She looks like a little lost girl with her grungy robe, and her messy hair, and her haunted blue eyes. I look away, nodding. “What do you need?” I ask. I can’t hug her. I can’t hold her. There are some things I can do, and there are some things I cannot. Won’t.

“Nothing,” she tells me. “You’ve done enough.” Her face takes on a vacant stare as she focuses on my chest. “That doctor, she wanted me to go see her friend. Said she would help me.”

“And what did you say?”

“Told her the truth. That there’s no point. There’s no fixing something that’s not even vaguely what it used to be. I barely feel human, Zeth. I’m like one of those statues left behind after Pompeii. The shape of me’s still here. The outline of who I used to be. But the rest of me is gone. I’ll never get it back again. I’m just ash and stone.”

******

I hear the knock on the door even though the radio is turned up to ear-splitting volumes. I have no neighbours, not for a good mile or two, so I never have to worry about noise complaints.

DUM DUM DUM.

The thuds practically shake the glass in the window frames that overlook the city in the distance.

I pause in folding my laundry. It comes again. Bang, bang, bang. Whoever it is, they’re getting pissed off.

I immediately think the worst: it's him. But then I remember—Zeth has a key. He would just let himself in if he were here. Why the hell did I agree to that again? I skid down the hallway in my socks, picking up the baseball bat I always keep propped up again the wall behind the front door. I peer through the spy hole and my stomach drops. I spin the bat over and over in my hand, chewing on my bottom lip.

He may have a key now but for some reason, Zeth is hammering on my door at ten a.m. on my only day off this week. He looks absolutely furious, the spy hole glass distorting his face. He looks a like a giant.

"Sloane. If I let myself in and I find you in there, things will get mighty awkward." His words aren't shouted. They're spoken at a conversational tone, like he knows I’m standing on the other side I'd the door, staring at him. He looks right at the spy hole and arches his eyebrow.

Fuck.

I pull the door open, scowling at him. "What are you doing here? Couldn't you have sent a text or something?" A twitch develops at the corner of his mouth and I realize he's trying not to smile. He's eyeing the baseball bat in my hand.

"I could have. But I didn't."

"Well you should have."

"I wanted to see where you lived." He smiles a secret smile and I know what it means. He already knew where I lived just fine. He looks ridiculously hot in his tight black tee and leather jacket, his jeans hugging him in all the right places. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes...I'm almost surprised to see him out in the daylight.

"If I don't invite you in, are you going to be stuck on the threshold?" I feel particularly smug about that one. Zeth does the eyebrow thing again and steps into the house.

"You think I'm right out of a horror film, don't you?"

"Well this is hardly a fairy tale, is it?"

"It could be. If you let it."

"Oh yeah? And who are you supposed to be? My Prince Charming?"

He snorts at that. "No, silly girl. I'm the big bad wolf." He looks around with a blatant curiosity that does nothing to dampen his predatory vibe. If anything, it looks like he's searching for the exits, documenting all possible escape routes. Not for himself, of course. For me. Wondering which way I will run.

"What are you doing here, Zeth?"

"I told you. I wanted to see where you live."

"No, you didn't."

"Oh? You know me so well already?" He picks up a photo frame, studying the picture of me and Alexis at summer camp. We look like two peas in a pod, smiling, both in braces. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be handling my belongings, doing mundane things like flicking through my unopened mail that sits on my kitchen counter.

"Hey. Do you mind?"

"You live here alone."

"Yes."

"Good." He carried on investigating the place, leaving the kitchen to head through to the living room. The place is pretty empty, just a couple of bookshelves, the beaten leather sofas, a tiny flat screen that I never watch. His gaze lingers on my guitar leaning against the wall in the corner.

"You play?" I ask him.

"No." He turns and finally gives me his attention.

"You done snooping?"

"The only room I'm interested in snooping around in is the bedroom, Sloane. Right now I'm just making sure your house is secure. And it is."

"I know. I spent thousands of dollars making sure it was burglar proofed when I moved in. Now if you don't mind, I have housework I should be doing."

Zeth smirks, like the idea of me doing housework is the funniest shit ever. "This friend of yours, the doctor," he says. "I want to meet her."

"What?"

"I want to meet her."

"Why?"

"So I can gage whether she can help with Lacey."

Help with Lacey? That takes a moment to sink in. Is he asking for help for his friend? Never in a million years did I think he would ask that. Mostly because the girl seemed adamant that she didn’t want help. It doesn’t matter that she promised me back in the hospital—I’ve been lied to by enough people to know when someone is telling me something they think I want to hear.