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I panic.

I don't know what to do. Or where to go. I'm looking around, wanting nothing more but to hide somewhere.

"Cassandra. Open up. Please."

Díos, his voice. It makes my knees weak and my heart race. And I don't know if it's in a positive or a negative way, but I only know that he's the first person to whom I react in such way.

I just stand there, not knowing what to do. A part of me is dying to see him. But the other part would probably die if I saw him. I'm not ready. It's still too soon. My wounds are still all opened and bleeding and I doubt he's here to heal them.

"Cassandra!" He knocks again.

"Qué estás haciendo aquí?" What are you doing here? I manage to ask.

He's silent for a few seconds. "Open the door and we will talk."

My breath sticks in my throat. "I don't think that is a good idea." I don't know who I'm trying to convince.

"Can you just open this damned door before I break it down, Cassandra? For God's sake." He's starting to sound impatient and I don't know what for. He shouldn't be here in the first place, let alone expecting me to just open the door and demand I see him.

I take a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling, asking whoever that's up there for help and strength before I walk to the door and unlock it, but wait a few seconds before opening only slightly. I don't look at him, no matter how much I want to. I'm scared to do so. "Cómo me encontraste?" How did you find me?

Adrian pushes the door further opened until he's suddenly standing right in front of me, in my flat, occupying and dominating the space like only he knows how to and without even trying to do so. I wrap my arms around myself, stepping back, suddenly feeling so small. I don't move my eyes further up than his suit-clothed chest.

He just stands in front of me, not saying anything. Seconds pass by. And then minutes. And I finally lift my head to look at his face, my mouth opening as a small gasp escapes out of it. I would be a mentirosa if I said I didn't miss him. A liar.

His features look darker than usual. There are dark circles under his sunken eyes and they're not shining brightly. They're even blacker than usual. And his hair is unkempt, as if he hasn't even bothered with it.

I don't know whether to be comforted that he's not taking this well, too, or just feel a deep sadness for him. No matter what, I don't wish him to be hurt. He still means a lot to me and therefore, I wish him happiness in life, even though that's not me and even though he won't share it with me.

That's okay. With or without me by his side, I want to see him do well. Because, after everything, he's not a bad person. He has his flaws, but his heart is in the right place.

"You lost weight," Adrian observes. And I want to be mad because he so often commented on my body, but I know that this is him caring about my well-being.

I merely shrug at his remark. "Why are you here, Mr Welch?" I purposefully address him with his surname, trying to keep a distance from him by making this formal.

"Let's keep it at first name only, Cassandra. You know me too well to be so formal with me."

No tienes que recordarme. You don't have to remind me.

I don't reply.

He looks around the place, putting his hand on the chair and caressing it, the movement causing him to step forward, closer again. I take a step back again, not caring that it makes me look weak and afraid of him. His presence is genuinely killing me.

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