The world seems to go silent when you get back home. KIcking your heels off and locking the door.

Your head is still swimming a bit from the alcohol. You could've sworn you hadn't drank that much, but maybe you'd got carried away. Suddenly you're glad you didn't take that guy home. He'd been way too pushy anyway.

You make your way to the kitchen, getting a glass and some pedialyte as a preventative measure for the morning. You don't even want to think about the colossal hangover you'll have.

You take a deep breath in and freeze, heart starting to beat out of your chest.

That smell. That fucking cologne. You could place it in your sleep.

"Who was he?"

You hear from behind you and you turn, seeing him stood in front of your window, staring out coldly.

You debate on running. Where would you go? He'd catch you in a second.

"You know he slipped you something, right? Fucking pathetic. He's better off dead. Cried like a baby when I crushed his throat."

Your heart sinks. Shit. The guy had been an asshole, but he didn't deserve death. No one deserves that.

"He wouldn't have been good enough for you anyway. You're used to gods."

He chuckles coldly.