Chapter 2: The Day That Won't Die

Then I woke up on the same day—the day it all started.

It was like coming out of a nightmare, only to realize you’re trapped in a rerun. Déjà vu, but worse. The sun slanting through the blinds, the faint smell of coffee from next door, the clock blinking 7:03 AM. Everything exactly the same—except now, I knew what was coming.

The moment I woke up, my head felt weirdly light.

It felt like a weight was gone. Or maybe I was just in shock, not being dead and all. My hands trembled as I sat up in bed. My mind spun. Was this real? Or just some messed-up dream?

In disbelief, I spread out my hands and looked myself over.

I ran my fingers over my arms, my chest, searching for wounds that weren’t there. Skin smooth, no marks. I laughed, shaky as hell—couldn’t tell if it was relief or just plain crazy. If this was a do-over, I’d make it count.

My body was perfectly fine—no wounds, not a scratch on me.

I flexed my fingers, pressed my palms together, just to be sure I was really here. No bandages, no blood, not even a bruise. It felt like some kind of cosmic reset button had been pushed, and I was the lucky contestant who’d gotten another spin. Lucky me, right?

I pulled out my phone and realized I’d actually returned to the day when Marissa Lane, my childhood friend, had her blowup with her boyfriend.

The date glared at me from the lock screen. Same as before. Of course. Notifications from work, a couple spam texts, nothing weird. Except everything was about to go sideways.

If my memory served me right, it wouldn’t be long before she’d show up at my door, dragging her suitcase behind her.

I could practically hear the wheels of her cheap luggage rattling down the hallway, the heavy sigh as she pressed the buzzer, the dramatic pause before she launched into her latest crisis. She lived for this stuff.

Last time, I’d agreed to let her crash at my place, just trying to be nice.

I’d told myself it was only for a night, maybe two. That’s what friends do, right? Yeah, right. But with Marissa, nothing was ever just for a night, and nothing was ever simple.

I never imagined she’d act all high and mighty just to provoke her obsessive boyfriend. I tried to talk sense into her. Told her—if you don’t like him, just dump him already.

I remember sitting across from her at my kitchen table, coffee growing cold between us, trying to reason with her. I thought if I just found the right words, she’d listen. But Marissa was never one for logic—she lived for the thrill, the drama, the attention. She thrived on chaos like it was oxygen. Drama queen, through and through.

And if her boyfriend made trouble, she should just call the cops.

I told her, plain and simple, “If he’s scaring you, call the police. That’s what they’re there for.” But she just laughed. Like I was the crazy one. Like the rules that applied to everyone else didn’t apply to her.

But instead of taking my advice, she rolled her eyes at me.

She had this way of looking at me, like I was the one who just didn’t get it. Like I was clueless. Like I was some small-town chump who’d never been in love, never taken a risk. It stung, even though I knew better than to take it personally.

“You’re just jealous I found true love, aren’t you? There’s no way I’d break up with Dylan. I just wanted you to see how much he loves me. He’s obsessed. I can’t shake him, even if I tried.”

She said it with a smirk, tossing her hair like she was starring in her own private soap opera. She never once stopped to think about the consequences, or who might get caught in the crossfire. To her, it was all just a game. Someone always gets burned.

She said it so lightly, never realizing her little games had already pushed her boyfriend over the edge.

She thought she could handle him. She couldn’t. I saw the warning signs—the possessiveness, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. It was a powder keg, and she was playing with matches.

He snapped and came after her with a knife, ready to take them both out.

My gut twisted just thinking about it. I could still hear his footsteps pounding up the stairs, the way his voice cracked when he screamed her name. He’d lost himself, and there was no coming back from that edge.

But the friend who claimed her love was unbreakable? She didn’t make a sound—she just locked herself in my room and refused to come out.

All bark, no bite. No loyalty, no courage—just fear. I guess that’s who she really was, when it counted.

Not only that, she called me, urging me to hurry home, lying about a gas leak and claiming the repairman needed the owner home.

Didn’t even blink. Used me like always. I’d always dropped everything to help her, never questioning her stories. Looking back, I wish I’d been more suspicious.

I’d never doubted her. Rushed home from work, ran right into her boyfriend.

Still had my work badge on. Heart pounding. I thought I was saving her. Instead, I walked straight into a nightmare.

The moment he saw me, he charged. I became his target, and he hacked at me with a bloody kitchen knife.

Didn’t even get a word out. The knife flashed, hot and cold at the same time, and suddenly I was fighting for my life in my own hallway.

I cried for help, but no one came.

Neighbors peeked through their blinds, but no one opened their doors. Cowards. I was alone, surrounded by people too scared or too apathetic to intervene. In that moment, I realized how truly alone I was.

Eventually, my body went limp and everything went black.

Everything drained out of me. The world faded. Peaceful, in a weird way.

Even through the fog, I heard Marissa Lane’s fake, panicked voice.

Still fake, even now. Even as I drifted, her voice cut through the haze, high-pitched and trembling, but somehow still insincere. She was always the star of her own tragedy, even when the blood wasn’t hers.

“Dylan! How could you be so reckless and kill him? But it’s fine, I love you. I’ll always stay by your side. Let’s run away, quick!”

Her words echoed in my mind, twisted and wrong. It was all about her, always about her. I wanted to scream at her, to make her see what she’d done, but it was too late.

I hated her. More than ever. Even now, safe in my own skin, I could feel the anger simmering. I wouldn’t let her ruin my life again—not this time. I was done playing the fool.