Questions race through my mind. It’s all too much. It’s like a whirlwind in my mind with nothing sitting still long enough for me to think clearly about anything.

What was I doing over here? How did she know to find me? Who’s fucking blood is on me?

I don’t ask any questions. I just go with her, matching her fast, determined pace. She looks all around us as we go back to my house. Her hand is tight on mine.

Protecting me. Her… protecting me. My gut twists and a voice in the back of my head screams that I’m pathetic. It sounds like him. Like Mr. Jay and the other guards. Their voices chase me down the street, urging me to walk faster and get home. Where I can lock the door and just try to think. Try to remember.

Nobody’s following us that I can see. Although the adrenaline coursing through my veins makes my hands tremble.

I’m still a little shaken up about finding myself in that alley by the time she opens my door, and once we’re in, she closes and locks it. I watch her as she stares at the locked door a moment longer and then faces me.

My chest is still heaving and I don’t know what to say or how to explain a damn thing.

I try to remember her name and at this moment, I can’t. That causes more panic in me, so much so I can’t help but to bring my hands to my hair and walk away.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Her hand brushing my shoulder makes me pull back and I swallow hard before turning to face her. She’s a good foot shorter than me. Those wide eyes stare up at me, still riddled with concern. Her nose wrinkles with sympathy.

“Come with me. It won’t do us any good to stand here.”

My eyes roam over her face as she takes my hand in hers. What’s her name?

I remember her head tossed back against the wall and the arch of her throat and the sounds she made as I filled her again and again. I remember the way she said my name and how her fingernails bit into my skin through my shirt.

In the bathroom, she flicks the light on. We both wince. I look even worse in the mirror. There’s a lot more blood than I thought.

Where did it come from?

How did I get this much blood all over me?

My pulse pounds in my ears as I wait for her to ask questions I don’t know the answer to. But she doesn’t.

“Okay,” she says briskly. “Let me help you out of your clothes. We need to get you cleaned up.” She drops her coat first, and wipes her hair back, slightly damp from the rain.