan on a hot summers' day. My lips were a pale pink, shaped like a little bow. I had a petite frame, little to offer in curves department. In truth, I was easy to overlook and often was.

I was the quiet bookish type. I didn't want much out of life, just to be surrounded by my books and plants and to make a dent in this world.

I worked as a waitress and at the local library, cataloguing books and helping with the kids' storytime on Wednesday mornings. I attended the state college thirty minutes away to get my degree in Journalism with a focus in editing copy. I wanted to leave this town and never come back. I wante fame and fortune beyond belief. I wanted to be as far away from my past as I could possibly get.

I sighed at myself in the mirror, remembering how far I was from that point in my future, if it even came at all. I hadn't even begun to write a manucscript. I had no inspiration. My life was dull and I read far too often to have any experience to write about. What did I have to offer the world?

I swiped on a little mascara and some blush, letting my soft wet hair dry itself. I stared back at myself, looking like your average librarian and I stepped into my closet to get dressed. I decided on a creamy tan cardigan, a white t-shirt and a pair of dark distressed bootcut jeans. I slipped into my worn ankle boots, tied the laces and grabbed my faded camel colored backpack. Glancing at myself once more in the mirror, I decided this would have to do.

As I slid into my car, I rubbed my hands together to warm them and cranked the heat as high as it could go. My gray 2012 Nissan Sentra was probably the nicest thing I owned, but it's because I took meticulous care of it since the day I had bought it, used. I kept a dufflebag of cleaning supplies in the trunk of my car and took it to the hands-free car wash once a week, the one that has sponges and sprays that actually clean your car for you. I even kept microfiber towels in the back to wipe the car down once I was done, keeping it clean and spot-free as long as possible.

Once my car had warmed itself for a few minutes, I packed out of my parking space and pulled onto the main highway. Thankfully, winter had not yet wrought upon us a ravaging winter storm. Those had started coming in January now, snowing furiously and then dropping to single digit temperatures while the sun melted just enough snow to become a deadly sheet of ice. Right now, everything looked cold and bare and bleary. I loved it.

I pulled into the library for my shift and parked in the unofficial employee section of the lot. Grabbing my bag, I shut my door and locked it, walking quickly into the building. I had forgone a winter jacket since I knew I wouldn't be outside for long.

"Morning," I greeted Jackie, the library attendant. She was my boss and I loved her dearly. She treated me like a piece of china most of the time, knowing more about my history than I did of hers. I did know that she was married and divorced with a little boy named Timothy. He was six and he was the sweetest little kid I'd ever met. He loved to read books at the library while his mom worked.

"Morning, love," Jackie said, smiling her motherly smile. It warmed my heart to see her each day.

"Anything new on the list today?" I asked, setting my stuff down behind the reception desk.

"Nope, just cataloguing and returning books to their original homes," she said, looking down at whatever paperwork she was reading.

"Sounds good," I replied. I set to work, sifting through the pile of books that had been returned and needed to be marked as such. I worked methodically for a few hours, then stacked the books neatly on a rolling cart and started returning them to their places. The top shelf of the rolling cart was dedicated to the pick-up section of the library, where members could pick up the book they'd reserved and bring it to the counter. It helped reduce clutter behind the counter and saved tons of office space. Each book had a slip of paper with a name on it that indicated who the book was for.

I then spent the next couple hours dropping books off in different areas of the library, searching first by genre and then by author, lastly by title. I was deeply immersed in figuring out the next genre I was going to visit when I ran full-on into somebody, tipping the cart over and spilled the entire cart of books onto the floor.

"Shit!" I exclaimed, staring at the books that were strewn all over the floor. Then I looked around and noticed the man that I'd also inadvertently knocked over by plowing into him with a heavy cart full of books.

"Double shit," I said more quietly this time, reaching out to the stranger sprawled on his back. "Are you okay?" I asked, offering him a hand.

"No harm, no foul," he said with a grin, taking my hand and levering himself up.

