Hate To Miss You (2) | 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝙷𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚜 ❈

Twenty

It had been three weeks since I was attacked by Reid in my dorm, and there was no way in hell you'd catch me going back. Jack had asked me to move in with him, properly. Every single one of my belongings being shipped to his apartment, not just an overnight bag full of clothes.

Everything was perfect, a little too perfect. Luke was back to being my bestie, I was going to hockey games wherever I could, supporting Jack, and my studies were going well.

Life was as it should be.

It was Friday night, Jack was at a game in California and I was sitting on the soda drinking a tea and indulging in a bag of pretzels, watching Netflix with one of Jack's shirts on my body and a pair of old flannelette pyjama pants covering my legs. The kind of pyjamas you definitely didn't show anyone except your mom, the kind with pugs wearing scarfs and beanies that had soy sauce stains on the crotch.

I was enjoying myself just a little too much, the TV blaring and the blinds open to let in the view of New Jersey. I loved Jack's apartment, right in the middle of the city, modern and sleek and showing just how much money Jack made as a professional athlete.

I snuggled into our new couch, covering my legs in the fur throw I'd made him buy days after I moved in. I didn't mind Jack's old furniture, though it reminded me of a frat house, but the second I moved in he took me furniture shopping and told me to deck the place out however I wanted.

I wasn't about to argue. I'm a twenty two year old girl, interior design and furniture shopping is my fucking jam. Don't even get my started about our new kitchen appliances, or our vacuum, I think I can die happy now.

I was just getting comfortable, pressing play of the next episode of Gossip Girl when there's an aggressive knock on the door. Freezing in place, I pause the TV, turning my head to the entry hall. I jump as a second round of knocking sounds through the apartment, more urgent than the last.

My heart pounds, and I'm terrified. Jack isn't here, I'm all alone. What if it's Reid? What if he's come to get his revenge? Finish the job he stated? I gulped, standing from the sofa and inching towards the door, planning to at least look and see who was here.

My heart was in my throat as I pulled out my phone, ready to dial Jack's number, or the police, or anyone that would help. But then I heard a whimper.

My body went slack and I cocked my head to the left. What in the world?

There was another cry, this time, a desperate cry, followed by the word please.

I yanked the door open, positive I'd heard that voice before. I had been right, I had heard the voice. Faye stood on the other side of my door, blood all over her, a busted lip and a black eye. She looked like she'd been dragged across concrete, and my eyes flew open at the sight of her. She was robbing, hard, not even able to form a sentence. I checked the halls, left and right, to make sure she was alone, then I pulled her inside, locking the door behind us.

I sat her at the kitchen counter, grabbing her a glass of water and the first aid kit.

"Faye," I spoke, my voice even and strangely confident. "Who did this to you?"

"Reid," she spat, crying even harder. I knew it. "You were right, he's crazy!"

"Where is he right now?" I asked, my tone warning her that I wasn't playing around. "Did he follow you?"

"Yes," she breathed. "But I think I outran him. I lost him a few blocks away, I hid in a crowd."

Letting out a shaky breath I picked up my phone, pressing it to my ear.