Page 61 of Twisted Little Thing

I don't want to know.

My heart is racing and I am breathing heavily when I finally manage to open the door and flee back inside.

I run upstairs, chased by a kind of fear that I have never experienced before.

Is this what paranoia feels like? Or did I just do the right thing?

My hand is shaking as I try to unlock our apartment door. Yuka is not home, so at least I won't have any explaining to do to her about my erratic breathing and the drops of sweat on my forehead.

"Fuck," I pant after slamming the door behind me.

I am leaning against it as if I was trying to keep it shut. My pulse is still racing and I now feel cold sweat cloaking my entire body. I peel off my cardigan and throw it aside.

I close my eyes.

Calm the fuck down, Nicky.

What is wrong with me?

I feel dizzy, which is not surprising, given the insane rhythm of breathing.

With my back to the door, I feel my knees giving in and I slowly slide downwards until I am on the floor, sitting with myback to the door.

Slowly, very slowly, I can feel my body relaxing.

You're safe. Nothing happened. Nothing is happening. You're imagining things.

Am I, though?

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. No matter what happened or didn't happen, I am safe now.

My breathing slows down. It is completely quiet around me. No voices, no noise from the street, nothing except my faint panting.

Until the doorbell rings.

The sound of the bell echoes unnaturally loud amidst the quiet and causes me to startle. I even let out a little shriek.

"Geez, Nicky," I chastise myself.

The sound echoes in my ears. This could be Evan. It must be. Paparazzi would never ring a doorbell, would they?

I get up on my feet and push the button of the intercom. My knees are still shaking when I ask, "Yes?"

"Nicky!" I hear Evan's voice. "Are you okay?"

I hesitate.

"I don't know," I reply.

I really don't know.

"I saw you run back inside just as my car pulled up," he says. "Were yourunning away from me."

"I... forgot something," I lie.

He pauses for a moment. For seconds, all I can hear is the rustling sound of our old intercom.

"Are you coming down?" he asks.

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