His hand was warm in mine, big and strong. It encased the majority of my own hand, making me feel smaller than normal. He had thick, curly brown hair mussed on top of his head, curling down by his ears and ner his shoulders, resting over his eyebrows. His eyes were the color of dark gold, burning with intensity and amusement. His nose was straight and pointed at the end, and his smile was genuine and bright.

He was bigger than me, built more muscular than not and he had broad shoulders with narrow hips. He wore a navy cotton shirt underneath a black NorthFace jacket and had dark jeans that hugged his hips and stretched down to his dark work boots. He was rugged and handsome and my breath caught a bit when our met. I quickly looked away, back at the mess of books on the floor.

"Sorry, I should've been watching where I was going," he added, staring at me with an adorable grin.

"No, of course not, I should've been paying attention with a massive cart of destruction in front of me," I said, blushing at his apology.

"Fair enough. D'you want some help putting them back together?" he offered.

"No, actually, I can do it myself. Thanks though," I said, in what I hoped wouldn't be a rude dismissal. This would take me at least a half hour to put back together in an organized fashion and I detested messes. With a sigh, I knelt down and began sifting through the books.

He knelt down with me and caught my gaze.

"I know how to organize the books. I used to frequent my own library back home pretty often. I could help," he said softly. I wondered if he could see the stress on my face about reorganizing all over again.

"Okay," I whispered, too caught in his eyes too say more.

My hands fumbled at first, staring at his while he picked up and sorted through the books on the floor, carefully stacking them back onto the rolling cart with order and finesse. They calmed once I got into a rhythm and started focusing on the task at hand again. We'd cleaned up the mess of books within ten minutes and stood at the same time.

"Sorry again for the mess," he said. His head was cocked a bit to the side and I noticed his smile was a little crooked, one of his teeth barely chipped.

"No, I, um, thank you for helping me," I faltered. He was truly beautiful. What were the odds I'd run into this stranger in such a small town. "Can I ask what brought you to the library?" I question, wondering how forthcoming he'd be.

"Just moved here from Washington State for a job. I don't have much in the way of belongings, so I figured I'd grab some books on my down time to help distract. I don't really do TV," he said. A man after my own heart. I hated TV. I hated every book-turned-movie crapfest I'd ever seen on television. Books had such an eloquent spinning of tales and dialogues, it propelled you deeper and deeper into the plot until you looked up to realize hours had passed and you'd skipped dinner by accident.

"Oh," I breathed. "I love books. I don't like TV either, to be honest. They always manage to ruin a good book and I feel like a zombie staring at a screen for too long. My TV is about ten years out of date," I laughed.

"What are the odds?" he said, smiling bigger. "A TV is on the bottom of the list for me to buy. Do you live around here?"

"Yeah, just on the other side of town, east side. I live at Townsend," I said. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Did I just give a stranger my address? The apartment complex was small. It wouldn't be hard to find in me if he was an axe murderer looking for a new victim.

"No fucking way," he said laughing again. "That's where I just moved in. I'm in apartment 4D."

My jaw just about hit the floor. When I picked up, I said "I'm in 4F. You're only a few doors down from me. How did I not notice you'd moved in?" I felt a little unsettled by my lack of awareness around my own home. It wasn't like I had any reason to be on the lookout for strangers, but still. I was a young woman living on her own who listened to the news often enough to know how dangerous that situation could be.

"I didn't exactly bring a moving truck. I only brought a couple bags of clothes and a hiking backpack," he said. He shifted a little bit, his smile faded perceptibly. Sensing fresh wounds, I backed off.

"Well, I'm gonna get back to work," I said. I felt a rush of giddiness. He was so handsome and it seemed like he actually liked me. I daydreamed of the possibilities. I'd had a high school boyfriend for over a year, but he wasn't anything special. He hadn't inspried me to want to continue dating, at the least. We'd had sex so I wasn't a virgin, but he wasn't good at it. I never finished with him. He still tried to text me every once in a while for a hookup but I was much happier without him.

