Page 37 of Kill, Sleep, Repeat: Vol II

Like Zoe.

That situation has turned into something I can’t ignore.

I don’t know if she actually thinks I can help her, or if she’s just reaching out to someone—anyone—to pull her out of this nightmare. But I promised her I’d try. After everything I’ve been through, I can’t just walk away from someone who’s as trapped as I was.

The cryptic anonymous texts stopped, though. After that last one, the strange warning from whoever’s watching me, they went silent. Maybe they figured out I’m not the one they should be worried about. Or maybe they don’t care anymore. Either way, the pressure’s been off... but that doesn’t mean I’m not still trying to piece together whatever I can from what’s left.

I need to do something.

Elliot and Zoe are still in Texas, but I can’t rely on a single thing there to fix what’s broken. So I have to act from here. From New York. And I can’t waste any more time. Zoe sent me a pic. She has another black eye, and her parents are starting to not buy the whole, “it was volleyball” bit.

Charlotte comes and goes, like a ghost that’s trying not to be seen. I’m starting to realize she’salwaysbeen like that. I can hear her footsteps when she gets home late, or when she leaves early, but most of the time, I don’t even know where she’s been. And when she does stop by, she just...observes. I don’t get it. I’m not a problem she’s worried about fixing, but she’ll never admit that. She only cares about Sophie. Dad was the one who loved me, who cared about me, but he’s dead and now there’s no one.

But Zoe.

She cares. Sure, it’s just because she needs me, but still. Sometimes you just need to be needed.

So Mom should be proud. I’ve learned to fill the void in my own way. One thing that does keep me busy is figuring out how to get Zoe away from Elliot. If I could just talk to her directly—no distractions, no bullshit—I could probably get her to see the logic in what I’m saying. But I can’t. All I have is our DMs. All I have is the tiny fragments of hope I still cling to. And I have to move fast. Because if I don’t, if I just sit here like I’ve been doing, nothing will change. And nothing can stay the same for too long.

I flop down on the sofa, pulling out my phone. I stare at the screen, not really thinking about what to say, just needing to say something. I type a few words—just an idea, a plan, whatever it is that might get her out. The longer I wait, the worse it gets for her. And I can’t let that happen. Not again.

The message reads:

I’ve got a plan. You don’t have to stay with him, Zoe. You’ll be okay, just listen.

But even as I send it, I can’t help but feel like I’m playing a game I’m not sure I can win. There’s a part of me that wonders if Zoe will even get it. Or if she’ll think I’m crazy. Or worse—what if she doesn't trust me? What if this is a waste of time?

But then I remind myself—it’s not a waste of time.Even if it doesn’t work out, at least I’ll know I tried. And that’s all I have left to hold onto, really.

I lean back and close my eyes, letting out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. The silence in this apartment is thick. Even though I’m surrounded by millions of people, I’ve never felt more alone. I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay with this life, with the way whatIwant keeps getting pushed aside, waiting for a better time, waiting for things to settle. They never do.

I should be happy. I should be grateful that I’m here, in this nice apartment in New York, going to some overpriced school that’s trying to turn me into something I’ll neverbe. I should be grateful that Sophie has her life, that Mom does whatever she does. I should be grateful, period. But I’m not.

I’m just tired.

And I can’t wait for Christmas break. For Texas. For everything to finally break open.

Maybe then I’ll find a way to make it all better.

32

ANONYMOUS

The cameras are hidden well enough that she doesn’t even think to look for them. I’ve watched her for months now—sometimes I think more than I’ve watched anything or anyone in my life.

Every inch of the apartment, every corner of the kitchen, is captured in high definition. I know every line of the room, the slight angle at which she tilts her head when she’s listening to someone, the way she places her glass down with a soft click as though her hands are too delicate for the world.

But tonight is different. Tonight something is actually happening. More than the usual, just a person going about her everyday life.

Her life used to be so interesting. Then it got boring. I know it hasn’t been easy for her since her husband died. Being a single parent and all, being the sole breadwinner. Plus, there was the pandemic and that really changed everything. For a lot of people. But it seems things are picking up again; it seems they are taking a turn. And I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.

The candles in her kitchen flicker, casting shadows that make her look almost ethereal, like she doesn’t belong here.And she doesn’t. This city was always meant to be a temporary thing, but it’s becoming a bit too permanent for my liking. What was supposed to be a few weeks has turned into three months.

The weather has turned. The leaves have fallen, and she’s still here. Why is she still here? I’d like to think it’s because she can’t let go, because she’s always had trouble letting go, but I know better.

It’s something else. Something no amount of spying has showed me yet. Regardless, I press on.

Tonight, she’s standing by the counter, her bare feet shifting slightly on the cool floor. It’s a casual stance, but everything about her movements is deliberate—graceful, calculated, almost too controlled. The kind of woman who knows exactly how to hold herself in a room. Even when she doesn’t try.

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