Chapter One

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I lied. Well, not actually lied. I just changed my mind. I went and saw NYSM2 again yesterday with my brother because he hadn't seen it yet (actually I just wanted to see it again and didn't want to go alone so I dragged him along), and I realized that the book really wouldn't be very long if I jumped right into the movie, so we're gonna have some "filler" chapters to build up the story some more before we jump into everything that happens in the movie. Sound good? (I dunno why you'd say no...) Also, I started writing this at 2 a.m. because I was still gross-sobbing about Anton Yelchin. (My poor, sweet Pavel. Why? WHY???) Heh... Anyway, enjoy!

Chapter One

I was wide awake. I had been for a while. Sleep wasn't coming anymore, and when it did, it was in short bursts. Nightmares constantly plagued my mind, contorting past memories into things straight out of a Stephen King novel - well, maybe not quite that dramatic. But they were still awful, and most of the time I woke up screaming or crying at ungodly hours of the night, waking up Danny as a result. Surprisingly, he'd never gotten angry with me about it. Apparently he was more concerned about my wellbeing than his lack of beauty sleep. Not that he really needed any, if that was what he was going for.

It was around two in the morning. That was one of those nights where I hadn't been screaming upon my exiting the nightmare. It was just shaking, though I wasn't sure if it was from being cold, and crying. The gross, ugly sobbing that comes from watching too many Supernatural season finales in a short span of time. And, yes, maybe I'm that person that enjoys that sick torture. But that wasn't what had me in tears that night.


Almost eighteen months had passed since that arrogant, psychopathic dickhead was arrested and left my life for good, and I somehow still couldn't manage to get him out of my head. Endless tormenting constantly plagued my brain while I tried to sleep, showering my dreams with the incessant phone calls, the love proclamations, and the threats. Most nights, it was just the threats.

If he lays a finger on you, I'll kill him.

It was an empty threat. They were all empty threats, or at least I had hoped they were. I hadn't even liked Danny at the time. I didn't want him dead, obviously, but there was no real reason for me to be so freaked out about it now. Darren was locked away, the doctors having decided that he did have some form of a mental disorder. I couldn't remember the exact name for it, but it didn't matter. He was a danger to public safety, and he wouldn't be wandering the streets anymore. There was no reason for me to be afraid for Danny's life; there was no way Darren could kill him.

When I was awake, I was rational. Lying there at two in the morning, trying to slow my heart rate and pretend like my face and pillow weren't completely soaked from tears, I knew that Darren couldn't hurt Danny. But when I was asleep, it was different. My mind couldn't process that the threat had been removed and that Danny was safe, sleeping soundly beside me, snoring enough that the windows were probably rattling. The nightmare was too real.

I'll kill him.

Even when awake, the aftershocks of the dream were still present, trying to keep their hold on me for as long as they could. I had absolutely no idea why I hadn't had these nightmares when all of that shit was actually going on. Danny said I had PTSD; I thought I was going crazy.

"You can't hurt him," I whispered, gripping the sheets tightly in my fists as I stared into the darkness of the bedroom. I was proud of myself for how fierce my quiet voice sounded in the otherwise silent room. "You can't. I won't let you."

"Andie?" Danny's voice was nothing more than a mumble. He rolled over onto his side and rubbed one eye, cracking the other one open to look at me. I laid completely still, hoping he'd think I was asleep; I hated waking him. "Andie, I know you're not sleeping. Look at me."

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