Later that day, I clocked off and drove to the diner in the middle of town for my second job of the day. When I pulled up and parked, there were three cars I recognized and one black Chevy truck that I didn't. I wondered if I'd be lucky twice in a matter of a few hours. Grabbing my apron and my bag, I headed inside through the back door. I greet Tommy, the grill cook and Joey, the prep master. They handled all the orders for the evening shift. I passed Rosemary on my way through the kitchen, snapping her bubble gum and talking animatedly about a guy she was seeing with another server.

I walked through the swinging doors to the register at the counter. The diner was old-school. It never really recovered from the 70's but it had an eclectic charm to it, much like my apartment. The booths and stools all looked worn and inviting. The countertops were speckled white and shiny from a fresh wipedown. The register was old. We had a credit card machine that connected to it, making the place just a bit more modern than it seemed, but most people paid in cash anyway. Joan and her husband Bobby had owned the diner for years. Everybody simply called it "The Diner" because there was no sign out front and it was the only diner in town.

"Hi, baby," Joan said when I reached the register. I was due to take over for Rosemary and Joan was about to head home for the day. Another server would come to assist me until seven and then I'd close the place down for the night.

Looking around, I searched for an unfamiliar face that matched the unfamiliar truck but didn't see one. I saw Jeff and Lucy, a father and his daughter who came in every evening for Joan's homemade pie of the day. Today it was peach cobbler. I saw Steve, a 78 year old retired veteran who drank coffee and slipped in some booze when he thought we weren't looking. He never got drunk, he just claimed he liked the coffee here. I think he liked the company more. His wife had died ten years before and he'd never had any children or grandchildren to keep him company. I saw Tessa, another college student who happened to live here. We weren't close, but we were always polite to each other.

Then I saw him, strutting down the hallway that lead toward the bathrooms. He'd changed his shirt to an olive green raglan shirt that had darker sleeves than the rest. His jeans still hung low on his hips and he was wearing the same boots he'd been in when I saw him earlier. He looked at ease with the world. His piercing gaze caught mine and he made a straight line toward me.

"Hey, bookworm," he said, gracing me with a brilliant smile.

"Hey back," I said casually, trying hard not to show how pleased I was to see him again.

"You work here too?" he asked casually, but I could tell he was a little interested.

"Indeed," I said, gesturing at the black apron tied to my front.

"Well, don't let me keep you. I just ordered so I'll be here a bit." I noticed then that he had a small stack of books sitting next to his seat, along with his jacket that was hung on the back of his stool. I longed to know what his jacket smelled like when he took it off.

I worked through my shift steadily, taking orders and clearing tables, wiping down the countertops and cleaning up the reciepts for the day. At 9pm, I locked the front doors and went through the kitchen to the back of the diner. I had a fair amount of cash in my pocket and I wanted to deposit it into the ATM at the bank before heading home. As I walked toward my car, I noticed the black Chevy truck sitting in the lot too. I also noticed a dark, curly headed man standing next to my car with his hands deep in his pockets and I smiled.

"Hi," he said when I walked up to him.

"Hi back," I said, smiling like a fool. I couldn't believe he'd waited for me to get off my shift to see me again.

"Thought you might want a ride home, but then I figured you probably drove here. Do you want to go get a drink somewhere?"

"I don't drink." I never wanted to be like my father or my mother and it seemed addiction ran in the family. I never risked it. Plus, I wasn't old enough. "And I'm 19," I blurted out.

"Oh, no sweat. I'm only 22," he said laughing. I breathed a little easier. He wasn't too old for me after all, he just looked like it. Maybe all the men on the west coast looked older, more mature.

"I have coffee at my place," I offered. "And tea."

"Coffee sounds good," he said with that lopsided grin.

