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Natara William's PoV

When I come to, I'm covered in cold sweat.

I'm shivering—trembling—unable to control myself. It's just like that time Mal and I were drugged…lying on that cold floor…

Even the familiar warmth of before is snaked around my body.

I open my eyes to find myself in Mal's arms, tremors running down my spine. The purest look of concern has spread across his face.

My hands sting, and looking down, I see fresh blood on my carpet. There's a lamp shattered on the floor, glass littering the beige carpet like morning dew.

Then it comes back to me…there was someone in my apartment.

I jerk away from Mal as if electrocuted, pinning myself against the closest wall so they can't sneak up behind me.

"Natara…what's wrong?".

"I saw someone" I say. His back is to the door…but I'm watching it. I won't let them sneak up behind him. "Someone's here".

"Nat…no one's here" he says gently. "Do you feel alright?". His brow is furrowed in thought, and he slowly comes towards me as if expecting me to bolt. I take one last look around the room, looking for whoever was here before. I know I saw someone. I know I did.

Mal reaches out, his hand on my arms as if to coax me out of the corner. I just shrug him off and walk away. I just need time to think.

"I'm fine" I finally answer, walking over to the couch.

"You're bleeding".

"I'll take care of it" I say. The cuts don't seem too deep, only superficial. "Please…I just need time alone to think".

Mal gives me one last concerned look, but I can tell he's too tired to argue. I am too…now. My headache is gone, but I suddenly feel like I haven't slept in a thousand years.

He seems to hold my gaze for a long time, as if wondering if something is wrong with me. There isn't. I know there isn't, I'm fine. I'm just tired, still healing from my concussion. On top of all that, I'm still putting the broken pieces of my memories from the last three years back together. It's a lot to take it at once.

After a few long moments Mal leaves, closing the now-broken door behind him. It still closes, but the edge is slightly dented, leaning a slight gap between the frame and the door. But that's the least of my concerns now.

I walk into the bathroom, grabbing bandages to wrap up my hands. I brush the few shards of glass from my hands, wrapping the thin gauze around my palms. When I'm done I walk back out to clean up the glass, but by the time I get back out there my headache is back; twice as bad as before.

So instead I sit on the couch, rubbing my hands over my temples. I'll clean it up in the morning, I can't do anything now feeling like this.

Rather than going back to my bedroom, I curl up right there on the couch, without even turning off the lights. I shut my eyes, but sleep doesn't come easy. Too many thoughts are running through my head. Particularly, questions about what just happened. Maybe Mal was right to be concerned.

Maybe I'm not okay.

Maybe there is something wrong with me.