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My chest burns, my stomach churns, my vision goes hazy and my knees go weak, all the while the two halves of me scream at the top of their lungs. I love him. I hate him. He's everything that's good. He's the worst of everything. He gives my life meaning. He'll take my life away someday.

My Prince Charming turned out to be the villain of my fairy tale, and part of me thinks that's okay, because eventually, it'll all disappear, anyway.

Nothing lasts forever.

Happily ever after, I think, doesn't exist.

Naz curves an eyebrow in question but remains silent. I hesitate for a moment before turning around and walking away.

There's nothing to do.

I mindlessly walk laps around the house, sitting in one room for a bit before moving on to the next, never going into the den. I consider calling the number my mother gave me, but it feels like a betrayal to Naz, and I'm not sure what to say to her, either. The fact that she hasn't called me sticks out like a sore thumb.

I text Melody and act like nothing is wrong.

I flick little birdies across the screen and annihilate pigs to occupy my time.

I even go outside and walk around the back yard. There's nothing out here, except for trees and grass, a lawnmower that desperately needs used and some rose bushes that seem like they've died a long time ago. I find the outside entrance to what I assume is the basement, and I consider going down there out of boredom, until I catch Naz watching me from the window in the den.

His gaze burns through me, so I go back inside, just to escape it, going upstairs and falling into bed, succumbing to exhaustion and taking a nap. When I awaken, the room is dark. It's well after nightfall.

My throat is dry.

My stomach growls ferociously.

Rubbing it, I head downstairs again. The light in the den is the only one that's on. I head into the kitchen, my footsteps faltering when I find a carton of Chinese food sitting on the counter beside the fridge. It's still warm when I pick it up, and I pop the top open, seeing it's beef Lo Mein with no vegetables.

He ordered it for me.

It's what I ask for when he orders Chinese.

I grab a fork and start eating, curiosity fueling me as I stroll toward the den. Once again, I pause near the doorway and look in.

The television is still on, the channel changed to some cooking competition. Naz is sitting at his desk, his feet kicked up now. He's changed, wearing a pair of sweat pants, which means he came upstairs while I was asleep.

His eyes drift my way. I haven't made any noise, but he seems to always know when I'm there. He stares at me, his gaze shifting to the food in my hand, before he turns back to his book.

It feels like an hour passes.

It might've been only a minute.

The silence is getting to me.

I haven't used my voice all week, so I'm surprised it still works when I open my mouth. "What are you reading?"

He doesn't react. He doesn't seem surprised that I've spoken. His eyes stay glued to the book until he flips the page. "The Prince."

"What's that?"

"It's Machiavelli."

"Machiavelli." I lean against the doorframe. "Like Tupac?"

Laughter escapes his lips—real laughter—the sound lightening the air in the room. I know who Machiavelli is, but I wasn't sure what else to say. He looks away from the book, those deep dimples out in full force. "Have you read it?"

Slowly, I shake my head.

"Everyone sees what you appear to be," he says, "few experience what you really are."

I take a bite of the food. I know he's quoting The Prince, but damn if it doesn't feel like he's talking directly to me with that. "Does he have any advice for what someone's supposed to do when they see what you really are and it scares them?"

He's quiet for a moment, his eyes narrowed as if in thought, before he responds. "Never was anything great achieved without danger."

I don't say anything to that. I stand there for a while eating as he goes back to reading. My feet grow tired eventually, and without even thinking, I walk into the den and sit down on the edge of the couch.

Naz is fast asleep.

He's on his side, facing away from me, hugging a pillow as he snores softly. It's the first time in a week I've been up in the morning before him.

I move soundlessly around the bedroom, pulling on clothes and putting on shoes, my eyes periodically shifting to him to make sure he's still asleep. I grab my phone, tossing it in my purse, and head toward the door when I hear his voice. "Going somewhere?"

I turn to him, seeing his eyes are open now, regarding me suspiciously.

"I'm meeting Melody for coffee."

"Is that right?"

"Yes," I say. "Or actually, it's tea... chocolate mint tea, from the cafe we always went to."

"In Manhattan."

"Yes."

He sits up. "I'll drive you into the city."

"No," I say, holding my hand up to stop him before he can climb out of bed. "I can take the train there, no problem. I've done it before."

Truth is, I need some space to breathe, to think, without the smell of his cologne surrounding me, without his presence looming in the next room.

He stares at me. Hard. It's as if he's trying to decide whether or not to trust me, as if I've given him some reason not to. I haven't, though, and he seems to accept that after a moment. "Be careful, Karissa."

"I will," I say, hesitating, staring at him as he just sits there and watches me. After a moment I turn away, striding out the door.

I get to the city a few minutes early and step into the cafe, surprised to find Paul behind the counter. He looks at me, smirking. It gives me the creeps.

"I didn't know you worked here," I say.

"Just started," he says. "What can I get for you?"

I order and take my usual seat, but I don't touch my drink. It freaks me out a bit that Paul made it. Last time I drank something his hands touched, I ended up collapsing on the sidewalk in the middle of the night, drugged.

Melody strolls in at ten o'clock on the dot, taking a few minutes to flirt with her boyfriend before joining me. She plops down with a coffee, and before I can even say hello, she reaches into her purse and pulls out an envelope. "Oh, before I forget, you got another one of these letters."

I look at it with surprise, taking it from her. "When did it come?"

"Yesterday."

I tear it open as Melody starts rambling. I pull out the single piece of paper and unfold it, seeing the scribbled writing just like the last one.

Friday night. Midnight. Meet at the entrance to Washington Square Park. You have to get away from him. Leave everything behind. I love you.