We drove back to the apartment, him following me, and both exited our vehicles at the same time. He followed me at a bit of a distance, not getting too close. Truthfully, all I wanted was for him to get closer. He was handsome, we were adults, and it had been a long time since I'd been held by a man. It was exhausting having to carry the world alone.

I slid the key in the lock and opened my door. I shut it behind him and watched him drink in the scene. He seemed impressed, maybe. He was difficult to read. I shrugged out of my jacket and felt a tingle of excitement slide down my spine. I stepped into the open kitchen and poured fresh cofee beans into the grinder, excited by the possibility of the night.

Strong arms stretched out to trap me against the counter, one arm on either side of me. He smelled like fresh rain and earth. I inhaled deeply and waited to see what his next move would be.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited you invited me over," he breathed into my ear. I shivered a little. His breath smelled good, too.

"Why's that?" I asked, teasing a little. His face was blocked by his curls and I didn't want to turn into him too quickly.

His lips brushed gently against my neck, breathing fire into my veins. My skin prickled deliciously at the prospect of an evening with this handsome man. His tongue gently licked at my throat and I closed my eyes. Spinning me in his arms, I found myself suddenly facing him and seeing someone totally different.

His eyes were alive with excitement, bright and fiery. His mouth was open and he was breathing hard, pumping his chest for oxygen when there didn't seem to be enough in the room.

"Tell me if I'm going to far," he said, staring hard into my eyes. I nodded my assent. I could stop at any time.

Grabbing me by the waist, he kissed me, hard. I moaned into his kiss, loving the feel of his hands on either side of my body, right in the middle where my waist was smallest. His hands were huge, holding tightly to me while he explored my greedy mouth. I lifted my hands into his curly mane, reaching deep and hanging on for dear life.

He broke the contact and pushed my hands back down on the countertop.

"No touching," he growled in my ear. He nipped at my neck, sucking and licking down to my collar bone. My breathing hitched. I felt like I was on fire.

No, wait. I really felt like I was on fire. Something hurt. My abdomen hurt. Something was wrong.

"Wait," I said breathlessly. "Something hurts."

"I know it does," he whispered in my ear. He spun me around around and pushed me down to the counter, pulling my hands behind my back. He tied them together quickly with zip ties. What the fuck was happening?

"Stop!" I yelled. I didn't want to do this anymore. I didn't know what was happening and he wasn't offering any information. He picked me up from behind and threw me down on the couch, face first. My heart raced and my mind kicked into overdrive. He wanted to rape me. Was that it? He was going to try to rape me. I had to fight. I had to get him away and get somewhere safe to call 911. I had to fight.

My abdomen still hurt. It felt like my pants were getting wet. Had I peed when he carried me to the couch? What was happening?

I heard a metallic slicing sound. I couldn't move. He'd managed to tie my ankles and wrists so I couldn't move. I couldn't find any leverage to get up. No, no, no, this wasn't happening. I had to find a way to fight.

"You don't want to do this," I said, my voice shaking with fear.

He laughed. "Oh yes, I really do."

I started to shake. He sounded cruel. He sounded like he was enjoying the idea of assaulting me. My brain was slipping, I couldn't collect my thoughts.

"You don't have to rape me. We could have sex. I would be willing. I'll do whatever you want to do, I promise," I begged.

"Rape?" he scoffed. He walked around the couch so he could look me in the eye. He stood with his head tilted, as though I were some crazy creature he'd found. "I'm not going to rape you, stupid girl. I'm going to slice you up seven ways to Sunday and leave before anybody can smell your rotting corpse."

Ice flushed through my veins as his confession. I started to cry.

"Why?" I asked in a whisper. My throat was too tight. I couldn't breathe properly.

"Why not?" he laughed. "I already cut you, you didn't even notice it until it was too late. You shouldn't let strangers into your home, baby," he said. He walked out of my line of sight. I started to cry harder, which only made my stomach hurt worse. I felt sick. I felt like I might throw up. Maybe if I did, he'd be too disgusted to be around me.

"Please don't do this," I cried. "It doesn't have to be this way. I can help you."

