You stand in the bathroom of your motel, having just gotten out of the shower, the mirrors fogged up from the humidity.

One year. One year you’ve been away from him. One year that you’ve been without his hold, without his threatening yet alluring coos, without his love.

You reach forward, wiping off the fog from the mirror. You freeze.

You aren’t alone.

“Bunny. It’s been a while,” he hums, leaning in the doorframe, a sinister grin on his face. “You’re still wearing your ring.”