Damned If I Don't *Matt Murdock* (book two of Damned)

AKA the P word (Terri)

"I fucking can't!" she snapped at him and finally found her shoes, putting them on harshly.

Victor, bless him, didn't hesitate to take his car keys and wallet, following her example, running after her as she fled out of the door, taking two steps at time. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What did that even meant? Was it something what was about to happen? Something what was happening now? Or the worst possibility – something that already happened? She appeared on the street, slightly disoriented, looking for the right car.

"This way, Ter." He pulled her the right direction and she obeyed, grateful he didn't ask any questions. Not until they reached the car. "You know the road? Or give me the address-"

"I can navigate," she whispered, feeling weak in her knees, throat tight, the picture of bloody hands enclosing a freaking sword swimming in her mind. Breathe, Theresa. Breathe. You're no help if you pass out. Should she call an ambulance? She couldn't give them anything – breathing, conscious? Bleeding? Absolutely fine at the moment? Shit.

She didn't call. She was giving instructions to Vic, pretending she didn't notice his worried glares. He was an incredible human being. Anyone else would tell her to go screw herself or at least made her to sit tight, breathe and drink a glass of water. Not him. But to be fair, she once did call him like ten minutes after he got a glass bottle shattered against his shoulder to ask about his well-being – he needed several stitches back then.

He understood she got a feeling of something bad, he didn't question her and drove her to her desired location. Drunk. Once this would be over, she would kiss him senseless.

She jumped out of the car, running to the apartment building, pressing to Vera's bell. Once, twice. She tried for the third time and changed her tactics – she rung The Larkins instead. By the time a voice came from the speaker, Vic was behind her, car parked.

"Who is this?" a sleepy, but thank god positively female voice asked.

"Hey, Nina. It's Terri. Vera's friend. Rememb-" The buzzing opened the door for her before she could even finish. That woman was a treasure. Victor followed her as she sprinted to the first floor, raising her hand to knock on Nina's door. She was faster, already standing at her doorstep. She was wearing a hoodie and pants that was definitely a pyjama. She squinted at Terri, her eyes going wide as she saw her companion.

"Is he a cop?" she asked in panic, already turning around and reaching for some keys – to Vera's apartment, most likely. "Please tell me he's not a cop and you're not going to Vera's apartment because she disappeared again."

"Hey, Nina. He's not. I'm really sorry. Actually I got a very, very weird phone call and..." she was making this up as she went and had no idea what to say next. She could feel Vic's gaze burning through her – he knew there was no phone call. But what else was she supposed to say?

Nina slipped to her scuffs and walked with them. Terri was almost jumping as she wanted to run again. "I swear if there's another blood on the wall..." she muttered under her breath and Terri felt dizziness wrapping her mind like a blanket, the picture haunting her. She didn't think there was blood on a wall. But it might be on the floor.

Nina locked out the door and Terri stumbled in. The small lights were on. Was it a good sign or a bad sign? They were on when she saw what she saw. She passed to the living room, stopping dead in her tracks, breath knocked out of her chest.

Vera was there. Lying on the floor, curled in a loose ball, no top on. In a fucking puddle of blood. And she wasn't moving. At all. Terri gasped, reaching out to steady herself onto something, but there was nothing to hold on.