"Oh, but it does," he said with relish. "You're exactly my type, little one. Petite, unassuming, no family or friends to call to your aid. You're all alone and you're not very observant. I've been here for weeks and you hadn't noticed a new neighbor. You hadn't noticed a thing. Too high up on that fucking pedestal thinking you're some gift to the world because you work two jobs and go to school. Pathetic." He stomped around my apartment. I couldn't see, but I felt a cold rush of air meet the exposed skin on my arms and my back. He was opening windows.

"What are you going to do to me?" I asked. If I was going to die tonight in the hands of some fucking serial killer, I wanted to try to go down swinging.

"I've shut off the heat and I'm opening some of your windows," he replied easily. I could hear him moving around, hear him sliding open windows as he spoke. "Then I'm going to gag you and cut you into ribbons. You'll bleed out on your couch and the cold air in the apartment will keep the smell at bay. I'll close the windows before I leave so nobody can see or hear you, then I'll leave town. Fairly simple." He spoke clinically, not even sounding like he harbored a hint of remorse.

"I never did anything to you," I said, crying harder than ever. I was going to throw up.

"You sluts never think you do. But you're all teases. You're all whores. You all look and dress the same and have everyone eating out of the palm of your hand, but you never fucking learn. I'm going to teach you a lesson you won't forget."

I cried harder than ever, then stopped. I needed composure. I needed to make peace with my demons. Suddenly, I was flipped onto my back, the full weight of my body laying on my bound hands behind me. He stared into my eyes, grinning wickedly.

"Don't worry, love, it'll only hurt for a little while." He kissed me roughly on the mouth, dipping his tongue into me with indecency and sloppily. I kissed him back, thinking maybe if I could convince him into having sex he might let me go.

"No, baby," he said, pulling away. "I don't want you to get too into it. I like the fear. It's what makes it fun for me."

If he liked the fear, I wouldn't show him any. I wiped the expression from my face and plotted my next move. How was I going to get out of this?

I saw my butchers knife sitting on the coffee table. I couldn't reach it, nor could I stop it from slicing into my skin if that's what he wanted to do. But I wouldnt' be afraid.

He picked the knife up and turned it over and over, feeling the sharp edge of the blade. "Not sharp enough," he said to himself. He strode back to the kitchen and I lost sight of him again. I looked down at my abdomen to see my white shirt had turned crimson around my naval. Blood had traveled down to the top of my jeans, soaking through the dark fabric. My couch would be ruined. I burst out laughing.

"What's funny?" he said, coming back to face me.

"I just," I said, choking on my own laughter. "I just realized that the couch would be ruined, and it bummed me out, then I realized I'm going to be dead anyway so who cares about the fucking couch?" I laughed harder. This could not have been a worse time to be caught in a fit of giggles, but I was. I was hysterical.

"Stop," he said, annoyed by my sudden shift in mood. I kept laughing.

"I said stop," he hissed, his face slowly morphing from annoyance to rage.

"I can't," I gasped. Tears began to well in my eyes from how hard I was laughing, about to die in the hands of a stranger. Albeit, a beautiful one.

"I said STOP," he roared, bringing the knife down into my abdomen. I hard steel cut off more than just my laugh. I screamed. He had forgotten to gag me. He shoved a kitchen towel into my mouth and began cutting me, tearing into me, slicing me into ribbons as he had promised. I screamed and screamed, but the sound would never reach the neighbors. The blinds were closed, no gentle wind shifting them tonight. I was freezing and bleeding and soon I'd be dead.

I lost conciousness, welcoming the darkness and the relief from the harshness of my own pathetic life.

When I came to, I thought I was in a cloud. Everything was white. Too white. I was blinded by it, so I shut my eyes and welcomed the darkness again. I heard an incessant beeping in my ear. I turned my head to find the source of the noise, hardly opening my eyes to see what the damn commotion was. If this was heaven, it was fucking noisy and I didn't feel good.

