Obsession Of A Psychopath ☠︎︎

Chapter 104: A New Start

❀Amanda's POV❀

"Ma'am, take the pill before going to bed," my private nurse instructed, her words a gentle reminder in the midst of my turmoil.

She was a middle-aged woman, whose appearance initially seemed daunting, yet her kind and caring nature quickly became evident.

I nodded, taking the pills from her trembling hand, along with the glass of water. As I swallowed the bitter medicine, I lay down on the bed, feeling the weight of exhaustion and emotional pain settle upon me.

"Has Zack returned home yet?" I asked, my voice trembling with anticipation and longing.

"Not yet," she replied softly, her words carrying a hint of sympathy.

It had been nearly two weeks since my release from the hospital. Originally, I had planned to stay with Mandie until I fully recovered, but Brian intervened on the day of my discharge. He insisted that Zack had made arrangements for my accommodation and hired a nurse to care for me.

Zack had taken care of the hospital bills and other expenses, yet he had not visited or even reached out to me once. Rumors had circulated about a profound change in him, but I had yet to witness it firsthand. During my time in his house, he arrived home late at night and departed in the early hours of the morning.

"Thank you, I'm doing okay. You can go and rest in your room. I'll call you if I need anything," I managed to say, my voice laced with a sense of resignation.

"Alright, ma'am. I'll come to check up on you a bit later then," she assured me, her eyes filled with compassion.

As she left the room, I let out a deep sigh, clutching a pillow tightly against my chest. In the depths of my being, a whirlwind of emotions swirled, threatening to consume me entirely.

"Why did everything go wrong? Where did things take such a devastating turn?" I whispered to myself, tears welling up in my eyes.

Silent tears streamed down my face, tracing the contours of despair etched upon my cheeks. It had become a nightly ritual, a solemn dance of sorrow, as I cried myself to sleep, seeking solace in the embrace of a cold and lifeless pillow.

In the depths of exhaustion, I succumbed to a fitful slumber, only to be jolted awake by the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. I glanced at the clock, its hands pointing to the ungodly hour of 2 a.m.

Driven by a mix of curiosity and a desperate need for connection, I mustered the strength to leave the confines of my room. With each step, the unfamiliarity of the house enveloped me, as I navigated the labyrinthine corridors towards the source of the mysterious sound.

Fear and uncertainty gripped me as I wondered if an intruder had breached the sanctity of our home. Yet, my determination propelled me forward, unguarded and unarmed. And there, in the dimly lit kitchen, I found Zack, a shattered reflection of the man I once knew, clutching a glass of alcohol.

"Zack," I called out, my voice quivering with a blend of apprehension and longing.

He stood before me, a mere silhouette of his former self. Disheveled and weary, his unshaven face and bloodshot eyes betrayed the toll that sleepless nights had taken on him.

"Amanda, did I wake you? Go back to bed," he began, his voice carrying a mixture of resignation and anguish.

Driven by an overpowering surge of empathy, I approached him cautiously, the space between us filled with an unsettling chill. Uncertainty hung in the air, as our year-long silence weighed heavily upon us. With trembling hands, I reached out and tenderly cupped his cheeks, my touch a testament to the depth of my sorrow and compassion.