“I don’t even know his name,” I groan, my voice muffled by my hands. They’ve been glued to my face ever since Daya got here, and I confessed he broke in again.

I haven’t gotten around to what happened yet. There’s not an ounce of courage in my bones. She’s been patiently waiting, knowing that I’m holding something back. Something terrible and shameful. And something I can’t stop fucking thinking about.

“You fucked him, didn’t you?” she asks calmly.

My eyes bulge, and I unglue my hands from my face so I can pin her with a glare.

“No, I did not fuck him,” I snarl, as if she’s suggesting something insane and I didn’t come really damn close to it. I can feel the blood rising in my cheeks and my left eye twitches.

Fuck. Daya knows that’s my tell.

“You did!” she bursts, standing up from her chair and looking down at me with shock.

“I didn’t! I promise,” I rush out, grabbing her hand. “But… something did happen.”

She puffs out a breath and settles back down in her chair, scooting back into the island in my kitchen and grabbing her margarita. She sucks down two huge gulps, trepidation on her face.

“You sucked his dick?” she guesses, lifting a hand to fiddle with her nose ring.

The images those words just put in my head have my blood pressure rising to dangerous levels. I bite my lip and shake my head slowly, the guilty look still present on my face.

“He sucked you?”

When I just stare, the guilt in my eyes burning brighter, her mouth pops open and her eyes round.

“Bitch, what the fuck!” she shouts. She leans in closer, an unreadable emotion flaring in her eyes. “Was it consensual?”

And this is where I get tripped up. Because it wasn’t. But had he kept going, had he stripped his clothes from his body and fucked me—I can’t say with absolute certainty that I would’ve stopped him. Or that I would’ve wanted to.

Still, I shake my head no.

Fury flares in her sage eyes, and her lips twist into a snarl. I lean back, honestly a little afraid of her.

I put my hand on hers. “Daya… I-well, it wasn’t consensual… at first?” I say the last part like a question, embarrassed that I’m even admitting something like that.

She blinks. "At first," she echoes. "Meaning what? He was that good that he changed your mind?"

My hands cover my face, but she forces them away, nearly bumping her nose into mine as she intently waits for an answer.

“You have such pretty eyes,” I tell her.

She snarls at me. “Spill, slut.”

I close my eyes with a resigned sigh. “That man ate the soul out of my body, and I don’t think I’ve gotten it back yet.”

She jerks back, surprise in her pale green irises.

“I know, you can judge me. I’m judging me too,” I say pitifully. I slide her margarita over to me and finish it off. Mine’s been gone since I first told her he broke in.

“Baby girl, I am not judging you. But let me get this straight. You egged him on in a text because you felt like a bad bitch. And then he broke in to make good on his promise, tied your ass up, and you freaked out at first, but then ended up riding his face?” she summarizes slowly.

Several emotions swirl in her eyes. Confusion, shock, maybe even intrigue. But not judgment. And that’s only because I didn’t confess to her about the gun incident. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to talk about that one.

I roll my lips. “Pretty much.”

Without taking her eyes off me, she leans over and grabs the bottle of tequila we used to make the margaritas. She pours a shot into both of our empty cups and then hands one to me.

We take the shot, cringing at the taste, and then stare at each other in silence.

“I’m just not even sure what to say.”

I groan. “Daya, I don’t know what to do. He didn’t hurt me, but he did. He definitely forced himself on me. But I would’ve let him go farther had he tried. I’m so fucking confused. And I feel dirty and wrong, but when it was happening, it felt…”

I trail off with another groan, and this time I just bang my head against the granite countertop.

“Really good?” she fills in. "Amazing? Out of this world?"

"All of the above," I confess. "I have never come so hard in my entire life.”

“Damn,” she breathes, a note of awe in her voice. “Has he contacted you since then?” she asks gently, running her fingers through my hair in a comforting gesture.

I lift my head, a frown on my face. “Yes. He just… he said he didn’t want me to fall in love with something fake. He pretty much said he’s showing me who he really is, instead of lying to me about it. The fact that he thinks he can make me fall in love with him in the first place goes to show how deranged he is.”

“That’s… oddly nice? But really fucked up. There’s something wrong with him. But we knew that from the chopped-off hands.”

I snort. “Yeah, just a bit.”

“Have you, uh, asked him about that yet?”

I nod. “Yeah, he basically played his usual macho man act and said not to worry about it and that he’d take care of it.” I roll my eyes, but in all honesty, I’m glad for it. If I can count on my shadow for anything, it’s to fuck someone up.

He’s made that more than clear.

I sit up and bring Gigi's journal back towards me. “Anyhoo, let’s just focus on figuring out what happened to my great-grandmother.”

It’s not hard to put Daya back into hacker mode. She slides her laptop towards her and immediately starts tapping away on the keyboard. The quickness of her fingers gives me a run for my money when I’m in a particularly good part in writing my book. She’s been known to have to replace a few keys from how hard she types.

“So, time of death for Gigi was estimated about 5:05 P.M. Your great-grandfather claimed that he had run to the grocery store and when he came home, he found her dead in their bed. I found some witness reports claiming they did see John in Morty’s grocery store around 5:35 P.M. But they didn’t specify if they had seen him walking in or out of the store, or if they just saw him shopping during that time.”

I nod my head, twisting my lips in contemplation. “In her last few journal entries, she was frantic and kept saying that he was coming for her. She never said who he is. But it has to be Ronaldo, right?

“So, maybe he waited until John left and snuck in and killed her while he was gone. He stalked her after all, he’d know exactly when my great-grandfather would’ve left.”

Daya shrugs a shoulder, looking a little unconvinced.

“But don’t the diary entries say that John was getting aggressive, and Gigi said she was going to divorce him, right?” she questions.

I frown. “Well, yeah, but I don’t think he would’ve killed her. He loved her too much.”

“Couldn’t the same be said for her stalker?”

Noting my expression, Daya sighs and rests her hand on mine.

“Addie, I love you and I’m going to say this with all my love. But don’t project. I’m starting to get the feeling that you want Ronaldo to be the killer because in your head, that will criminalize your stalker, too. Please tell me that’s not why you’re seeking justice for Gigi. Because you’re looking for a reason to hate your stalker when in actuality, you don’t.”

I pull my hand from under hers and look away. Uncomfortable feelings invade my body, preventing me from speaking right away.

“I don’t need to look for a reason to hate him,” I grumble.

Daya cocks a brow, unimpressed with my attitude. I sigh, a headache blooming right between my eyes. I rub at the spot, stalling as I try to figure out what I want to say.

Because she’s not entirely wrong.

Maybe I just want to be able to say that all stalkers are crazy, and that it’s not possible to fall in love with one. I want to be able to say it’s never happened before. And I want to say it’s absolutely impossible to find myself in a loving, passionate, and healthy relationship with a person who invaded every aspect of my life unapologetically.