"She's awake!" someone shouted nearby. "Get the doctor, she's awake!"

Ah, a doctor. So heaven had doctors. Interesting.

"Step back, let me take a look at her," an authoritative voice commanded. Silence fell and my eyes were forced open by a finger. I felt like a cloud. Maybe the room was never a cloud to begin with. I had simply confused it with my own cloudly feelings.

"Ma'am, do you know where you are? Can you hear me?" a sharp voice asked. Whoever she was talking to, they were probably in rough shape.

"I don't think she can hear us," someone else said.

"Can you hear me? Do you know what happened to you?" My vision cleared a bit when I fluttered my eyes. With eyes open, I saw several people staring at me, waiting for me to answer the doctors questions.

"I can hear you," I rasped. I felt parched. The desert lived in my throat. It was constricted and my eyes felt itchy and stung.

"She can hear us," the doctor breathed in relief. She was beautiful. She had deep, stunning red hair and large blue eyes. She had a thin mouth but a winning smile. Her teeth were perfectly straight and white. She was tall, but that could've been because I was laying down on a bed. I liked her, I decided.

"Do you know what happened to you?" she asked me, more gentle this time.

"Not really," I said. I'd had a crazy dream though. I had a dream that a beautiful stranger had stabbed me half to death before I passed out, welcoming the abyss that was bound to follow death. I wasn't religious, so I didn't actually believe in heaven. I had thought maybe I was wrong for a few moments when I awoke.

"You were attacked. In your apartment. Does that sound familiar?" she asked again, quieter this time.

The adrenaline kicked in, along with the fear and anxiety. I was in overdrive in a second flat. I tried to sit up, panting and shaking suddenly and feeling too exposed.

"No, no, no! Don't do that!" the doctor ordered, grasping me by the shoulders and pushing me back down on the bed, holding me there. I kicked and screamed harder until I couldn't. My abdomen was on fire. I threw up on the floor.

"Breathe, honey, breathe. You're okay. I promise you, you're okay." The doctor was looking at me, waiting for me to hear her voice.

How could I possibly be okay?

"Someone stabbed me. How the fuck can I possibly be okay?" I screamed at her, my eyes meeting with each face in the room, checking for danger.

"He's dead," she said shortly. "He wrecked his car. There was freezing in the time that he was at your apartment with... you. He drove through a wind tunnel where the ice was slick and black. He flipped down the side of the road. He crashed into a tree and it crushed the cab. When the officers found him, they found your I.D. on him and they rushed to your address to tell you what happened to him. When they found you, you were half frozen, but you weren't bleeding anymore. The coldness might have saved your life. I don't think he counted on that," she said. She stared into my eyes the whole time she talked. I believed her.

"He's dead?" I whispered, afraid this was only a dream.

"He's dead," she said simply. "He can't hurt you."

I turned my face away from her and I cried. I cried and cried for what felt like hours. Maybe even days. I cried until my abdominal muscles begged for mercy, and then I cried some more. I had survived. I had survived a drug addicted mother, an alcoholic father, I had survived as an emancipated teen, and now I had survived a legitimate crazy murderer. I was a survivor.

When I had nothing left to cry, I opened my eyes again. The doctor was still there. I learned her name was Addison. She held my hand and soothed me, telling me I'd be okay and a counselor would be here soon to help me. The police would take my statement and I'd be taken care of.

I learned later that his name was Everest Till and he was suspected of a string of murders, all women who were stabbed and left for dead. He had been traveling the countryside, a nomad, killing women and leaving town before he could become a suspect. There were eight victims who had died form their wounds. I was the second girl he'd accidentally left alive. The first girl was able to provide a decent description to the sketch artist and they had been closing in on him when they got the call about his death. Nobody seemed to be shedding any tears over his demise.

When everyone left the room so I could go to sleep, I closed my eyes and thought: well, now I'm actually going to need a new couch. I wonder what color I'll choose.