Chapter 1: Death at My Own Door
My childhood friend got into a fight with her obsessive boyfriend and, just to spite him, crashed at my place.
It was the kind of drama you always think happens to other people—people on the news, or in those late-night reality shows you half-watch while dozing off, never once thinking it could crash through your own front door. I mean, who really thinks that kind of thing will happen to them? But there she was, Marissa, mascara streaked, fuming, and dragging her whole mess right into my living room.
Her boyfriend, completely losing it, stormed up to my door, waving a knife around, like he was ready to take them both out.
The memory of that night still sends a chill right down my spine. The porch light flickering, his shadow stretching across the steps, the glint of steel in his hand—like something out of a bad dream. No way this was happening. But it was. He looked at me, eyes wild, and I knew right then he wasn’t seeing me. He was seeing the person blocking him from Marissa, and that made me the enemy.
Terrified, she locked herself in my room. Wouldn’t open the door, no matter what I said.
I could hear her muffled sobs through the wall, the click of the lock as she shut herself away, leaving me stranded in the hallway. My own pulse thundered in my ears. I pounded on the door, begging her to let me in, but she just cried harder. Not a word. Not even a sorry. It was like I’d disappeared for her the second trouble showed up.
And just like that, I was his target. He stabbed me to death right at my own front door.
I remember fumbling for my keys, grocery bag slipping from my hand as the door swung open. I barely had time to register what was happening—just a blur of movement, then pain, sharp and blinding. Blood everywhere, the world spinning. Never in a million years did I think my day would end like that. Sprawled out on the mat. Copper in my mouth.
I screamed. Begged. That door? Didn’t move. Not even a crack.
I called out for help, my voice raw, hoping she’d snap out of it. But the door stayed shut, like it never even knew me. In those last moments, honestly, it hurt more than the knife.













